Notes from the Future: Prophet's Reckoning, Part II

The Ezekiels drag me away toward an outbuilding I didn't see, it's down behind the Hospital house. It must have been a barn, it looks like stables have been made into cells. I am taken to the cell at the far end, the door is open, I am shoved inside and the door is slammed and locked behind me.

I expected dirty straw and rats. What I find is a small bed, almost a cot, with a writing table and chair, a stainless steel bucket in the corner and fresh flowers in a little vase on the table. Just when I think these people are going to be exactly what I expect, they veer off into new kinds of crazy. There is straw on the floor, but it's almost homey. Like set dressing or something.

I sit on the cot and realize that I am really, really tired. I want Tad, I want Max and I want to get out of here. If they cook and eat him, I will murder them all. I swear to God. You do not fuck with the people I love, and Max is our boy (sorry, Taralyn, you abandoned him; he's ours, now). I think about trying the door or seeing if I can get out the high, barred window. But I'm too tired. I stretch out, close my eyes and

Tad and I are walking in Downtown Livermore, there's something I want to tell him. Max is carrying Christmas presents, he does his shopping early and I think he must be hot in that tuxedo but that's how he dresses when he walks upright, he says people respect him more and there's the Prophet there behind that wisteria arbor and he's got knives in his arm for storage

 I sit up, I'm scared, it's dark. Where am I? Did I hear something? Is there someone in the room with me? Then I see a shadow move near the door and I yank my knees to my chest, remembering where I am. My right knee hits me in the jaw and I bite the tip of my tongue, I gasp at the pain and the shadow near the door moves again and something slides under the door. Oh, okay: the shadow is on the other side of the door, and some paper has just been slipped through the crack. The shadow is gone.

I don't think there's an electric light in here, so I grab the paper, kneeling down to read the first lines in the light coming from under the door:

There is a small lantern under your bed, and matches. Light it carefully, do not drop it: you would burn alive if this building caught ...

Feeling around under the bed I find the lantern; it's a Dietz No. 5, Tad's favorite -- weird again -- and I lift the top and tilt the glass, turning the wheel to move the wick up the way he showed me, then I strike the match and light the lantern and, oh, it's so nice to have light in the darkness. I adjust the wick  and hang the lantern on a hook to the left of my cot, then settle back to read.

It's handwritten, a few pages long, on clean resume paper. Weird to think about resumes, when the last time I was at work, these weird Mean Greenies were outside in the darkness. I shake my head to clear it and focus on the paper.

There is a small lantern under your bed, and matches. Light it carefully, do not drop it: you would burn alive if this building caught. There are things you need to know, now, before sunrise. For now, be warned: the "Prophet" believes you, your dog and Edward are all emissaries of local government come to shut down "his" compound. If he finds any proof of this, he will eat and rape you -- in that order. Probably myself and the Rachels who are helping us, as well. The Ezekiels he will probably just murder.

Therefore, as soon as you finish reading this, burn it in the stainless steel bucket, away from cloth or hay.

This Monastery has been here since before the Spanish. How this came to be has its roots in the story of Father Robert, and the fate of the Abbess of the lost Abbey so high in the Pyrenees. You must simply trust that we have been here for a very, very long time, living in peace with the local tribes and then presenting the illusion of a ranch when the area began to be settled by Europeans. Land can be made to seem to change hands, but we have held this land for so long, we know it as family. It was always a holy spot, it drew us here from so far away and we intend to hold it. We will need your help.

We have many beliefs, and among those beliefs is a Prophecy that a man shall come from the outside in the time of fire and that he will bring peace, wisdom and an end to tyranny. Pretty vague, I know, but I'm trying to keep this brief. There is much more to the Prophecy, and several months ago a man came wandering up our hillside, lost and dehydrated and near mad with hunger. We nursed him to health, as we do, and he seemed to be full of kindness and wisdom. We invited him to stay here among us and all was well.

Then one night he started having dreams, terrifying apocalyptic visions of devastation and death and fire. His dreams were paired with uncanny predictions of how national and local elections would go, and many among us began to believe he was the man of whom the Prophecy spoke. I was never entirely certain that he was to be trusted; his first dream came on the night I believe he overheard me discussing with one of the nurses that I felt he had overstayed his welcome. Not that he knew or knows my status here as Abbess -- I have kept that secret closely-guarded since his arrival -- and he believes that we are just a very earth-friendly commune. But many were frightened by his visions, and in order to placate them, I agreed in secret with my people that we should prepare for any eventualities. If this meant building up our defenses, buying more food, so be it.

He was also recruiting people from the local neighborhoods, going to community meetings and churches and slowly our numbers grew. You can tell the difference between our people and the newcomers simply: our men and women are nurses, doctors and healers of every persuasion, and the men have full beards.

I feel no shame in admitting we are all staunch Muirists, and that we stand with our Bretheren in Oregon who maintain that John Muir did not assassinate President Theodore Roosevelt in Yosemite Valley, and we will forever speak to the innocence and wrongful execution of Ansel Adams for his so-called "seditious" photography and acts of "landbank espionage." If you disagree, that is your choice. But I can't have you help us if you don't know who you're helping. We are good people, please remember that: we help the sick and broken, we heal the wounded. Not just their bodies, but that is something for later, if later ever comes. Back to the subject at hand:

Some of the newcomers may be healers of excellence and skill, but they believe the "Prophet" and cannot be trusted: the men are clean-shaven and the women are fearful, vapid things who cannot start a fire, chop wood or defend themselves. All of these people believed that the "Prophet" is the man who founded this place, and those of us who have given our lives to this Monastery -- many of us have been here since birth -- have been forced to hide in our own home.

Slowly, he has been eliminating us. At first, there were accidents. An Ezekiel named Dr. John Frazier was crushed while changing a tire on our SUV, alone on a backroad here. A Rachel named Louise, one of the senior nurses, fell down some stairs. You saw what has been done to Becky, the girl he began to devour before your blessed Max did what humans are too scared to do; all Becky is guilty of is fidelity to her fiance, who is due to return from Iran next month.

When the earthquake came, the "Prophet" threw himself down upon the ground and shook and pooped and peed on himself off and on for eight hours. He calls it his Holy Travail. He has been shouting so-called Prophecy ever since: if the wind changes, he will say, "Lo, the wind did change, and the Prophet did say it was so!" He uses this to control his followers more than ever before. He directed them to get uniforms and set up roadblocks, and at every roadblock he has been offering people the chance to pay the toll and pass, or to not pass. The toll is a bite of their flesh, and as you may have noticed today, it is the only thing that sexually excites him. So once he takes a bite, he takes another bite. And another, and once he is aroused, he may as well satisfy both appetites at once. 

God help me, I was glad when he began to go down to the roadblocks to feed, as my Rachels were spared any further torment. But then he got hungrier. He sent people out with green glowsticks around their necks to wait in areas where the lights have gone out. You may have seen them, they break the glowsticks and surround the car and stop it, if they can. Their job is to herd people to the roadblocks, but many of them, desiring to be like their "Prophet," have begun to attack and eat people as well.

