Dara, Eogan calls from the street. Are you awake?
I am, Dara says from his home. The place is built in the same style as those around it and there are crude windows, no more than spaces in the blocked stone covered with cloth or leather, one of which moves when the voice sounds out from the inside.
Who is that with you? Dara asks.
This is Padraig, Eogan says.
Padraig, Dara says. He doesn’t look so noble to me.
He has traveled here to spread his message among our people.
Has he? What would that be?
He is a Christian, Eogan says.
Can he not speak for himself? Dara asks.
I am a Christian, Padraig says. Eogan speaks the truth of the matter. I have come here to spread the message of Christ amongst your people. I was telling Eogan of Christ when he told me that you have a god here that would not require my assistance.
Eogan does speak the truth. We have our god, not like the other villages with their hungry wooden gods nor the good people that some claim to find beneath the mounds. We do not need them and we do not need your desert god. I have heard this message before, the one you come bearing. Invisible god, creator of all, walking with his people in disguise as a man. He dies without honor. I look at your god and he is as invisible as the people of the mounds. We can visit ours when we wish.
Hearing the oakseer call through his home into the street, some of the people going about their days pause and begin listening. Soon a crowd has gathered to hear their religious leader talk with the strange Christian in their village. Seeing the crowd assemble, Dara leaves his home to better continue the conversation in the street.
I think whomever you have spoken to before has misspoken, Padraig says. God became man, he did not disguise himself as man. This is Christ, the Son of God incarnate as man.
It makes no difference, Dara says. The fact remains that your god is as intangible as those you claim to attack.
Another untruth, Padraig says. God is visible and can be visited by the faithful at any church. It is there that his presence resides as body and blood. There can the body and blood be adored by the faithful.
Where is this place where they can go? You say one of your churches, but which one?
Any of the churches, Padraig says. God is not limited to one.
So you say, Dara says smugly. You see, my people, this man has his own ideas about the divine, but has not seen our great god.
I admit I have not yet seen that which you call a god, Padraig says.
Whether you worship our god or not, it is the god of our village and you will watch your tongue while you are here, outsider. The people may not have the wits to hear the wrong in your accent but I recognize the stink of Rome in you.
Regardless, I have not seen it.
It has been here for generations, Padraig. We do not need any mystical practices to visit with it, and its spirit protects our village from harm and ensures that each year there will be plenty for those who reside here. And though it requires sacrifices to please it you will find none of the lust for the flesh of men that reside in the patrons of other areas. Our god is a benevolent god that requires from us only sacrifice, not the sacrifice of our children. Or even the sacrifice of those slaves our village has, few though they are, Dara says to the crowd before finishing with a look at Padraig.
I would look upon it, then, Padraig says. If you have a being so mighty in this village then why would you prevent me from looking upon it?
You see, my people, Dara says. He tries to trick us with his words. Has anything I’ve said indicated I am not willing to show him our god? All who want may look upon it, though none of your blasphemies will be tolerated when you’re in its presence. There’s no reason you would be prevented from visiting with it and see that we have a living god to match your own.
Lead me, then, Padraig says.
Dara grunts at him and then the entire crowd is off into a procession. Dara and the villagers know the way and so Padraig only has to be swept along with their motion as they take him to the place of their god.
There is a hill outside of the village. Upon the hill are monoliths at odd angles weathered by the sun. They sit on the hill like dead teeth half broken out of the bottom of a jaw, some jutting here and there. The whole of the area is so taken up with greenery that it covers the ground and hangs from the stones themselves where it can find purchase on the surfaces. The homes stop some distance from the location and it is also set apart by the change in demeanor when the villagers arrive near it. Where before there is the excitement of the mob and the crowd pushes in to bask in the rhetoric of their priest Dara, once they are within sight of the hill a hush falls over them and they are solemn in their procession. Their eyes still burn and they have the air of children eager to speak, but remain silent. Only Padraig is so bold as they near the structure.
This is your temple? he asks of Dara.
It is, Dara says. This is where our living god sits, and it will not be moved. There are those who have tried over the years to destroy it and this village, but it will never allow harm to come to us while we continue to devote ourselves to it.
So you say, Padraig says to the sounds of muffled gasps from some of the villagers.
I have told you before that in this place in particular your blasphemies will not be tolerated, the seer says. I will not tell you again.
My apologies, Padraig says. Please lead me onward.
Padraig is taken to the top of the hill and Dara waves him into the opened temple with the impatience of the inevitable victor.
In the midst of the grouping of stones there is a tree. The great oak is wide as two men and reaches up to the top of the stones. Upon it are different fungi and opportunistic growths, and it so dominates the area around it that the ground is shaded beneath its bulk. From different limbs, large and small, dangle beads and pieces of glass, and when the breeze manages to penetrate the oak’s stone sentinels, they dance and rattle against its bark.
