Chapter XI. Mysterious Ways
XI
MYSTERIOUS WAYS
“MY HEART WAS slamming upon my ribs as I stepped into the grand cathedral. The choir was practicing in the loft, gables echoing with beautiful song. Pale candles burned upon the altar, the stones beneath my feet laid out in great slabs, marked with the wheel and carved with names—Pascal de León, Tirso de León, Alfonse de León. I realized my ancestors were all buried beneath this church. That if I took up my grandfather’s offer, I might one night join them.
Despite the morbid notion, for a moment I was overcome with a sense of belonging, the hunger inside me blessedly abating.
“The sight of two familiar figures down the nave soon swallowed my tranquility—Charlotte and my grandfather’s Fool.
They knelt afore the altar, bathed in candlelight, shadows dancing on the walls.
Standing in the stained glass glow amid that choirsong, again I fancied I heard a whisper, echoing in the bloodwarm dark behind my eyes.
“The highest goal to which we can aspire. The truth beyond truth. The greatest gift our heavenly Father ever gave us was the capacity to—
“‘Chevalier?’
“I turned at the voice, found old Bishop Santiago approaching up the aisle, leaning upon an ornate shepherd’s crook.
He wore red velvet robes, fingers adorned by jeweled rings, the wheel about his neck agleam.
I looked again to those candles on the altar, the sconces they rested inside.
The trim on the Testaments. The chalice in the sanctum.
“Everywhere I looked, it glittered.
“Gold.
“‘May I help you, my son?’ Santiago asked. ‘Mass does not begin for another hour.’
“‘I’m not here for mass, old man.’
“‘Contrition, then? You look troubled, child.’
“‘These are troubled times.’
“‘I know it well,’ he nodded, solemn. ‘Yet still, the love of God endures. Like Gabriel’s flame given unto the Almighty’s own son, it burns with a light unquenchable, and those who accept his love shall be accorded a place in the kingdom of heaven.’
“I scoffed, looking at my namesake, ablaze upon that great window behind the altar.
“‘You truly believe that?’
“‘You do not, I take it?’
“I gazed at the Redeemer’s statue now, bathed in stained-glass light. Remembering that tomb beneath Maergenn, that prophecy revealed, that awful truth unveiled.
“‘Sometimes I honestly wish I did. In night’s deeping, alone in my bed, I wonder what it would be like to be able to ignore the hypocrisy. The cruelty. To content myself with the thought that no matter how dark it gets, how senseless it seems, the Almighty has some kind of plan.’ I shook my head and sighed.
‘I envy you, old man. I truly do. To be able to look at the living corpses of slaughtered children and declare It’s his will.
To roam endless fields of shallow graves and say He loves us still.
To stare into the face of brutality, unchecked, unavenged, and to excuse it all with a wave of my hand and the answer for every hard question I ever asked a holy man: The Lord moves in mysterious ways. ’
“I looked the bishop over, fangs stirring my gums.
“‘But then I remember I’m not an infant. Hiding under a soft blanket for fear of the dark. Only a coward raises a fist to his child and calls it love. I name no one my Father who never loved me as a son. And I would scorn to lie meek upon the block and smile up at he who lifts the axe and tells me he has a fucking plan.’
“‘Your rage is understandable, my son. We all of us have suffered through the death of days. But in darkest times, even the smallest flame can be a beacon. In a world filled with hatred, the tiniest act of love can be a redemption. Surrender not to the dark without, but the light within.’ He gestured around us; the gables ringing with beautiful song, the fiery glow spilling through the wings of that angel behind the altar.
‘You are bathed in it, even now. Life. Love. Take but one more step, trust in him, and he will show you the way.’
“Santiago touched my arm, gentle hand and gentle gaze.
“‘Will you pray with me, my son?’
“‘I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.’
“He blinked at that, blue eyes glinting. For a moment, the old man looked truly wounded, and more … disappointed. Those whispers rang again upon my skin, the plea for love, forgiveness, acceptance. I softened then, dragging one hand through my hair.
“‘Désolé. That was cruel of me. You’re just doing your job.’
“‘Rather badly, it seems.’ Santiago’s lips curled in a kindly smile.
‘But no offense is taken, Chevalier. It is not what we say, but what we do which matters in life. And you have done a very great deal for the folk of this empire. There is great goodness in you, Gabriel de León. The cloak of your despair cannot veil it completely.’
“‘You remind me of a priest I used to know. A goodly brother of San Guillaume named Rafa, who offered me patient counsel despite my lack of manners.’
“Sighing, I offered my hand.
“‘Forgive me. I beg you.’
“The bishop glanced at the roses and skulls on my skin, glinting metallic in the candlelight. Smiling, he took hold of just my fingertips, his grip weak and brief.
“But I closed my left hand around his right, squeezing with both now, my silver sevenstar pressed upon his skin. The old bishop smiled tighter, blue eyes glinting like cracking glass, finally snatching his fingers free.
“‘A warrior’s grip,’ he chuckled, rubbing his skin. ‘Most impressive.’
“I chuckled in kind. ‘I forget my own strength sometimes. Merci for your wisdom. I’ll not keep you from your preparations.’
“The old man nodded, and with a bow, made his way down the aisle toward Charlotte, leaning upon his staff. I watched my cousin, the Fool looking in my direction now. And with one last glance at my namesake ablaze, I strode from the cathedral.
“My thoughts were a storm, those whispers echoing at my back as I strode through Le D?me’s duskdoors.
Yet almost as soon as I crossed the threshold, my thirst returned, slinking from the dark like a serpent and taking up its perch on my shoulder.
It was with me as I roamed León’s streets, her tavernes and boardwalks, haunted thoughts my only company, rising now like dusklight shadows as I climbed back up the cliffroad.
“It rode heavy upon my back through my grandfather’s halls, but my heart was heavier still at all I’d seen that day.
Baptiste’s betrayal. Lachlan’s fears. Cracks splitting the mountains against which I set my back.
Out into the fore-courtyard and from there to the stable I walked, passing the men on guard with a grim nod and a glance to the steel in their hands.
And stepping into darkness, I looked about for my friend.
“‘Aaron?’
“I searched the gloom, the rafters above, heart thumping as I found no sign.
“‘Aaron?’ I called again.
“‘I’m h-here, Gabriel.’
“I followed the voice, weak and soft, through the stink of horseshit and into the shadows at the stable’s rump.
And there I found him, crouching in his dark, a portrait of perfect misery.
Aaron’s arms were wrapped around his belly, lips peeled back from his fangs, fighting the same blaze blooming now in me.
He met my eyes, shadows of hellish hunger etched in his own as he whispered.
“‘You l-look just like I f-feel.’
“I knelt in the mud beside him, meeting that haunted gaze. Terrified of what I’d say. Of what it would mean. But knowing I must speak all the same.
“‘Brother … I must tell you something.’”