Yours was the last car to get across Bollinger, only the center of the center island remains, at last report. Anyone coming across must do so on foot. The Prophet was down there, eating a pregnant woman, when you drove across. It enraged him because he hadn't predicted it. Which is why his followers combed the area so thoroughly to find you. I have no idea what happened to the people still waiting after you crossed. I hope they went away, and that they are safe.

There are hundreds of his followers, now: possibly a thousand. Every time one person pays the toll, the "Prophet" has the rest of the occupants of the car brought here. And what do they see? Food, light, a place to sleep. As long as they do what he says, they live. 

Mt. Diablo's eruption has given him too much power. The night you arrived, he instructed a new Ezekiel to bite off his own penis and thus be cleansed of mortal want. When the young man could not succeed at this task, he threw himself from the balcony of the main house and died. Severed spinal cord. I think he was a lifeguard before he tried to leave the area with his parents and sisters. Now they are here and they are not permitted to grieve, lest they appear to un-believe the "Prophet."

Here is what you need to know: tomorrow morning, he will eat your Max, if they catch him. If not, he will try to eat you. Key to his power is the mystery of his origins; only I know his name, his history and his weakness. Learn it, memorize it, and use it! Speak the Prophecy if he tries to eat you, shout louder, shake harder -- it's all illusion. You have some theatrical experience, this I know. Improvise.

His name is Torvald Mayberry. He is 56 years old, never married. Former Pastor of Three Square Christian Church and Missionary Bible School, in Castro Valley. Left under a cloud of suspected sexual misconduct and embezzlement, surprise surprise. Here's the kicker: he is utterly, completely terrified of rabbits.

I hope that's enough for you to go on; from what I heard about Edward's performance in the car on the night you arrived, I trust that you have similar improvisational skills. Living with such a talented man, how could you not?

I believe in you, Veronica. I believe you are our salvation. I no longer look to prophecy, I look to the human race. If you can out-preach him, you will save us all.

Burn this now, please.

Yours sincerely,

Mother Henrietta

I put the papers down next to me on the bed, lying back in shock and dismay. She wants me to improvise some preachy prophecy shit to save them all? Mother Henrietta just signed everybody's death warrant. I am the last -- let me repeat that -- the last person anyone should ever ask to improvise anything. I freeze up. I get the shakes. I get dizzy and I feel like puking. 

I need to think about this. I need to think, to plan in advance what I will say. I need to say something planned, and clever and make it good so that everyone believes me and not him. Oh God, this is fucked up. But I'm fine. I'm okay. I am okay. I can do this. Man, I am tired. I need to think. 

I keep yawning. I think Tad would be better at this. I'm going to re-read what she wrote about Torvald McCreepydick and think about what Tad would say. He would say Jesus told him some things. Jesus told him a story. That's good. A story. I'm cozy now. Mmm, I like being cozy. I wish I could snuggle up with

We are walking from Hayward Bart to Oakland along an East Bay Shoreline boardwalk made of waxed cardboard. There are old ladies dressed as pelicans doing interpretive dance. One of them is saying, "Trickle, trickle, trickle ..." like the lady from The Music Man. Hermione Gringotts. Now she's got goblins dancing around her. We are at the Claremont Hotel, Tad is showing me how to levitate but there's a scary man watching us. The scary man keeps getting closer. He has bird claws for eyes and he wants to look at us. Max is high on a hill, galloping like a horse. Max is a horse, he's galloping toward us. Toward me. The horses are making the earth shake

I open my eyes. It's light outside. Very smoky. 

I remember I have to burn the papers, I sit up.

The papers are gone.  

Notes from the Future: Prophet's Reckoning

Before I know it, Max and I are whisked through the curtained labyrinth, into the kitchen and out a side door into bright sunlight and the smell of burning. The two bearded Ezekiels and Nice Rachel are leading us, and Rachels and Ezekiels are running all over the place -- sweeping, raking, trimming, some just running from place to place like crazy people. Which is appropriate, I'm thinking, because they must all be crazy. Except for Henrietta and Nice Rachel and Young Nurse Rachel and some of the Ezekiels. The bearded ones, actually. Looking around as we move through the scattered panic of the compound, I begin to notice that the clean-shaven Ezekiels look unfocused, crazed, shaking, one guy just stopped and pissed his pants near the garage door of the Hospital House. Meanwhile, every bearded Ezekiel I see is moving with strength and purpose, getting something done. This means something.

Now everybody is lining up on the graveled driveway below the decking and balcony of the main house, all eyes on the balcony; there is a final scrape of gravel as some Rachel dashes to her spot, then silence. I can't even hear anyone breathing. Max wants to go make friends with a squirrel to our right, and I wind his leash up on my hand so he's right next to me and can't pull. It seems dangerous to talk, so I just hold him there next to me as strong as I can. I need to get out of this weird-ass place.

The French doors open and onto the balcony comes the Prophet, scraggly-bearded and crazy-haired, clearly just having awakened, flanked by Iron Rachel, Short Fat Bald Ezekiel and Eerily Forgettable Ezekiel. The Prophet is in a tattered, filthy robe that may once have been white terrycloth but is now smeared and splotched with stains that look like blood and shit. He has a mug of something steaming in his left hand, he sips it as he opens his robe and pisses at length, between and onto the balusters, most of it arcing down into the dusty gravel where it raises a small cloud. There is a sighing whine and a Rachel stumbles forward, almost as though she was pushed, then throws herself bodily into the stream of his urine, smiling but crying, looking up with her mouth and eyes open, literally bathing herself -- fully clothed -- in the Prophet's piss. When his stream peters out, she sits in the piss mud and starts rubbing it all over her face and hair and clothes, rocking back and forth, smiling. Sobbing. I think I can't stop watching her, but then the Prophet speaks.

"Lo, how the land smoketh! Lo, how the Woman is in her place!" A gesture to the Piss Rachel. "Lo, and behold: each of my Prophecies hath come to pass!"

"So saith the Lord," this from the assembled Rachels and Ezekiels. Where is Mother Henrietta, I wonder, and is Tad safe? What if he needs medical attention?

"We have visitors among us, as I am reminded by Rachel, Ezekiel and Ezekiel. Today is a special day, and I have a Man's Hunger!" Several of the women stiffen around me, and the Prophet heads for the same staircase I was lead down this morning. He does not go toward the gardens, but comes directly to the group. To us.

To me.

"Where is a woman's proper place?" he screeches in my face. His breath is foul, literally it smells like he's been eating poop. For a moment, I am stunned by the smell.  Then he backhands me and I don't really feel it at first, I'm just suddenly on the ground, gravel cutting my hands and knees and I realize what he did as I feel his grimy hands take hold of my hair and my head is jerked back and I hear men laughing as the Prophet screeches, "A woman's proper place is under the Prophet! Whore of Babylon! Jezebel!"