This is it, Padraig says.
What else would it be? Dara asks. From the earth it sustains us and we keep it.
Padraig reaches out and grabs Dara and shoves him to the ground. The seer falls hard and lays still. Padraig reaches up and grabs a part of the oak, a thick branch laying nearer to the ground then the rest, and using his weight he breaks off the limb, pulling down to him a piece as long as a man and thick as an arm.
He takes the stick and pushes it against the crumpled Dara who lets out a whimper and crawls toward the doorway, Padraig moving behind him.
You will never leave this place, the man says as he scurries.
Outside, the crowd sees Dara crawling before Padraig and falling over himself to remain away from the bishop. They move toward him a few steps in their surprise and Padraig brandishes his branch.
He looks again at the hill near the village. There it stands, several large stones standing at angles to each other. The blocks are so large it must have taken the whole village to move them, though they are weathered and broken in spots from cold and lichen. Not this village, Padraig thinks.
Behold what you have worshiped, Padraig says lifting up the branch.
The people gaze at the branch as it leaks its sap and recognition enters their faces. A great wailing goes up through the crowd.
Look at the core, he says, lifting the branch up higher. This is your god.
Inside the branch the wood is soft and black. Beetles scurry away from the light, back into the pitted mush of the center.
We will kill you, one of them says.
Kill him now, Dara shrieks as he lifts himself to his feet.
Kill me? Why would you kill me?
For desecrating our god, one says.
Anyone who takes action against me will be put to death. If this thing is your god then let him act on his own behalf, as I have dismantled hi
s worship.
The crowd looks at one another. Several people mutter.
What will it be? Will you follow the dead thing I have pulled apart with my own hands or the everliving God, Lord of All? Which do you choose?
We are here, Eogan says.
You are here. You are here and some of your journey is going to be difficult. There are times when you will have to turn your back on the things that you knew before and walk only with the Lord.
Go back to your homes, the oakseer says. Go back to your homes and I will forget this happened. I will say nothing.
There are times you will have to turn your back on the things you knew before, Padraig says. Many of the things that we think protect us are harming us. It is important that you take this first step in claiming the kingdom of God.
I have known you your whole lives, the seer says. Will you throw that away because of this wanderer? How do you know he is not some foul spirit sent to cause our village to turn against its protectors? He promises only to lead you astray with his lies.
Must we? a woman asks Padraig. Must we do this?
Padraig throws the branch to the crowd. They let it fall to the ground at their feet. A few in the front bend down to inspect it and see it for the first time up close. A murmur passes through the crowd as pieces of the branch fall away in the front row’s hands and are passed through the back of the crowd.
It is written that many that practiced magic brought their books together and began burning them in the sight of everyone. The apostles, those who knew Christ first, recorded this. It must be done now.
Then it will be done, she says.
The crowd rushes the temple. The grey robed oakknower watches them and shouts, but his cries do not carry and lie unheeded in the dirt. He tries to grab one of them but is thrown down with his words and watches the rest of the spectacle from the ground. Stones are torn down and flung away. Trees are ripped and torn and soon the ground is covered with branches weeping with sap and leaves.
Padraig watches the crowd and nods when one of their number picks up a branch from a nearby cooking fire and brings it to the building which is slowly being torn asunder. The fire completes what the people cannot and it spreads rapidly across the remains of the structure. What is dry and old is consumed quickly and soon even the protesting living wood is taken into the blaze as its sputters cease.
The fires rage as the people step away from the inferno and all that stands in the center are the stones too massive to be moved even by the new anger of the crowd. The blackened monoliths stand defiantly for a time while all watch them. The grey-robed man sits still where he is fallen and weeps piteously as the fire continues to burn, the crowd ignoring his whimpering and he himself ignoring his state.
Time passes and the fire diminishes in its brilliance but persists in its heat. At its apex the central stone lets out a sharp crack and the monolith splits into two, the heavy lintel suddenly crashing into the ground and smashing into what had previously supported it, sending shattered splinters of stone bouncing through dirt and flame.
You see now what I have been saying, Padraig says. It is the first time he has spoken since the beginning and the people turn to look at his strangely unfamiliar voice.
You see now what I have been saying, he repeats. That only through the cleansing fire can we heal this land. The Lord of all things, the giver of eternal life and eternal in his own magnificence, would have been untouched by such fire. His servants can be burned as they surely have been before. His places of worship can be destroyed as surely as they have been before. But He himself is limitless and indestructible. This false god before you is consumed by the fires and there is nothing that remains of it Because it is just a thing, just a tree as susceptible to death and destruction as all of its kind. When it is gone you see that the thing you have worshipped was all this time ephemeral, longliving only in its relation to our own lives, mortals who may watch such a specimen grow over multiple lifetimes before it too finally succumbs to its mortality.
