1- How to Speak When Spoken To.
'It is the word of our God there will be no double checking' The stone faced Cardinal replied. Dipping his finger into the jar of ink on the desk before him- to the first bend. He looked into the eyes of the Wino.' Have you got any clue how disrespectful it is to revise these words? these are the words we live by. Without these words you are nothing, we are nothing. Do you suggest we shit on the prospect of our redemption? This is all there is.'
'But you've changed several-' The Wino began.
'I have changed nothing you waste!' The cardinal rose from his desk and bent over the portly- Monk, his finger dripping black.' I receive the very word of GOD YOU WASTE! I am a vessel- you are an ant. I have clarifiedyou see. That is what you so dully mistake for change. Go to your quarters and wait. This will not be going unnoticed.'
The Wino turned without a word and exited. He hid his cowardly face until the door to his room was closed and promptly let fly the tears of his faith. A gesture to his God, he was sorry and dumb.
The Cardinal sat back in his chair and ran his finger across the parchment before him. The beginnings of a letter to the monks family. The draft was never finished- Just ended by his black trail. It was folded and sealed. The Cardinal used black wax and affixed a small black bow- beneath the wax as he pressed it on.
The Cardinal stood once more and gazed down the hall leading to his door. The black finger hung at his side.
2- The Gospel
'What makes your heart shake Monk?' The Cardinal said from outside the monk's quarters, with a firm and resonant voice. It reeked of suppressed anger. Its' tone begged to be sincere but was borne of hatred. A hatred the Cardinal knew as direction. His purpose was his god.
The monk was shaken and his tears ceased to flow. Now it was fear.' Whats that?' He offerers. The door still closed.
'From what ocean do you draw the water for your tears Monk?' The Cardinal spoke louder than before as he began tapping his black knuckle on the wooden door.
'G-god's ocean!' The Wino replied jumping to his feet and scrambling to open the door.
The door now being open, the Wino was frozen by the sight of the Cardinal. The only light they shared other than a small candle at the Wino's bedside was a torch burning in the hallway directly behind this red and grinning holy ghoul. The black finger still hung between the two of them.
'And why would a god as pure as our own be so generous as to waste his valued seas on the tears of a drunk? Of a fool? Of a coward? Sit.'
The finger rose to Direct the Monk.
Without any effort the Monk stepped back and lowered himself onto the edge of his bed.Not once pulling his eyes away from this perfectly black finger, now looking down at him.
'I've come to offer you a chance to hide yourself from god, and leave the monastery.' The Cardinal explained lowering his arm. He took a step into the small room.
'Oh no I truly and honestly wish to serve the lord! Really Im sorry for my-' The Monk pleaded, with hope in his eyes. He did not want to be cast aside, away from his god's comforting light.
' This is the only way you can serve your god my son.' The Cardinal said, his Face erupting into a sweet and gentle thing. He took two more steps and knelt before the Monk. They were now at eye level with one another. 'You see son, we are men of the faith, we want the same things.'
The Monk was at first disturbed by this sudden change in the Cardinal's demeanor but quickly began to feel some hope. Some chance. He smiled.
' Now we both know you aren't the most productive Prayer, and it seems you take to the bottle far more often then you do to the scripture.' The Cardinal spoke with a hint of forgiveness.' You just aren't the sort of soul our god wishes to have carrying out his will. Do you see?'
'I see' the foolish and hopeful Monk replied, taking these words as gospel. This was coming from his god's messenger.
The Cardinal reached beneath his cape and produced a long narrow cylindrical dagger with a point on the end and no edge. Tears welled in the Monks eyes but he fought them.' Hold your tears Monk, you musnt be greedy. Take this in your Hand and pull it inward. You will be forgiven and no longer upset your god. Our god.'
The monk reached out and grabbed the dagger. He shook all over. Handling the spike a moment he managed it into both his hands, with the tip leaning on his gut. ' This is what our god wishes?' He asked with a weak voice.
The Cardinal nods.
With the blessing of his god, the Monk plunged the dagger deep within making no sound. The Cardinal cupped the back of the Monk's head as he slowly fell backward. He bled all he could and was gone.