There's a rhythmic smacking noise and I realize, absently, that he must be tugging on himself, tugging on his pitiful little dick. In an instant I realize what he meant by a man's hunger, and I berate myself for not escaping when I had the chance; at almost the same moment, I vow that if he puts it in my mouth, I will happily die after ripping it off with my teeth. There's another noise, too, something that alarms me but I can't figure out what it is, I am filled with white hot rage and the most amazing feeling of calm I have ever known. He's saying something, but I haven't been listening; now I focus on his words because I want to be able to use them to get him close to me.

"A proper woman would have me hard in a nonce!" Shouting, he is jerking at my hair; I begin planning other moves, just like in Chess, just like ... no, can't think about him now, can't think of the hospital bed and the tubes ... have to focus on the Prophet. "A woman of faith makes me hard for her willingly!" If he doesn't put it in my mouth, I will whisper until he gets close enough for me to go for his jugular. "A woman who is willing to please the Prophet is the only woman who can be allowed to live! Rachel!" His shrieking voice grates on my ears, and along with the noise I can't place, I hear scrabbling footsteps as I am yanked around by my hair; coming toward us is Piss Rachel, smiling pleasantly, eyes vacant. I've seen that smile on women before. Oh, God, no, I think. But then she's there and the Prophet is shrieking again. "Offer yourself to me, Rachel! As I have come from the wilderness to save you, so you must offer yourself to sate my hunger!"

Piss Rachel pulls open her blouse, or, no: it's a dress with an apron over it; up close I see sores all around her eyes and mouth; is that from the piss? My scant nursing education clicks in and I realize: he's got something, and he's given it to her. If I bite his dick off, I hope they kill me quick, because I do not want what she's got. And she's completely nude right now, with some of the prettiest boobs I've ever seen.

"Give me of yourself, Rachel!"

Piss Rachel lifts her breasts half-heartedly, still smiling, but the Prophet shrieks again. What is that other noise?

"Give me of yourself, Rachel!"

She reaches toward her sex, but he backhands her and she remains standing, still smiling as blood trickles from her lip and nose. How does she do that?

"Give me of yourself, Rachel!"

There is a moment's pause in which the strange sound grows louder and I feel his hand getting a better grip in my hair, and I see his dick beginning to stir and I see the briefest flicker of protest in her eyes before she offers her left hand, fingers limp. He takes it by the wrist and jerks her down to her knees, there is a popping noise -- did he dislocate her shoulder? She hardly makes a sound, though she is sobbing. He is holding her hand in front of my face, opening his mouth to expose uneven, jagged and sharp teeth, diseased gums, going to bite he's going to bite her, he's tearing her flesh with his teeth and he's going to make me watch him eat her and there's that noise again, the noise that's been there all along and I haven't been able to figure out what it is. Until now.

I try to say no, stay, but it comes out in a whisper as Max, barking furiously, attacks the Prophet, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there as the Rachels and Ezekiels gasp and shout, as Piss Rachel crumples into a ball, clutching her torn hand to her and the Prophet is shrieking in terror, now. He let go of my hair when Max leapt at him and I stand, looking around: the lines of Rachels and Ezekiels are in disarray, Iron Rachel and her Ezekiel minions are frozen, uncertain, because Max is a large black dog and terrifying if he wants to be.

"Good Boy!" I say, and I see his tail wag twice, but he doesn't let up.

Then a whistle: high, loud, piercing, and everyone goes quiet. Even Max turns his head toward the hillside garden. It's quiet and then I think I'm crazy because I hear something impossible.

The Barber Theme,I think Tad calls it. Not sure if that's what it's really called. From Sweeney Todd. It's what Sweeney whistles when he's preparing to cut Judge Turpin's throat. Tad whistles it all the time. Tad trains every dog he loves to come running when he whistles it.

Max is taut, tense, poised atop the Prophet. The whistling reaches the end of the melody and stops. I see Max's ears prick up and the silence seems interminable.

The whistling begins again, one third up from where it began last time.

Just like Tad.

Max goes tearing off across the gravel, up the deck, under the arbor and into the garden where we lose sight of him. When did I unhook him from the leash?

The Prophet is on his feet, screaming and screeching and Iron Rachel is bellowing, but the Prophet's words cut through the noise and suddenly all the Ezekiels are running up the steps to the deck and up the hillside next to the garden and around the back of the house as the Prophet continues to shriek, "Find him! Find the whistling hound of Satan! Find the hound!"

I'm grabbed by two Ezekiels and the Prophet rounds on us, pointing his dirty, cracked fingernail at me. "Take the whore, lock her up. Get her out of my sight until we can find and cook her dog!"

The Tale of Henrietta, Part IV

"When Father Robert saw the figure between the boles of ancient Ash, he tore a leg from the rabbit and threw it toward the figure who caught it easily with his left hand, no other part of him moving; then, pouring fresh wine into his tumbler, Father Robert walked to the edge of the light between the trees and set the wine exactly between the trees nearest the figure. Bowing, he said,

"'To what do we owe the presence and, I surmise, constant vigilance of the Merry Guardian this night?'

"The Merry Guardian smiled, his hand and arm precisely where they had been when he caught the savory lagomorph. 'You know I cannot eat this rabbit,' he purred. 'Nor can I drink that wine, unless invited into your circle,' and though he was still and calm, there seemed to be a trembling hunger underneath his words, a barely concealed plea.

"'If you would eat, protect us; if you would drink, give us your word that we are safe; if you would sit by our fire, let all darkness and confusion be banished from this spot, and tell us all you know of the wonders and terrors we have encountered in our travels,' is what Father Robert said to the Merry Guardian.

"The Merry Guardian thought deeply, breathed deeply, his eyes closed; for a moment, all was still in the circle of Ash. Then his eyes opened and the fire had crackle again.

"'You are protected, I give you my word that you are safe, I would sit by your fire and offer you all pertinent -- and some impertinent -- knowledge of this path you travel and the tricks, traps and traipsings set about for you. May I cross the circle?' The Merry Guardian looked only at Father Robert.

"'The Circle is whole, the circle is clean, you may step inside -- if that's what you mean,' was Father Robert's response, bowing and backing up one step to the right.

"The Merry Guardian's eyes narrowed briefly, then he stepped between the trees, picking up the tumbler as he went, and smilingly took a seat on a log near the fire. He bit into the rabbit and was so consumed in devouring it that everyone at the fire was reminded that they were famished and for a time the only sound was the crackling of the fire, the breeze in the trees and the sound of weary men enjoying a well-deserved meal ... in the presence of a strange visitor.

"Considering the now fleshless bone of the rabbit's leg, the Merry Guardian sipped his wine and spoke: 'I come to your fire from the shadows, laughing, and you offer me luck; this is a rabbit's foot.' When no one spoke for some moments, he continued. 'I offer you trout and you leave their heads for me smoking near the fire; you pierce glamour with ancient herbology, you use practicality and logic mixed with peasant lore to unravel a noose you notice moments before it will kill you, you leave offerings to me at every crossroads. And yet, as a lady in a fire once observed, you call yourself a Priest.'

