Notes from the Future: Henrietta's Tale, Part V

"When I started to tell you this story, I told you that it was a long one, and I said I would have to shorten it. I didn't. Perhaps tonight I will succeed," says Mother Henrietta, pouring us each a cup of tea. Maybe five Rachels and three Bearded Ezekiels are sitting on beanbags outside the nook, sipping their own tea and listening; one or two have gone to the kitchen for more tea.

"Take your time, I love this story," I say, blowing on my tea. It smells minty.

"Well, the story does like to tell itself; there is no knowing how much needs telling now and how much wants to keep for later.

"All right: thus far, you know that Father Robert is traveling toward a lonely Abbey high in the Pyrenees with his four companions: Friar Rudel, Abelard the Donkey, Bluebell the Mule and Hannibal the Talkative. They have had a few unusual encounters, most notably with a fellow known as the Merry Guardian, though there is also a mysterious Lady who appears in their fire, as well as a girl chased by a beast. In fact, it might be wise of me to begin with the last part of the story, where we left off when the false prophet called his reckoning. Let me see ..." Closing her eyes for a moment, Mother Henrietta tilts her head back and to the left, mouth slightly open. Then:

"The burning beast, who had followed the girl through the fire, would not be distracted by the Merry Guardian, and constantly tried to get closer to the girl. Friar Rudel told Hannibal the Talkative to throw her over Bluebell the mule's back and then they dragged Father Robert to where Abelard the donkey 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; thus freed, the pack animals ran straight up the true road as the beast let forth another howl. The noises of the pack animals were echoed by Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative, who, needlessly exhorting the mule and donkey to run, seemed to be speaking to them in their own braying language.

"The Merry Guardian was distracting the beast of fire for the moment by taking the form of a slender young woman, mostly nude, leaping away from the beast and landing in the most provocative manner possible each time: here allowing her loose shift to fall and expose her breasts, there crouched with her sex exposed, wriggling in the air like a beacon. 

"The beast was distracted enough that Friar Rudel had time, running around a bend in the road and somehow now in the lead of the animals and Hannibal the Talkative, saw the gates of a small village fallen into disrepair through his left eye even as he held the smooth round stone to his right eye and looked through the hole in its center to see the gates fully functional with strong walls on each side and torches illuminating the gates even as the swirling snow added to the drifts already collected against the walls. Making for the gates, he was distracted by the sparks coming from the torches: they were red, redder than red sparks usually are. 'Incarnadine,' he murmured, and paused to watch where they went.

"For, though the wind was blowing from the Northeast, the sparks from these torches were flying directly into its snowy breath, toward a place farther up the road. Following the track with his eyes, Friar Rudel was surprised to see that it began to climb steeply, switching back and forth so often that he wondered at how it did not simply fall off the mountainside. Craning his neck, he was able to see through the stone that high above and to their left was some sort of structure. This must be the Abbey. 'This way!' he shouted, but Abelard and Bluebell had already thundered past him with Hannibal right behind. 

"Running to catch up, Friar Rudel turned at the base of the switchbacks and sketched a symbol in the air that Father Robert had taught him, uttering a brief and fervent prayer as he did so. Friar Rudel was of the mind that any positive action, even if it turned out to be wrong in the end, is better than no action at all. So it was that at each turn of the trail he sketched a new symbol and offered a prayer, until he was quite a ways behind the others in his group and growing quite cold. Musing on his speed and agility in the past hour or so, he looked back the way they had come. There, far below and to the Southwest, was their fire from earlier, still burning brightly in spite of the heavy snowfall. But no movement around it. And there, the ruined village -- but no: putting the stone to his eye he saw that it was indeed intact, and that there were armed sentries bundled in regularly-spaced watchtowers with charcoal braziers to keep them warm. 

"But whence the Merry Guardian? Whence the beast of flame? Even through the stone he could see no movement along the walls of the village, a concern he'd had since their hasty departure from the campfire. Then, looking at the air above the walls of the village he seemed to see shapes, like smoke, but not dispersing. 'Snow?' he wondered aloud, but then stepping to his right he saw a little more clearly: runes. Protective sigils hanging in the air over the village, one over every watchtower, two at each corner in the wall, all of them seeming to flex and breathe in the snowy night air.

"Much relieved, Friar Rudel was turning to follow his youthful companions when two figures came around the same bend in the road at which he had fist spied the village intact: the Merry Guardian, still cavorting as an alluring young woman, and the beast with its malformed wolf's head broken through the front of its human skull. It still burned, and Friar Rudel held the stone to his right eye for a better look. 

"He immediately wished he hadn't. For through the stone he saw that the beast was not merely a wolfling abomination caught afire, but that it trailed a shadowy form that spread around it like black ink in water, seeping into every crevice in the rocks, testing every nook and crack in the walls of the village. And within the darkness, Rudel saw faces -- he knew not how at such a distance -- faces of people he'd known, faces of friends long forgotten, faces of family he'd never known -- including his own mother. To see her face so unexpectedly, a face of which he had no conscious memory, and to know beyond any doubt that it was she, rattled him to the core. He was struck with grief, with anguish and longing; all he wanted to do was get closer and see her, look into her eyes. He wanted this even though (as with every face in that creeping inkness) she was screaming soundlessly in utter torment and despair. Rudel knew in an instant that this was the face of his mother as she died, and that her death had been horrific beyond imagining.