The crowd stands for a while longer before they disperse. Some of them cry as they leave, others retain an expression of anger on their faces. Still others wander blankly around the area, first one direction than another, as though they cannot think of what to do next. Most go home. Dara, forgotten by all, his clothes ruined and his hair disheveled, slinks away through the stragglers, down the road that leads out of the village. Tears run through the dirt that stains his cheeks. Padraig watches the fire until there is nothing left.
Thirteen
Padraig stands watching the laborers working in the warmth of the sun. They carry blocks of stone which are then stacked ever higher as a whole host of other workers see to the supports and the structure’s specifications. Standing beside him are Dairine and Ite, wearing now the robes which mark their consecration and admiring the same progress he admires. Mella and Laoise are nearby working with a group of women who expressed interest in joining their religious life.
I’m so glad you could join us again, Dairine says.
She watches the walls, almost complete, which will protect her abbey. Though they are unfinished, already they stand three times as tall as a man and as thick as a man’s arm is long.
As am I. Though I travel, I always enjoy returning here, Padraig says.
What are your plans while you’re here?
Visiting with the people, though I must see Dichu before I move on again.
He’s at his stronghold, I think. He has been traveling as well but I believe they returned a few days ago, he and his men.
It will make it easier to see him then, his being here.
True. Will you see her? Dairine asks, her eyes narrowing playfully.
Who?
Padraig looks away, his face blushing slightly as he makes an effort to show interest in some other part of the construction.
You know who. We took her in as you wished.
I may. Do you think I should?
It is not for me to say.
Padraig looks at the ground, then back to the wall.
I may.
Who is that approaching? Ite asks, pointing through the opening where the gate would be to the crest of the hill nearby.
A group of men, well-dressed and in the style of their country, walk toward the construction.
They seem to have weapons, Dairine said.
But not for raiding, Padraig says. Not approaching us so obviously and with their weapons displayed. If they were here to raid us the weapons would be out and they would not so obviously want us to see them.
When the men get closer it is clear that Dairine is correct. There is an older man in the center unarmed, but aside from that all the others carry javelins and swords.
God be with you, Padraig says to them.
Whose god? the older man asks.
The one God, Padraig says.
It seems we have come to the right place, the man says.
Why is that? Dairine asks.
Because, the man says, looking at Dairine. Because we have been told to find the blasphemers who now plague this land.
For what purpose? Padraig asks.
We are seeking their leader, a man named Padraig.
You don’t know where to find him?
We do not, the man says, sighing. His location seems to change and whenever we think we have found him he has just left. And we don’t know what he looks like. From listening to his followers we’d need to find an eight-foot-tall wall of muscle, shimmering with holy light. Do you know where we can find him? Or even a proper description?
What do you need from him? Padraig asks.
As we’ve told every village or farmer we’ve come across, we are not here to hurt him. We are not even here to arrest him. We are emissaries sent to find him.
Emissaries of whom?
Loegaire mac Neill, Kin
g of Teamhrach.
If he is King of Teamhrach, what authority has he here? Dairine says.
Loegaire is King of Teamhrach but has the power to be king of all. His armies are great and his power far-reaching. This Padraig would do well to remember that, as would you.
What does Loegaire mac Neill want with Padraig? Padraig asks.
He wants to meet the man and speak with him. He has heard much of this Padraig and is curious. We are tasked to bring Padraig to him, unharmed.
I’m the man you seek, Padraig says.
What are you doing? Dairine asks.
The man looks at Padraig for a minute, his face surprised.
You swear this?
I am Padraig, the Padraig you seek.
You must come with us then.
I will.
Padraig, what are you doing? Dairine asks again.
If their king wants to meet, then there is no harm in it, he says. Should I be a follower of Christ and not risk danger for him? All but one of his apostles, the men closest to him during his time on earth, were slain for their message. How is less expected of me, a sinner?
We swear to you he won’t be harmed, the man says.
Where is your king right now? Padraig asks.
He is with one of his armies, maybe two days from here. If we leave now, at least. I don’t know how long he will stay before he moves on.
Then lead on, Padraig says.
It takes three days for them to reach Loegaire’s camp, the army having moved during their travel. The camp is situated in the middle of a valley formed between three hills, the greater part of the army settled in the bowl of the valley while smaller elements cling to the hills. Various scouts and pickets extend outward to the surrounding area, and Padraig and his escort pass through several before they get within reach of the camp itself.
Tents of different colors scattered at random outward from a cluttered center greet them out of the sea of chaos as they approach. Littered among them are campfires. Near the center is a large tent, larger than any of the others, and Padraig assumes this is where they will find the king.
We’re here, the man says.
The Fire in the Oaks: A Novel of St Patrick's Confession Page 16