"Still no one spoke. Father Robert, strapping lad of nineteen years though he now appeared to be, was regarding the Merry Guardian with the same grave calmness with which he seemed to observe everything. Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative looked from one to the other as though watching a game of fire-tossing. Finally the Merry Guardian looked directly at Father Robert.

"'You could have asked me all of this the moment you unveiled me at the first crossroads, and I would have had to tell you. Why wait until now, Robert of the Lost?'

"'How could I ask you about what I did not know would come?' was Father Robert's calm reply.

"'Ha! Deceive the deceiver, would you? How can you have come this far without knowing where you were going?'

"'I know only that I wish to reach the Abbey that is highest and most remote in the mountains; this has been my prayer and my wish and my request at every tree at every stop along the way. To my knowledge, I have done nothing special.'

"'Nothing special? You have given me more sustenance in the past days than any of the most adept hedge witches offer me in their lifetimes! You know to keep the circle intact, yet bring me in with wine and luck in meat! You know where you are going, Robert of the Lost! And I would have you tell me: HOW DO YOU KNOW?!'

"'That,' said Father Robert, 'Was a third question.'

"The Merry Guardian stared at Father Robert a moment, then dropped his head as if in defeat; Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative watched in silence, and all was still a moment. Then the Merry Guardian began to laugh.

"'You are the child or grandchild of an ancient line of wise peasant folk,' he crowed, pointing at Father Robert. 'You were taught, from your youth, by some wise Uncle or Grandmother! I can smell it on you! Aaugh, I almost lost it under the reek of Frankincense and Myrrh, but it's there -- deep as the earth and pure as underground rivers. Do you know how long it has been since anyone has tricked me into asking any question at all, much less a third question freely by their fire?! And a priest of the Ancient-hating Church, to boot! This is refreshing!' So saying, the Merry Guardian threw his feet up on another log, leaned back quite comfortable with his hands behind his head and said, 'You have freed me from my every bond of secrecy, trickery and deception. I may -- and must -- answer your every question. Truth be told, Robert of the Lost, I am delighted to answer. Not since Orpheus have I been so thoroughly released. Sadly, in his case, he forgot one very important question. Went and lost his head, poor boy. But I'm blathering on, and you have a road to travel at first light; so, ask.'

"'I have but three questions, Merry Guardian, and I thank you for joining us at our fire this night,' said Father Robert, as he refilled the Merry Guardian's tumbler. 'My first question is this: where are we?'

"The Merry Guardian sat up with a deep breath and for a moment even the flames themselves stilled and each man felt in his bones the stars move across the heavens. Then the Merry Guardian said, 'You are a stone's throw from the village closest to the Abbey you seek; it is late November, there is woodsmoke in the air and the South West Road is true, now.' As the Merry Guardian spoke, so it was: snow in great drifts everywhere, woodsmoke from the village as more snow fell in swirling feathery puffs that seemed to hang in the air and never settle. And though the night was bitter cold, the fire was higher and hotter than it had been moments before.

"As they watched, the South West Road changed from a replica of the other directions to a downward-sloping track framed by twisted, leafless trees bowed with the weight of snow. And, running up that track came a young woman, beautiful, healthy -- and terrified. She ran straight for the fire, straight into the fire. Friar Rudel shouted to her and Hannibal the Talkative reached to throw his now-frozen wine on her, but she was not bothered by the flames and instead turned to face the darkness beyond the trees, the night-cloaked road she'd been running. At that moment a howl tore the night air and made each man sit up straighter and inch toward the fire in spite of its hair-curling heat. Even the Merry Guardian raised an eyebrow and sat up for a better view.

"Out of the night came a hunched, hulking creature of pale flesh and matted fur, upright like a man but panting and lolling of tongue like a beast, its fingers tipped in bearlike claws, its feet more paw than foot. Its face, human to begin with, looked as though the eyes, snout and jaw of a half-formed baby wolf had been brutally shoved through the human skull. The eyes were mad with pain and rage. But most arresting of all was its penis: massive, erect, glistening, with a barb toothlike and sharp, having torn through the foreskin so that the penis and testicles dripped a frothing mixture of blood and the beast's anticipatory dribblings of unclean semen.

"The Merry Guardian became very still and whispered, 'This is something from the past; it was unanticipated. I do not know the nature of that beast. Nobody move.' 

"For a moment, nobody did. Then the girl knelt down and whisked five twigs of Ash into some runic formation that she held before her in a gesture of warding. The beast's eyes focused on it and for a moment there was knowledge and fear in those eyes, and everyone at the fire caught a glimpse of the man this beast had been. Then it seemed to smile, squatting, where it shat out a great stinking greasy pile of steaming filth, scooping up a handful to smear all over its already tortured genitals. Opening its mouth unnaturally wide, it howled so loud and so long that everyone at the fire felt their heads might crack if it should go on much longer.

"Watching the girl, Father Robert saw her head bowed and her arm begin to droop from the onslaught of the beast's dark song. So, noting the configuration of the runic shape in which she held her twigs, he grabbed some from the woodpile and, hoping they were Ash, moved next to the girl with what he also hoped was the right shape of rune, then moved a little in front of her and to her left, hoping to draw the beast's attention from her with the runic twigs in his outstretched right hand.

"The beast did nothing, howling louder as it began to step toward the girl. The Merry Guardian had been plugging his ears and clamping his eyes shut, but hearing the sound grow louder he opened his eyes and saw Father Robert. Jumping to his feet, the Merry Guardian yelled, 'Move, you fool!'

"The beast stopped howling, cocking his head and looking toward where the Merry Guardian stood. Speaking somehow around its massive tongue and teeth, it said:

 "'Meow, meow, little kitten; soft and furry, I am smitten. I will pop you in my mouth, I will follow North or South, I like to eat while raping best, I will find you -- East or West ..."

The beast was blinking as though trying to peer through smoke, and it was then that Father Robert made a mistake. Taking the old iron key with its woven leaves of bay, basil and blackberry from within the folds of his cloak, he threw it toward the girl, into the fire, where it instantly caught, and where -- somehow -- she caught it.

"Imagine her shock to find an iron key with flaming leaves bound to its ring suddenly in your hand as you face a nightmare creature in a dark mountain forest. She looked utterly shocked and confused, but now the beast's attention was riveted on her. Opening its mouth wide enough to take her head and most of both shoulders, the beast began crouching, ready to pounce.

"Father Robert, without a moment's hesitation, turned and pressed his runic twigs toward the girl's, reaching into the fire to where she held the key; what was cold as November night in her time was red hot in his; he screamed as his hand closed around the key, but at the same moment his rune touched hers and she and he were in the same place and time, each standing in a sudden fire that blinded the sensitive eyes of the beast -- angering an already enraged foulness. It sprung at them in an instant, tearing the flesh on Father Robert's back and shoulders but also knocking each out of the fire that had immediately ignited their clothing and was catching their hair. 

