They approached a small cottage that must have belonged to a caretaker for the land the group now passed over. All looked to the small house and farm that should be filled with the activity that inhabits such a residence, but something was strangely off; there was no activity to be seen and the quiet was telling. The chickens poked about looking for food, the horses needed watering, and there were no children running about. The dwelling was dark, and the door stood open with a false implication of welcome but only offered a chill as to its interior and what it held.
The monks looked to each other and all lowered their heads in silent prayer for ones who unquestionably needed them. All who rode sat up a little taller in their saddles and gripped their reins tighter, readying themselves mentally, knowing the signs were there like guideposts at a crossing.
With all of their eyes fixed forward now, they gazed on to the next hillside that was just breaking the treetops before the band. Just touching the sky were the grey stones of the priory; one by one they came into view until they started to become something of a shape, and just before they could get a good view they descended again and entered the woods lying before the old structure.
The woods were thick like those surrounding the monastery. They followed the wagon tracks, which likewise followed an old path into the woods and likely right to the priory, even as time had taken away the obviousness of its existence. The group rode closer together for two reasons: the path into the woods was narrow now, not like the open fields, and the light of the day seemed to be snuffed out, shadowing the monks as if night had been prematurely given its time. The impression was daunting in the simplest form. The monks sensed the change, and this played on their already overtaxed nerves. Their eyes had to adjust to the low light, and their brains had to remember the night had not truly come to them, not yet. Their skin detected the difference in temperature that also made them feel like they had entered a world that was not welcoming.
As they emerged one by one from the woods, their spirits lifted, if only for a moment, when the light of the true day appeared again. The light of the sun returned and gave them hope again, even from behind the clouds gathering and passing before its face. Something else they had not noticed as much in the woods was the wind; all forces from the outside world seemed as if they were shut out. Now, feeling the sun on their faces and the wind in their hair, their hearts leapt with eagerness as their blood perceived the renewed warmth.
That eagerness was soon forestalled. As they gathered on the woods’ edge, something else appeared that made their collective hearts beat a little faster. Before them loomed the old priory on the hillside; few of the monks had ventured this far before to inspect the grounds, and most had only seen it with binoculars, from the top of the Lonely Tower.
Father Donovan took the initiative, urging his horse forward with resolve; he would not be intimidated by the mere presence of a structure that had long seen its day in the sun. Father Lemoine followed, and soon all of the monks fell in line. Up the gentle green hillside they rode and into the stone garden they entered—one that had been laid down before any of their grandfathers or their fathers had been born.
All who passed by the granite and limestone markers closely inspected the grounds. The cemetery spread out across the lawn surrounding the priory. Was this the place where their order had buried defeated vampires long ago? If their enemy had been searching for vampire graves here, there was no evidence to prove it. The grass appeared to be undisturbed for as far as the eye could see.
Father Donovan made a snake-like path across the cemetery. After being satisfied with the situation for the moment he made for the two wagons he spotted.
With the monks dismounting around the wagons and promptly spreading out to take in the area around the priory, Father Donovan and Father Lemoine walked over to a few grave markers. Father Donovan held his long cloak to the side and knelt down to look closely. The marker was old and weathered by time, much like he was. The moss and growth covering the stone was heavy except for over the markings. Here the engraving, though worn, shown through like a caretaker was around to fend off the growth. Father Donovan looked back to Father Lemoine.
“I wonder who comes here to clean their family’s graves?” Father Donovan asked.
“I believe the families of these are long extinct, and these are long forgotten.”
Father Donovan nodded his head, agreeing with his brother.
“’Forgotten’ is the key word, I think. There are many things that should not have been forgotten or been made to be forgotten. I believe that was a mistake, for they do not forget and time does not win out against them. They only wait to take advantage of babes in the world who have no knowledge or wisdom of the past.”
“But we are here, we have not forgotten all, and we stand before the door they wish to enter,” Father Lemoine stated like a wise general.
“Of course you are right.”
The wagons held other items of interest that were being offloaded; they had their share of lumber, sheets of metal and other … necessities.
Father Donovan made his way toward the great walls of the ruin. Moving beyond the front façade, they came to where the wall diminished from collapse. The interior opened up, showing what once must have been an architecturally beautiful church but was now barely recognizable. Even though the sun still clearly shown in the sky, the monks entered with caution. This had once been a holy place, a place of worship and maybe even a hold for ancient vampire graves; now it might be home to an enemy they hunted.
Father Lemoine walked to where the sanctuary had once been and stood before the altar that was partially crushed from stones that had fallen years ago, like so many littering the floor. He whispered a short prayer and tipped a small vial of holy water onto the surface. All watched with anticipation, hoping for the best or for any sign as to the progress of their mission. The contents spilled out and landed, making small puddles that began to steam like water being poured onto a hot iron. The combined gasp and sighs of the monks summed up the range of emotions they were experiencing.
