Chapter 6 #2
The first few weeks and months saw Rasputin refusing to accept his new name, missing prayers, neglecting lessons, and being more than willing to start fights with the other novitiates.
The other men who had been brought to the monastery were a mixed group of those who had volunteered and those who had been sent as an alternative to imprisonment or death. It was an excellent place to make people disappear.
Rasputin initially refused to succumb to the whims of the priest Andrei, who had renamed him. He had not been assigned living quarters; instead, he was dragged to an abandoned wine cellar, stripped naked, and left in irons.
The Reverend Father Andrei visited him three times a day, at mealtimes, and commanded Rasputin to say the Lord's Prayer a hundred times before he would be allowed to eat.
Rasputin refused for a week until another monk brought him some bread and water to prevent him from starving.
Andrei wanted to ensure their game of “priest and acolyte” continued.
After he refused to recite the Lord’s Prayer, the brothers brought him a stack of theological texts, and he was instructed to begin his course of study.
The Reverend Father continued to make daily visits and would attempt to test Rasputin on the knowledge in the books. Rasputin refused them, and the sick game continued.
“If you will not read of the works of God,” the priest arrived one day, “then perhaps you shall feel His might.”
He pulled a golden and gem-encrusted crosier from his robes, only pausing for a moment before swinging it like a club and hitting Rasputin in his side.
In his already weakened state, he barely cried out but managed to look up at the man with the same contempt he now only shared for one other person: the murderess, Anastasia.
Rasputin ended up staying in the wine cellar for almost six months, during which time he lost all sense of time. His body had deteriorated to nearly nothing, his beard had grown out, and his hair hung in dirty shambles to his shoulders.
It was only when the priest had grown tired of their game that he allowed Rasputin to be given a small room near the other novitiates.
In the end, the priest grew bored as soon as Rasputin responded to his newly christened name. He refused to open a text or transcribe a word of Latin in that cell where they held him, and he kept it up as they tried to force him to study and take his vows.
After five years of Rasputin wreaking havoc and suffering at the hands of the Brotherhood, both sides seemed to call a ceasefire.
He was moved into a separate shed on the outskirts of the property and began working as a handyman for the monastery.
The Reverend Father still accosted him whenever he had the chance and had propositioned him on more than one occasion when he was drunk.
For the next ten years, Rasputin listened, watched, and waited for every opportunity to learn about what was happening in St. Petersburg.
He became well-versed in the way the clergy seemed to operate; how they hid their faults, manifested their sins, organized their gambling dens, and indulged their drunken orgies.
He began to recognize the telltale signs that acolytes were preparing to perform dark rituals in the tunnels beneath the monastery.
He watched and waited, his youth stolen from him day by day at Solovetsky, until he was a bitter, angry man with one goal in mind.
Revenge.
Rasputin was monitoring the priests on the grounds, watching as they chatted with an emissary who had arrived in a royal carriage.
Glancing at the crest on the side, he tightened his grip on the ax he was holding, praying God had finally made himself known and he could take his revenge right here, right now.
His blood ran cold as the priests turned towards him, waving Rasputin over. He froze and wondered if a god had truly heard his thoughts.
“Rasputin,” one of the priests nodded his head in greeting, “it seems the time has come for you to leave us.”
He tried to keep his composure, but Rasputin dropped the ax he was holding. It made a dull thud against the semi-frozen ground. He stared at the priest in disbelief, who merely nodded and continued.
“You’re being beckoned back to the palace to return to the tsar’s service. It seems God has a plan for you after all. The tsar is requesting you specifically to tutor the Grand Duchess Anastasia.”
Rasputin couldn’t comprehend the words he was hearing.
He had been trapped in Solovetsky for fifteen years, and now, he was being ushered back to serve the grand duchess herself.
Did they forget what he knew? Or was that why they wanted him?
The duchess likely had more education than he did—what did they think he could teach her?
Selfish pigs, he thought, have they been drunk this whole time?
He was ripped from his thoughts as the priest clapped a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Rasputin nearly fell over, unable to regain his balance.
“Godspeed.”
Rasputin nodded in response and slowly brought a hand up to rub the stubble on his chin, his mind moving at a dangerous pace.
He watched as the priests began walking back to the monastery, the church bells ringing in the cold air. Despite sounding the same as they had for the past fifteen years, there was something additionally ominous about it. The carriage was waiting for him to grab his meager belongings and depart.
The coachman looked bored, like it was nothing to pick up the last fifteen years of his life. The last time Rasputin had been in their world of chandeliers and sturgeon, he’d been someone else entirely.
The servant boy, Mikhail, was dead; the false priest Rasputin was in his place. And he had only one thought on his mind.
I’m going to kill the Grand Duchess Anastasia.