"Father Robert and the peasant girl were thrown bodily, flaming, into a snowdrift; the oldest and most ancient Ash, bent low above them, released all of its considerable snow, immediately extinguishing the flames that threatened to devour them.

"All of this had happened in a matter of moments; the beast was caught in the fire, burning, but now neither entirely in the past nor the present. It tore at its face, its ears, its arms and chest, it howled and screamed and burned and stank. Only the Merry Guardian watched it, because Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative were digging Father Robert and the girl out of the snow, taking care lest they find them too terribly burned. Both were almost completely nude, the fire and the beast having torn or burned most of their clothing off; the girl, while singed, was relatively unscathed as far as they could see; Father Robert was terribly injured and burned, his back torn and rapidly staining the snow that deep shade of life so clearly indicative of pending death.

"'Robert of the Lost, you must do something about this creature!' the Merry Guardian shouted.

"'Father Robert is unconscious and bleeding and burned, you goatfucking son of a whore!' was what Friar Rudel shot back. In that moment something fell from Father Robert's cloak, something dark and smooth that Friar Rudel almost overlooked; but he had learned some things from Father Robert in the past weeks, and he picked it up to find that it was a smooth, round stone from a river with a hole worn naturally right through its center. On impulse, he kissed it, held it up to the night sky, then pressed it against Father Robert's forehead, above the bridge of his nose.

"Father Robert sat up at once, eyes open, staring straight ahead, skin pale and waxen. He took the stone from his forehead, held it up to his right eye, turned and looked at Friar Rudel and said, 'You must do this. You must see the truth.'

"'Then Father Robert collapsed back into the bloody snow and the beast wrenched itself from the fire, turning on the Merry Guardian immediately, slashing and gnashing and trying to grab, tear and burn. But the Merry Guardian, having been around as long as he has, was not without tricks. Friar Rudel, watching this, placed the stone over his right eye and was amazed to see that the Merry Guardian was just as much an old man, black of skin, as he was a wise crone, white of hair and eye. In fact, with every movement the Merry Guardian made, his form and face changed: sometimes he was an almond-eyed sage, other times he was a savage in skins, other times he was a starving bandit. Only once was he the Merry Guardian in motley with his close-cropped beard and blue eyes, and that one time he turned to Friar Rudel and said, 'Use the stone, follow the path; only the Abbess can help him now.' So saying, the Merry Guardian tried to lead the beast off into the snowy night, deftly altering his form as needed.

"But the beast constantly had its eye on the girl; at Friar Rudel's suggestion, Hannibal the Talkative threw her over the back of Bluebell and they dragged Father Robert to where Abelard struggled to pull away from the tree he was tied to, throwing the now-young priest over the donkey's back and untying both animals just as the beast let forth another howl. The pack animals ran straight up the true road, braying and snorting in terror, followed by Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative in almost the same fashion."

A door opens. Footsteps. Curtains part, and a bearded Ezekiel appears.

"The Prophet is awake," he says. "He demands a reckoning."

Notes from the Future: The Tale of Henrietta, Part III

"The next morning, Father Robert arose with fewer creaks and groans than usual, and Friar Rudel elected to join this band of travelers, as it had been a long time since he had seen so many wonders at all -- much less in one night. The going was slow, however, as Friar Rudel's mule -- whom he called Bluebell -- was still quite weak. But every time they stopped to rest, Father Robert would find herbs in the surrounding wilds and offer her one or two choice delicacies. Bluebell's strength slowly returned.

"So it was that eighteen days passed. And in those eighteen days, Friar Rudel was shocked to observe a very distinct change come over Father Robert. It began with his relative vigor on that first morning after the abomination on the spit. The next morning, he was more energetic. Two days later, Friar Rudel was heard to remark, 'Father Robert, you are downright bouncy. Are you feeling alright?'

"Father Robert smiled and remarked that he never felt better, or that perhaps he had, but that it had been so long that he had perhaps forgotten.

"It was on the seventh day that Friar Rudel gave a gasp at the morning fire, pointing at Father Robert's head. Thinking perhaps a great spider was lurking in his silver hair, Father Robert swatted his head a few times, looking askance at Friar Rudel to see if the offending crawly was still present. Friar Rudel could only shake his head, eyes wide and face pale, pointing; noting Friar Rudel's silent distress, Hannibal the Talkative (as he had been dubbed by the Friar) stepped over to have a look. He dropped a log of firewood on his foot in shock, shouting some choice words before following his cry with,

"'Good Lord, Father Robert, your hair is dark!'

"Father Robert, for his part, did not believe either man. He felt it must be some effect of the water or the food, but upon laborious discussion it was agreed that they had all eaten the same food and drunk the same water. Even Friar Rudel's splendid wine -- a delicacy they allowed themselves to ease the burden of travel -- had been shared by both men.  Only when every point had been discussed would Father Robert look in the same small mirror he had used to spy upon the Merry Guardian at the crossroads so many days ago.

"What he saw astounded him.  His hair was no longer silver-white, but dark with silver at the temples and a few silver hairs scattered about what was otherwise the hair of a man in his early forties. But that wasn't all. The lines around his eyes, nose and mouth had faded. Age spots were gone. His vision was better. He was peeing normally. Truth be told, he had awakened that morning in a state every male knows so well, a state he had not experienced for years.

"Not, at least, until the female apparition in the fire.

"Father Robert kept this last observation to himself, but was open in his wonder at every change he felt. Even as the day progressed, he felt himself stronger, firmer. His muscle tone had increased, his fat had decreased. His eyesight was near perfect. His back was straight. His breath came full and clear.

"By the next morning, he appeared to have lost another five years. And though he was delighted in his sudden youthfulness, he was also wary: surely this was a double-edged sword, and surely there would be a price to pay. He also felt bad for Friar Rudel, for, as his friendship with the Friar grew with each day, so Father Robert wished that the old Friar could know the same return to youth. He said as much that evening.

"'Oh, you needn't worry about me,' was Friar Rudel's response. 'When I was young, I was fat and uncomfortable. Now, I am old and fat and very comfortable, with a superior palate. I like it this way. Besides, I suspect that with your return to youth you may engage in some great youthful folly or other, and I know that only my great years and wisdom will save you from foolishness.' Friar Rudel left it at that.

"Each day, Father Robert was younger and stronger and better-looking. This last was made clear to him when, obliging some passing travelers with confession and the like, Father Robert found himself in a shady copse of trees presented with the firm, ripe breasts of an eager lass of about sixteen whose certainty of their impending physical union was almost impossible to escape.

"Almost. 

"After narrowly avoiding breaking countless vows, Father Robert added a new one: he vowed to turn away or look down if they happened to see any further travelers. 

"Curiously, they did not.

"And on the eighteenth day, with Father Robert a strapping lad of about nineteen years, they came at last to another crossroads.  Both roads were lined with grey and white river rocks, the road they were on moving North and East or South and West, the road that crossed theirs heading either North and West or South and East. 