Father Lemoine slowly stepped away from the altar and Father Donovan paced around the interior, inspecting the layout with a keen eye, no longer unsure of their destination. Slowly he headed over to the only place he knew was left to them to investigate: the crypt.
***
The monastery was strangely quiet; no activity stirred on the grounds or in the halls. The remaining monks were gathered in the dining hall, taking in some much-needed nourishment after their long days and hard work. Jacob ate next to Father Dagrun, who had eaten several plates’ worth of food. The meal was held in silence; even Father Jacques and Father Andrew called a truce. No doubt their minds were preoccupied with the fate of their brothers who had taken on responsibility of the first strike.
“Did Jessica get any food?” Father Dagrun asked Jacob. Jacob held the question in his head, mulling it over a little before he answered.
“She took her plate to Sebastian’s room.”
Father Dagrun could hear the uneasiness in Jacob’s voice and wanted to offer some reassurance. “She’ll be all right down there, you know.”
Jacob looked at the big monk and wondered if he really understood what he was saying. Jacob was just now really coming to terms with the reality of Sebastian’s identity.
“He’s a vampire. How can I feel comfortable with that? She’s my sister.” Jacob spoke more to what he thought than what he actually knew.
Father Dagrun understood where he was coming from. He’d known Sebastian for a long time and had become accustomed to the facts. They were friends, and he really didn’t think about it that much anymore. He knew Sebastian for who he was, not what he was, and for him that made all the difference. Still, he could see the worry on Jacob’s face.
“There are things in this world that are dangerous and uncertain; Sebastian is not one of them. If you are worried for yourself or for your sister, you shouldn’t be,” Father Dagrun explained.
“We all have our stories about him, Father Jacques said, entering the conversation. “Each and every monk here has their own experience with Sebastian; some we share, and some we hold to ourselves. I would say you will have your stories as well.”
Father Andrew also chimed in, throwing his support into the ring. “We all try to understand and deal with the reality, when all we have to understand is the person. Once you have done that you will feel better.”
Jacob took in all the kind words and understood they all supported their friend, but he was still struggling with the whole aspect of the relationship Sebastian and his sister shared.
“But she’s my sister.”
Father Dagrun searched for more wisdom than he thought he could possibly come up with. Where was Father Donovan when he needed him? He knew he would not be able to be as eloquent, but he would just have to put it in his terms—terms hopefully Jacob could understand. He nodded his head like he was agreeing with himself and spoke.
“You go through life one day at a time and you take what it has to give you, good or bad. When something comes along that’s good, you take hold of it, and you don’t let go because whatever it is won’t be there forever.” Father Dagrun shared his philosophy like the contents of a fortune cookie.
Jacob listened, wanting to understand. Somehow the way Father Dagrun said it made sense. Over and over he played in his head what Father Dagrun said, working over the lines of logic. Jacob was like that: he loved to try to work ideas over in his head from every angle, playing the devil’s advocate just so he could be sure he was making the right choice. He nodded in agreement. Yes, he did understand, and he believed in those simple words, but even with that wisdom only one thing came to mind.
“She’s my sister.”
***
Down in Sebastian’s room, Jessica ate her plate of food while poring over the recovered vampire tome and other books of poetry, astronomy, and mythology. She sat in one of those wonderfully comfortable chairs that had seen much wear from many visitors. The fire crackled and her mind drifted off into those flames. She wanted to see what everyone else saw when they looked into a fire; she wanted to see what Sebastian saw in those burning embers that breathed heat.
She saw what Sebastian had recounted in his tales, and there was only tragedy. Pulling herself back to the present, she ate some more and turned the page. Here was yet another page that puzzled her, like so many of the pages of the book. But some of those pages had come to make sense after much deliberation; hopefully all would make sense in the end. All that was listed here were dates, days, months, years and even times down to the minute. At the top of the page was no title, just a round circle filled in black. Below, the dates went back over centuries, as far back as five hundred years, but they were sporadic. The last date entered was June 29th, 1927 at 4:41 pm. Of all of the strange items in the book, from the haiku poems to notes on astronomical movements, this seemed the strangest. Maybe this was just a list of important dates for the owner of the book. Jessica did not actually want to speculate what they might refer to. She would have to ask Sebastian if they meant anything to him. She bookmarked the page and suddenly feeling too tired to do anymore, she set the book down, and was immediately off to sleep.
A short while later the door opened and Jacob came into the little library where the warm fire was still blazing, his sister was snuggled into a chair and … Sebastian was nowhere to be seen; he knew he must be in the other room. He went to the fantastic door and ran his fingers over the carving. Jacob looked back to his sister sleeping soundly and wondered if Sebastian was sleeping … if that is what one would call it. If he went into the other room, what would he find? The idea unnerved him, and he stepped away.