When the breathing stopped the Cardinal's face returned to its sculpted and naturally cold form. After sliding his hand out from beneath the Wino's head he stood and looked upward. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath.
The Cardinal's mind buzzed with the energy of a god that can only be pleased by perfection.
He lets the breath out.
Balance.
The rest of the evening was spent by the fire. Stirring his jar of ink.
3- The Pines of Rome
'Take this letter to the home of poor Brother Isaac's Mother and Father' The Cardinal said with sincerity- clutching the letter. He lowered it from his heart to the hands of the Monastery's messenger, Peter. Peter was not a Prayer, but had landed at the Monastery after his parents were murdered in their family home. The killers escaped unscathed and Peter was left at 12 years old- in a house drenched by the blood of his Kin. The Leaders of his community saw it fit to give the boy over to the church. Though his family had achieved significant status and accumulated vast wealth, they were never god fearing and taught Peter nothing of the Christ or any other deity. But somehow, Peter felt an attraction to serve this place. This entity he was introduced to. Since Peter had no information about the actual beliefs or customs of the church, he would have to catch up before serving his god on an intellectual level. After the boy was absorbed by the church and began living at the monastery, his inherited assets were awarded to the newly appointed Cardinal Adalfieri.
Adalfieri had been appointed as a 'Lay Cardinal' and was assigned to give special attention to this same monastery. It was a surprise to the resident monks when he arrived for they had received no notice or warning.
He introduced himself as having ' Vested interests in this monastery, in service of our lord, and in restoring purity to a wayward house of worship and knowledge.' The Monks worried.
'Peter I know you will be hasty, you have always made the distance to the town and back in 2 days. Can I trust you will be swift?' The Cardinal inquired releasing the letter to the boy, only half his height.
'Ofcourse!' Peter barked at attention.' The rain has let up, but I fear it will only be a few more hours before it starts again' He said looking behind him at the grey cracked sky. Not a single shard of blue was able to penetrate its mask. It had been raining for 2 days and as Peter was about to embark, he was thankful he could enjoy the weathers first respite.
'You've made the journey in the rain before haven't you? Surely it isn't to much to ask of a healthy young boy?' The Cardinal send bending down and patting Peter's shoulder. He then leaned in and whispered something Peter couldn't quite hear. Peter wasn't compelled to ask the Cardinal for a clarification and before he knew it he was stomping through the mud, on the familiar road into the town.
Peter had experienced these sort of lapses in time before but wasn't all too worried by them. It felt natural and without having to conjure any sort of justification, it seemed as if this was a way of life not uncommonly led by all of the monastery. Peter was blind.
Looking down at the letter in his hands, Peter saw the first drop of rain. Falling and landing next to the black ribbon affixed with wax. The drop rested on the paper a moment and then traveled inward. By the time the two had fused the letter was dotted by a dozen more drops and Peter hid it beneath his coat.
Peter looked around him at the soaking wilderness that surrounded the monastery and wondered if these trees looked anything like the pines of Rome. He wondered about his god, and he wondered about the poor Mother and Father who he was delivering the letter to. Brother Isaac was kind and Peter was sure his family was aswell.
Peter wondered about his own family
and the rain never stopped.
4- Brother Isaac
The rain kept pouring on into the night, getting worse maybe, and all at once Peter's path was drowned by an overflowing creek. What had once been a calmly running stream was now 8 feet wide and rushing just fast enough to knock the boy off his feet.
He stood at the bank of the rapids, hands on his waist with his face askew, twisting to produce some solution tot his problem. The sides of the now quite narrow path Peter was traveling on were of no boon to his plight. To his left dropped a rocky embankment, almost vertical enough to be considered a cliff. Here the torrent fell off in an unbounded waterfall. Not peaceful, it was a rush job thrust upon the normally serene setting by a truly blood thirsty storm.
Peter wondered, 'what hand does my god have in this?' and prayed a moment.
To the right side of the path rose a slope nearly as steep as the drop to the left. The slope was covered in a layer of leaves and mud which was now threatening to slide downward onto the trail blocking Peter's way in either direction.