"They made camp in a stand of Ash, and Father Robert performed his nightly ritual with the trees and incense, now joined by Friar Rudel, who had observed and become fascinated by this prayer to the trees since their second night traveling together. As they sat down to a meal of rabbit snared by Hannibal and potatoes grown by Father Robert back when he was old, Father Robert looked around him, and paused. Noting his stillness, Friar Rudel halted his fork halfway to his mouth.

"'Don't tell me these rabbits are rotting buttocks, and my wine the pus of a rutting buzzard,' he whispered.

"But Father Robert was looking back the way he thought they had come, then the way he thought they were going, then at the opposite road. The more he looked, the more certain he became. Testing himself, he took a bite of rabbit.

"So did Friar Rudel, who chewed his rabbit exactly the same number of times as Father Robert, and only sipped his wine when Father Robert did. When Father Robert looked up again, it was at the roads, not Friar Rudel. Father Robert frowned. Friar Rudel could bear it no longer.

"'What?! What is it?! I hunger for this tasty morsel to be in my mouth and fat belly, but you stare at the roads as if you expect Asiatic acrobats with the heads of boars to leap from the trees and serenade us!'

"'I am sorry, my friend,' said Father Robert. 'But it appears as though each of these roads, from the number of rocks to the precise patterns in the bark of the trees, is exactly the same.'

"'My prick looks the same each morning, I still piss through it, God be praised,' said Friar Rudel, and went back to his meal.

"But Father Robert was too engrossed in his concerns about the road, so Friar Rudel leapt -- as best he could leap, anyway -- to his feet and bounded -- if it could be called a bound, you understand -- to each rock and tree and root and tuft of grass and pebble and leaf and leaf and pebble and tuft and root and tree and rock and ... 'Good Lord, Robert, I think you're right!'

"Then there came the sound of mocking laughter from the night beyond their fire, and a figure stepped into the light -- though not into the circle of trees.

Notes from the Future: The Tale of Henrietta, Part II

"The first night of their journey, they made camp in a stand of Oak, using only fallen wood for their fire. After a simple dinner of grains and fresh trout, Father Robert cast some powders upon the fire and offered a prayer of protection for them in their journey. Curious, Hannibal the Mute pointed to the earthenware jar in which Father Robert kept these powders, asking, 'Gnnnnrrrr?'

"Father Robert nodded and said, 'Dried powdered Rowanberry, dried powdered Thyme and Sage, with one or to added secrets for good measure,' and, getting up, he went to the largest and oldest Oak in the circle of trees, kneeling before it and placing his right hand upon its trunk a little above the base. He spoke quietly for some time, then sprinkled a few dried, aromatic herbs in the dirt at the base of the Oak. Moving clockwise, he did this at every tree in the stand -- there were twelve in all. Then he lay down to sleep in his bedroll, and Abelard the Donkey became quiet and restful, as at the same time Hannibal the Mute fell into a deep sleep.

"All three weary travelers slept so deeply that none noticed a figure in the night, out beyond the circle of Oak, watching from beyond the light of the dying fire.

"The next morning, before they began their travels, Hannibal the Mute pointed out strange footprints beyond the trees to Father Robert, who nodded sagely and went back to rolling up his bedroll as if it was the most ordinary of mornings.

"They did not come to a crossroads that day, or the next. But every night they slept in a stand of trees, and every night Father Robert burned powders in, on or near the fire and knelt at the base of every tree. And every morning, there were the same strange footprints outside the ring of trees, as though whoever was watching them could not enter.  Thus nine days passed.

"Late in the tenth day as the sun was beginning to set, they came at last to a crossroads in the foothills. And there, under a Holly tree to one side of the crossroads, was Friar Rudel, roasting a duck. Father Robert gave no sign of suspicion or uncertainty, but hailed his old friend and met him merrily; embracing Friar Rudel, Father Robert slipped a Bay, a Blackberry and a Basil leaf into the fire. Nothing happened, and thus Father Robert knew this to be the true Friar Rudel. Sitting down, invited, at Friar Rudel's fire as Hannibal the Mute unpacked their bedding and tended to Abelard the Donkey, Father Robert was surprised to learn that Friar Rudel could not remember where he was going, or where he was coming from. All he knew was that there was somewhere he should go, and that each day he would have his goal clearly in mind, he would get up and pack his few supplies on his stout mule, and they would take to the road. By the end of the day, he would find that he was at a crossroads, with a perfectly ideal campsite under a Holly tree, and he would sit down and set to cooking his duck.

"'Only slowly have I begun to see the strangeness of my days,' he said. 'And as they pass, though I know they pass, I cannot seem to remember where or even who I am; so it is that my journey has become strange to me, and the one thing certain in my mind is that I have this duck to look forward to each evening. I hope you will share it with me; indeed, its breast is so plentiful that I am hard-pressed to finish eating each night.' As he said this, smoke from the fire carried the scent of roasting duck so that it wound about the two holy men, and Father Robert began to look very much forward to tasting that delicious bird.

"However, it was also clear to him that something was amiss. Why should Friar Rudel be so easily confused, when his mind was known to be one of the clearest and canniest traveling these roads? Throwing more wood on the fire, Father Robert noted that it was fine, hard Applewood. But where, he wondered, are the Apple trees from which it comes? Asking this same question of Friar Rudel, he received this answer:

"'I have seen no Apple orchards yet, and we are not high enough that they would grow best. But I know that Apple wood is at my campsite each night, so I suppose that some hospitable peasant keeps the wayside stocked out of kindness. This duck will be ready soon; I have a most pleasing wine which compliments it splendidly, if you would care to partake,' and, uncorking a jug, Friar Rudel began to fill two earthenware tumblers.

"But Father Robert was uncertain, and knew he could not enjoy his meal without knowing the answers to certain questions. So casting about him, he found many twigs and leaves of the Holly tree, which he wove together into a star-shaped wreath; and though the thorny leaves pricked his skin, he placed his thoughts on the Crown of Thorns afflicting the Savior and knew that there were greater torments than mere pinpricks in one's hands. 

"Completing the wreath, he placed it on the fire and threw the merest pinch of powder from his incense pot onto the twigs and leaves as they began to catch. The moment the powder hit his Holly wreath, there was a great gasp from the fire and the flames suddenly leapt downward, between the rocks that ringed the firepit, before leaping skyward again in a sudden roar that ended in an explosion of smoke and sparks. There, floating above the fire in the smoke and sparks, was the shape of the Holly wreath. As Father Robert and Friar Rudel watched, it transformed to a tree which then bent until it was growing in four directions before the breeze dispersed the shape. Father Robert found that he was staring at his bundle of belongings, sudden clarity in his heart and head.

"He went to his bundle and withdrew his second talisman, the Y-shaped rod of Rowan. This he took to the Holly tree, where he knelt at the base and spoke a prayer before standing, calm and composed, holding the branches of the rod well but relaxedly in each hand, facing North.