Thinking his sister had the right idea and feeling very tired himself, Jacob lay on the small couch and settled into its pillows nicely. If only everyone could go to sleep like this every night: simply lie down, close your eyes and off you go.
***
Time slipped by and the afternoon came and went. Inside his chamber Sebastian rested but his rest was not the peaceful sleep he hoped for. He dreamt, but this was different than the last time. He was aware of the fact that he was asleep and dreaming—a fact that only made him feel mildly at ease.
He searched for where he was, any sign of recognition. He recognized his house and he walked inside, searching for something … or someone. Then he saw what he was looking for—his mom. She was cooking and hurrying about, trying to prepare supper. She was ushering him out of the house because she wanted him to go and tell his father something.
Out of the house he went, almost in fast forward. Dreams are strange with how they deal with time. He found his father in the field with the plow. He ran up to him and stopped, then they talked for a little while. He remembered something about what his father had said, something about when he got older and would be able to work the plow. He knew he was very young in this dream and this was from his past. This actually happened.
Sebastian lingered on the events he remembered with his mother and father. He thought he would be smiling. If you smile when you are asleep, you never know. It is strange occasionally how you can almost direct your dreams. How pleasant this experience was for him! He wanted to stay; he forced himself to stay, but eventually the events of the past make you move on. Time pushes on and we are ill equipped to stop it.
He soon realized he was headed back home on a small road from the fields his father worked. Sebastian walked this road many times, every day for a large part of his life; he never really had to look where he was going--he just knew the way. This day was unusual somehow; he remembered something was different. This day he did not walk the road to his house unobstructed, and he soon became nervous in his sleep. He remembered the day they came. Right in front of him two people jumped out into the road. They were kids he recognized, and he knew he didn’t want anything to do with them. They were much bigger and meaner than he was.
Sebastian tried to veer away from them in his dream, but you can’t alter the past. They soon overtook him, and here he would receive one of the more brutal beatings he had ever taken. He tried to fight back. Truly, he had given several blows to his enemies that they would not soon forget, but he was outnumbered. They sat on top of him and laid into him with abandon. He tried to wake up but he was too deep in the dream to be released. That day which had started out so nicely became a violent reality, and he was reliving it with horrible certainty.
With the beating going on for what seemed like ages and feeling he would soon lose consciousness, which might actually be preferred, there seemed to be a respite in the blows … or was he just too battered to comprehend what was going on?
Then there was peace. No sickening sounds of fists hitting his head and body, no sharp pains telling his wavering perception another terrible blow had been struck, just the muffled sounds in the background of someone else receiving the same as he had. But he had been alone, and he wondered who else had been victim to these thugs. Slowly, painfully, Sebastian turned his head to the side and opened his swollen eyes to see what was happening.
To his astonishment and joy, if he could feel such things at the moment, was his brother fighting off the two bullies who surely meant to do him in. One had run off leaving his friend behind, and Sebastian’s brother, William, was letting him know in no uncertain terms that this would never happen again.
The next thing Sebastian remembered was movement but not of his own efforts. William was certainly carrying him, and subsequently he found himself back in the warm comfort of his bed. Sebastian let the dream play out because he desperately wanted to remember the events the way they happened. Regaining his alertness to his surroundings he knew he was safe; his mother was tending to his wounds with care, and William was retelling the story to his father, who was very proud of his son and equally upset over the mugging.
Sebastian lingered in his dream, relishing the memory of what he once had. How ironic he thought this was: it
took one of the worst days of his childhood for him to completely understand and appreciate everyone in his family. But that’s just it—you never know what you have until it’s gone. He had never fully understood as a child, of course; it took a horrible event like that nearly deadly beating for him to know how much he cared and was cared for by his mother and father and his brother, who saved him.
He would give anything to have that back, that terrible moment, just so he could have his family. Beating be damned! Give it to him, he wished, so he could have his mother, who tended to him while he was hurt, his father who provided for him and offered wisdom, and his big brother, who was always around to protect him when danger was near.
Sebastian felt himself struggling against his dream and knew his peaceful sleep had become a restless torrent of emotions. His family started to fade from his mind. He resisted until he saw them no more, and he sat up in bed as if trying to chase the dream. His body was dripping with sweat. As he sat there he wondered why his dreams were always so torturous, but he knew there was much significance to his dream.
Jessica woke with that silent alarm going off in her head, wondering if she had slept too long. She sat up and opened her eyes; her brother lay in the couch next to her and across the room sat Sebastian peacefully.
“How long have you been sitting there?” she asked.
“Not long enough,” Sebastian spoke with affection. Jacob stirred as the conversation wakened him. He sat up abruptly, eyes wide.
“Is it our time?” Jacob asked groggily. Sebastian noted that time was one of the biggest players in this game, but whose side was time on?
“No, not our time, but hopefully theirs.”
saint Sebastian the Rose Page 26