"Even as he watched, feeling his tears freeze on his face, Friar Rudel saw that the inkness was growing darker, beginning to glisten in some fashion. The beast had stopped moving, and was turning, slowly, its eyes moving up the mountainside. It can sense me, thought Friar Rudel. But he could not move. He was frozen to the spot, a foolish old man who had allowed himself to follow the path of a monk when he had wanted to be a trader. A man with no children, no family, no legacy. Just a mule and his belongings, a man with nothing to leave the world when he was gone. I am nothing, he thought. Nothing but the fatherless son of a dead whore whose only use in life had been the feeding of this beast's pleasures.

"Friar Rudel dropped the round stone.

"It was then that the beast saw him, and Friar Rudel felt himself speared through the chest, pinned to the rock behind him with pain. His left arm feeling as though it had caught fire, he couldn't seem to breathe. He didn't even realize he'd knelt on the steep, snowy mountain trail, but now he was thankful that the ground was not so far away, because he did not want to hit hard stone when he died.

"Friar Rudel put out his right arm to steady himself as he watched the beast begin to bound past the capering taunts of the Merry Guardian, its malevolent eyes fixed on where the old man crouched in his final moments of life.

"Little things can change the course of events, and it so happens that in the right side of Friar Rudel's cloak there was a small, secret pocket. A forgotten pocket. The fat old Friar used it as a place to hide his secret things: gold, a jewel, whatever he didn't want anyone to know he had. As he leaned on his right arm, it pulled the secret pocket open and from within fell five flowers. Five fresh, purple flowers, spotted with white inside. The kind of flowers that do not grow in November. Flowers Friar Rudel could not remember putting in his pocket. Flowers known variously as Goblin Glove, Deadman's Bells, Faerie-Folks'-Fingers, Lamb's-Tongue-Leaves, and Foxglove.

"A flower known to Friar Rudel and many of his brethren to contain a potent poison. A poison which, in small amounts, could quicken the pulse.

"Something about those cheery purple flowers ignited a spark of joy in Friar Rudel, and he brought the bunch of them to his nose and inhaled. Deeply. Like his life depended on it. Which, in fact, it did.

"The effect was almost instantaneous. His head began to hurt, he felt nauseous, but his pulse began to try to race. For an instant his heart seemed to seize in a series of painful thumpings and convulsions, then it began to beat. And beat. And beat. Fast. He was hot, he was sweating, he was up on his feet and he was running up the steep switchbacks, the round stone somehow clutched to his right eye, stopping at each turn in the trail and throwing wild, new sigils into the air -- even weaving them together so that each one was connected and strengthened the one before it.

"Following yet another impulse, he picked up a small stone and inscribed an anchoring sigil upon it, then threw it back down the mountainside toward the first sigil he'd created, a sigil he thought was in that spot there that the beast now approached (had it really only been moments?), aiming for the center of the symbol he could only half remember in location and shape.

"Miracle of miracles and Lord be Praised, the small piece of slate sailed right through the sigil and, the round stone clapped over his eye, Rudel was flabbergasted to see the sigil light up with bright silver-white light, blindingly bright and seeming to spark in the night because of the snow lighting up around it. Then the next sigil lit up, and the next and the next, until at every turn in this steep mountain trail there floated a glowing, ethereal, beautifully-crafted sigil of warding and protection.

"The beast howled, momentarily prevented from stepping onto the steep trail. Friar Rudel laughed.

"'Bright light hurting your eyes, shitstain?' he called out. The beast heard him and slashed at the sigil, only to be repulsed by a flash of light and something -- Rudel knew not what -- that made it yelp.

"Friar Rudel realized in that moment that he hadn't felt this good in years. He also realized he had no idea where the Merry Guardian had got to. Not seeing him, Friar Rudel turned to go and was startled to find the Merry Guardian standing right behind him on the trail.

"'Well done with those sigils, Friar Rudel,' said the Merry Guardian, nodding. 'We might just make a pagan of you yet.'

"'Only if that creature down there doesn't make a midnight snack of me first. Are you coming with us or waiting here?'

"'Oh by all means, coming with. This is too, too fascinating to leave behind. I haven't had this much fun since your friend Yeshua came through the other side of the world,' chuckled the Merry Guardian.

"'Who came through the what?' Friar Rudel was only half listening, heaving his bulk up the trail again.

"'Nothing. Let's get going --' The Merry Guardian was interrupted by a flash and a percussive hiss. Peering over the steep edge of the trail, they saw that the beast had somehow torn through the first sigil. Holding the stone to his eye, Friar Rudel could see how:

"'He has a darkness about him; it eats into things. It drinks the souls of objects and people, I think,' he said.

"'How did you learn to see that?' The Merry Guardian sounded like a proud parent. The beast howled again, pointing at Friar Rudel, who turned to the Merry Guardian.

"'He's laughing,' they said at the same time. Then they turned to run up the trail.

"Moments before they reached the next switchback there came another flash and percussive hiss. Just as Friar Rudel was finishing his warding sigil, another sigil burst in the claws of the shadowed flame beast.

"'Tell you what,' said the Merry Guardian. And rather than telling, he took the sigil Friar Rudel had just created, fanned it into a dozen or more, and threw them into the air.

"Each sigil shot to a turn in the switchbacks, and Friar Rudel gasped at the practicality and the beauty. For now their way up the steep and dangerous trail was lit by these beautiful wards, like floating lanterns of pure light.

"Another flash and hiss and then another and another told them the beast was moving faster now. They turned and ran.

"The last thing Friar Rudel saw before running for his life was the first seeking tendril of shadowed inkness reaching up over the edge of the trail where they had just stood, searching, reaching.

"Softly calling his name."