"After a time, he began to move, light small steps, one at a time followed by a pause and a turning this way or that; then he began to move with some slight purpose, as if pulled. Finally, he found himself drawn in a clockwise circle toward the fire, until the rod was pointed directly at the firepit, fairly quivering. Father Robert looked at the pit, then at Friar Rudel, who was looking from the pit to the rod. There was doubt in each man's eyes.

"'I'll try again, and then we will eat,' said Father Robert.

"'Do, and in haste. My mouth waters for this succulent fowl,' Friar Rudel responded.

"And so a second time Father Robert began facing North and, even more quickly, was drawn like a moth to the fire. Baffled, he almost sat down to eat some duck. But, seeing Friar Rudel begin his prayer of thanks prior to eating, Father Robert had an idea.

"Kneeling again at the base of the tree, he said more fervent words and, taking a fresh Holly leaf from the tree itself, placed it in his mouth, on his tongue. Then, standing facing North, a very curious thing happened.

"The divining rod pointed straight up in the air and immediately pulled him straight to the fire -- but not the fire. The rod was pointing at the duck. And, looking closely, Father Robert saw not a delicious roasting fowl. With the aid of the helpful Holly leaf, he saw the rotting head of some abomination: part goat, part human child and part giant insect, it was covered in maggots that writhed and squirmed, dropped sizzling into the fire.

"Looking about him, Father Robert saw a track worn in the dirt leading out of the campsite and back into it, and he saw Friar Rudel's mule, starved to skin and bones, lying weakly tied to a tree. 

"Friar Rudel saw none of this, but was poised with knife and stick to cut into what he thought was a savory roasting duck, whose fat sizzled in the fire -- not maggots from the rotting head of a nightmare.

"Holding up a hand to forestall Friar Rudel, Father Robert looked at the sizzling abomination more closely; as he did, he realized that the writhing was not merely that of maggots on the surface, but that the thing itself appeared to be pulsating, rippling under its surface. Though it pained him, he tucked the Holly leaf to his right cheek and spoke to the roasting abhorrence.

"'What are you, thing?' he demanded. 'Speak truth as I have cast out lies and deception with the prickly leaf of this holy Holly, and you have but one chance before I kick you into the flames!'

"The thing shuddered and writhed and appeared to be turning to look at him from under a surface that began to erupt in boils and pus and blood; the stench from the burning secretions was awful. A mouth seemed to form beneath the pus, and then bite through a layer of skin, expelling tiny black beetles which also fell into the fire, popping like corn and shooting out into the dry brush, igniting small fires. 

"Friar Rudel leapt up and ran from fire to fire, trying to stamp them out. He still had not seen the abhorrence on the spit; what he did see stopped his fork and his appetite, however: the duck, turning, had begun to grow a head and flap and quack and struggle on the spit as if alive. So it was that as it gave a particularly loud squawk, he glanced at it, tripped, and landing hard on his knees, cut his right hand among rocks and leaves. Putting his hand to his mouth, he took the tiniest piece of Holly leaf, mixed with his blood, and the glamour fell away instantly. Seeing his beloved mule near death with thirst and starvation, he turned to run to the nearby creek but was halted by what he saw at the fire.

"Father Robert was standing over the fire, the quivering divining rod straining in his grasp as it pointed at the face of some foul thing on the spit; realizing he had eaten of its flesh, Friar Rudel was struck with the need to vomit, but his retch froze halfway to his mouth at the shrieking that came from the head over the fire, and he was unable to move. He saw Hannibal the Mute running toward the creek, and prayed that the Mute could see the truth of things as well as his master.

"'Dusty books and fusty cloth! Filled with maggot, rot and moth! Broken, twisted, bent and raped, Tearing muscle, salty scraped! Shit and bones and filth and ashes, Gouging eyes and earhole gashes! Nails in your brainpan pounded, Thus are you by iron bounded! Fuck your ass with splinterwood! Fangs in penis, rip it good! Babies born with tongues for hands --'

"It was here that Father Robert bit the Holly leaf in half, accidentally, trying to adjust its pricking the inside of his cheek. In that moment, as the juice of the leaf mixed with his blood, he swallowed the tiniest amount, then coughed involuntarily, spitting Holly juice and blood all over the screaming foulness and the fire.  In that moment, as his blood and saliva and the torn Holly leaf hit the thing in its face, it seemed to scab over completely, its mouth and burning eyes becoming leathery and hard, all the maggots and pus falling into the fire as the entire head turned grey and papery and the screaming curses faded to a roar and then an angry buzz under the surface. In a very short time, Father Robert and Friar Rudel realized that what they were staring at was, in fact, a hornets' nest. And it had begun to split.

"Seeing the first malevolent insect peeking out of the hole, scrabbling to attack, Father Robert let loose the divining rod which shot, arrow like, straight into the nest, taking the wooden spit and nest directly into the heart of the fire which roared up into an inferno of blue-white intensity as the hornets shot out of their broken home, only to burst into sparks and flames like multicolored fireworks in the column of fire which was several times the height of the two men who stood awed beneath it. 

"As the nest and its inhabitants were consumed by the fire, a shape began to emerge in the column of flame, an image of a woman in red sparks and blue flame. She was nude, her back was to them, and she turned, seeming to sense them, her eyes alight with amusement as she watched these older men with mouths half-open staring in frank wonderment at her firm breasts and secret womanly parts in which no man of the cloth was supposed to have interest. Then she looked closely at Father Robert and both men heard her speak.

"'You have broken my thrice-woven glamour. What kind of priest knows the things you know, and calls himself a man of the Church?' She was smiling as she said this, and her left hand absently traced a circle around the nipple of her left breast, and Father Robert felt a heat and tingle spread from his own left breast to his groin, studiously neglected save for needed elimination for decades. In the silence that followed, he realized she waited for an answer. Unable to help himself, he smiled as he spoke.

"'Lady, I know not what or who you are, only that you are beautiful and that you stir in me thoughts I have not had since my long-faded youth. Such small wisdom as I have has been gathered from a lifetime among the peasants as their teacher, friend, healer and shepherd. I call myself what I choose, regardless of what I know,' and here he bowed, a little. In spite of the strangeness of the night's events, he felt light and more youthful than he had in years.

"'A wise answer, Robert of the Lost. I know why you travel this road. You have challenges yet, and I am eager to see how they strike you. Enjoy your dinner, Holly men,' and, cocking her head to the right with a smile of bemused indulgence, she disappeared in a sudden burst of sparks.

"Looking around them, then, Father Robert and Friar Rudel saw that Hannibal the Mute had indeed put out all of the little fires -- if indeed there had been any to begin with -- and had brought water and hay to Friar Rudel's mule. Just at that moment, Hannibal the Mute was walking in to the firelight with a whole bait of trout slung on a stick.

"'Hannibal the Mute, where did you get those trout?' Father Robert asked him, doubtful now of all food near this crossroads.