After compiling all of his pros and cons, Peter decided he could risk trying to make it across the mess of a stream. 'If i make it into town tonight I can sleep in the church, start a fire and warm up.' The prospect of a warm fire gave Peter the final push he needed to make his attempt.
He once again inspected the turbulent aquatic terrain looking for the best way across. It was all basically the same and Peter settled for a full charge across. Straight line. Pushing off of the edge of solid earth with his left foot, his right was shot down into the freezing cold rapids- to his waist. Upon reaching the bottom, his right foot slid immediately from its landing spot on the mossiest of stones.
Submersion.
Black.
He awoke with water in his nose. This was a feeling he had always dreaded. Such constant discomfort could drive him mad. After coming to terms with the plight of his nose (in what to a perfectly conscious person would seem to be a quarter of a second- to the delirious Peter seemed to be an hour or so) Peter came to be aware of his surroundings. He was not yet warm but was no longer being beaten with the lashes of winter. That devil storm. He was laying down and covered by blankets, he knew this feeling and it lifted his spirits greatly. No longer possessing the fear of opening his eyes and dispelling some dream, he awoke to a warmly light wooden celling. He blinks. His eyes have cleared and in the corner of his newly found vision sits a woman.
'Your alive! Its a wonder!' The woman says. Peter could hear that she was old. He could see her as she stood and hovered over him. She had silver hair and a face shaped like an old vegetable.
'Ive made you soup, whenever you feel as-though you're able to sit up you ought to have some.' She Began moving away, into the room. ' You're very lucky we found you there! How did you manage to land yourself in the stream?'
Peter spoke with a stifled voice,'I was coming down to deliver a letter. I wanted to make it to town.'
'Well you made it boy, I wouldn't suggest the same rout next time' The old woman replied. 'My husband found you washed up against a rock right near the small bridge leading into town, Over the stream. Said you were just a stranded noodle.' She said followed by a laugh.
Peter sat up to inspect the room and capitalize on warm soup. He was still very cold, keeping with him some of the chill he had accrued floating down the stream. He swung his legs off of the bed in which he was laid to find his feet had no feeling in them. ' Miss-' He called to her, starring at the dead feet. 'My feet don't work.' Peter had grown up fast but this was that childish fear, all consuming and real.
'Don't worry, they have to warm up slowly, soon well put them in warm water.' The Old Woman picked up the soup and started toward Peter. ' Now why were you coming down again? Do you come from the Monastery? Awfully young, Do you come from there?' She sounded genuinely interested.
' Yes that is where I'm coming from' Peter said not caring, accepting the soup in his hands, and with all of his mind. This was his focus. It was probably too hot for normal hands to hold, the woman used a rag, but Peter cupped the bottom without a wince. There was no spoon so he sipped from the bowl. It warmed him instantly and his face went flush.
'My son is stuck up in that damned monastery on some tangent. The menace conducting that operation ought to be hung.' The woman said. Peter did not flinch but continued with his soup. ' How did they steal you away eh?' She asked cocking her head.
Peter looked up.' Well my parents were killed so I was sent to there to live. It really isn't so bad.' And for what Peter knew, it wasn't.
'We couldn't pay our proper tax on account of the hard times so they took our boy. Said he had to work doing labor for that monastery for a year. At the end of the year that Cardinal had him thinking he was on a mission from god. Now they call him Brother'
Peter looked up from his bowl.' What was his name, there's a chance I know him. I know a lot of the Brothers up there.' Finishing and taking another sip.
'They call him Brother Isaac.' She said sitting on the bed beside Peter. ' He is Brother Isaac now. That Cardinal changed him somehow. Got into his head. Better hope he hasn't gotten into yours. You really ought to leave that place.You can stay with us. We have raised a boy before.'
She leaned in. She wanted a son again.
Peter forced the sip of soup down his now clenched and nervous throat. This was the mother of that poor wino who killed himself. He looked over at his jacket resting by the wood oven, knowing inside was the death notice of this sweet woman's son. He knew she deserved to know but did not want to be the one to tell her.
The sound of the rain grew louder a moment as the door to the outside swung open and a thoroughly coated man stumbled in. ' Your awake boy! amazing! He's alive!'
Peter Wondered about god.
simply put---dope
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