"'I heard a voice calling to me by the creek,' said Hannibal, and Father Robert fairly fell onto his backside in amazement. Friar Rudel threw his hands into the air and backed up to the Holly tree, stuffing his mouth with a bunch of fresh, prickly leaves.  Laughing, Hannibal the No-Longer-Mute continued, 'I followed the voice to a wide, deep pool. That merry fellow was there, the one we met yesterday, and he told me that if I cast but a string into that pool, the trout would fairly throw themselves at me. He was right, I turned to thank him but he was walking away and called out, 'I am thanking you, Hannibal! Give my regards to your generous Master!' Which is when I realized I had spoken to him.' Smiling, sitting down to sharpen sticks upon which to cook their fish, Hannibal said, 'How many more wonders are we to see on this journey, Father Robert?'

"Father Robert made no reply, merely casting some leaves into the fire to see if the fish altered in any way. They did not, so he began slicing onions, a little smile on his lips.

Notes from the Future: The Tale of Henrietta

"This is a long story. And, like all long stories, it must be marred in order to tell it quickly. Cutting out those details necessary to keep the heart of credibility beating is painful to me and to the story, and it makes what will follow more difficult for you to believe. I will do my best to place a healing compress of explanation over every wound, so that we do not, by omission, murder our Ancestors.

"Long, long ago, there was an Abbey high in the French Pyrenees.  So high was this abbey, and so treacherous the roads that lead to it, that it was rarely visited by authorities of the Church. Being left almost completely alone for hundreds of years in close proximity to nature can change anything: a place, a person, a group. And anyone who has spent a great deal of time in the Pyrenees can tell you that those woods are full of old and wild things that no Papal Bull can charge, much less see.

"One day, the parish priest of a small town in a valley closest to the Abbey, but still far, far away from it, received a directive from Rome instructing him to journey to the Abbey and see if anything was amiss; apparently, Rome had not heard from the Abbess in some time, and every official representative sent from Rome had either lost his way or never returned.

"Knowing something of the local traditions, this clever priest went first to the riverbank, where he lost himself in contemplation and recited the Psalms under his breath as he allowed his eyes to wander over the smooth stones shaped by the melting waters of the snows of the Pyrenees. After several hours, possibly even a day or more, his eyes found what he sought: a smooth round stone, with a perfectly smooth hole worn directly through the center, naturally, by the river itself. He had found his first talisman.

"The second talisman was easier to find, though it still took at least a half a day, possibly more. It was a branch of Rowanwood, in a perfect Y shape, fallen naturally near the tree, with the base of the Y pointing North. This was his second talisman.

"The third and final talisman was rather curious, in that it was a simple weaving together of the leaves of Basil, Bay and Blackberry, which he then affixed to the oldest key he could find in the small town. Having gathered his supplies -- some of which were very curious or needlessly excessive in the minds of the townsfolk -- Father Robert set out on foot with a heavily-laden donkey named Abelard and a trusted mute manservant named Hannibal as his only companions.

"At the first crossroads they came to that day, he poured out wine and dropped coins and said some prayers, leaving a loaf of bread and a bowl of salt behind.

"At the second crossroads they came to that day, he poured out beer and offered an orange and some cloves, burning cinnamon and anise (costly spices now, even more so then) as he said more prayers.

"At the third crossroads, Father Robert took his staff and inscribed a circle in the dirt in the center of the crossroads; he was just about to offer another precious liquid when he was hailed by an approaching rider. It was Friar Rudel, the last person to go carrying a message to the mysterious Abbey high, high up in the Pyrenees. Only he was not coming from the road that lead to the Abbey, but from another direction.

"Friar Rudel asked Father Robert if he was headed to the Abbey, and when Father Robert answered in the affirmative, Friar Rudel said, 'Don't bother, Father Robert. There is no Abbey, only old stones and creeping vines.'

"'If you know that, why do you come from another place?' asked shrewd Father Robert.

"'When I found the Abbey, I could not find my way back to the road. When I did find the road, I had not found the correct road. It took me North. I am only just returning, though I must admit I spent a happy time in a green and distant valley, and I am half tempted to go back there and never return to Rome again,' was Friar Rudel's reply. 'If you like, I could tell you the way, that you might go there yourself and sample its sweet ripe peaches.'

"At this, Father Robert was sorely tempted. But at that moment, a bay leaf that had fallen into his lantern ignited; as it did, a glamour melted away from Friar Rudel, and in his place was a merry fool in a tattered patchwork, gibbering and capering in rage at having been discovered.

"'So you are more clever than most fools who wear the cloth,' the merry fool fumed. 'What do you have to offer me that I may allow you to go on your way?!'

"'I have nothing to offer, now, being but a poor traveler; but as I have left many things at crossroads past, perhaps you will find them there and enjoy fresh baked bread, salt, wine, beer ...' as he said these things, Father Robert saw the merry fool's eyes grow wide and hungry. Continuing to speak, Father Robert accidentally dropped a brace of hares in the circle where he stood. This is what he said: 'I only know that I wish to get to the Abbey that is highest and most remote in the mountains, and it seems there are no signs on this road. If I could find a sign, I would move quickly on my way. But as I can find no sign, I fear I must stand here all day in the hot, hot sun. Can you, perhaps, direct me?'

"As he said this, Father Robert watched the merry fool hungrily eying the brace of hares. Pretending to look about, Father Robert noticed the merry fool try to slip a finger or toe over the line of the circle Father Robert had drawn about himself. It would not work, for Father Robert had filled a hollow in his staff with salt; uncorked, the hollow had drawn a salt circle around him in the dirt. He was protected.

"Knowing this, now, the merry fool grew very still. Gone were his capering and nonsense, and his clouded eyes cleared and his height increased.

"'You seem to be wise,' was the last thing the merry fool said before he gave a cry and pointed behind Father Robert, who, turning, nonetheless watched the merry fool in a small silver mirror, and this is what he saw:

"The merry fool jumped into the air and stamped three times, both feet, with all his might, and the directions of the crossroads shifted, turning like the spokes of a wheel, until Father Robert, his donkey and mute manservant were faced in the direction from whence the merry fool appeared to have come.

"'No, not that way!' the merry fool laughed at them, 'That way!' And, looking in the direction the merry fool pointed, Father Robert saw that the road finally appeared to lead toward the mountains themselves.

"'I thank you, Merry Guardian,' said Father Robert. 'I hope you enjoy our offerings. We must be on our way,' and with that, he stepped over the line of the circle, breaking it with his staff as he went, and never looking back. When they were nine steps down the trail from the crossroads, they heard the merry fool calling out to them and turned back to hear him.

"'The Lady you seek is sitting, prim, Upon her holy virgin quim; She waits upon your every need, She waits to help you spill your seed; She waits and waits and waits and waits, And in her hair she braids nine plaits; She braids them tight and braids them long, But none may hear her mournful song!' Prancing and singing, the merry fool took up the brace of hares and went bounding down the road toward the other crossroads they had visited that day.

"Father Robert and Hannibal the Mute and Abelard the Donkey continued on their way. After a time, Father Robert said something to the effect of, 'I was not certain how that would go; but now I know we are on the right path.'

"To which Hannibal the Mute said, 'Gnnnnnrrrrrrr,' being a mute.