by Bryan Davis
“Pierre,” Joan said, “you will die as well. Then you will be judged. Condemned.”
“Judged? Yes. Condemned? I think not. You have been using your witchcraft to make me think I am a child and that you are my schoolmaster. The truth is that this was a test to see if I could overcome your spell and vanquish you again. Now that I have finally thrown off your dark magic, I can send you to hellfire once and for all.”
His words raised a question that seemed impertinent in this crisis, but I hoped it would lead to a good end. “Pierre, did you push the bookshelf over to stop us from saving Dr. Cousineau?”
He scowled. “Yes, and I also set him on fire. As I told you before, he deserved it.”
“But you also said it was an accident. I thought you hated lies, or maybe you meant other people’s lies.”
“I don’t answer to you,” he said with a sneer. “Only to God.”
“Does God approve of killing an innocent man? How can you possibly think murder will lead you to anything but condemnation?”
“He wasn’t innocent. He helped someone hang a woman. I saw him do it.”
I kept a firm stare on him. In his state of rage, his memories had grown clear. I could probably get more information if I had time, but I had to persuade him to turn off Joan’s lantern. “You’re right, Pierre, he was guilty of a horrible crime. But now you need to—”
“And Joan is also guilty. I have to put an end to her. We will go together to see whom the judge condemns. I am tired of waiting.”
He tipped the lantern. I lunged and swiped at it, but he twisted out of the way, making me rush past him. The moment I pivoted to try again, he threw the lantern on the floor.
When it broke, fuel spilled. Flames erupted. More rocks fell. As the ceiling gave way, I put the ring on my little finger, ran past Pierre, and threw myself over Joan. Rocks pounded my back. Bones jabbed me from every direction. Yet, nothing penetrated my skin. The blows hurt, though not as much as I had feared.
As I arched my back to rise, the weight of the debris pushed me down. I searched for Joan beneath me, but she was no longer there.
“I am weak, Justin,” Joan called from above, “but I will try to move the stones.”
Grunts followed as well as the sound of rocks tumbling away. Bracing my arms and legs, I again pushed upward with my back. After a few moments, Joan had lightened the load enough to allow me to break through.
I stood with Joan in the same room but with a new, higher ceiling. The fire from Joan’s shattered life lantern crackled under a pile of debris, providing a weak glow. The lantern we had used to come to this place lay next to the wall, dark but protected by a pile of broken bones.
Searching frantically for Joan’s life lantern, I grabbed stones and slung them away, grunting and shaking with each heave. Finally, I uncovered glass shards on the cave floor amidst the waning flames. Pierre, semitransparent, rose through the remaining stones and stood upright. He blinked at me as if stupefied.
I picked up our search lantern and relit it in the light of the spill’s dwindling flame, which now sputtered and crackled. A spark leaped to Pierre and settled on his chest. The spark ignited into a fire that spread in a ring. He batted at it with his hands but to no avail.
Within seconds, the flames engulfed him in a raging inferno. Pierre screamed and clawed at his melting face. The fire roared in an eerie cadence, as if speaking dark, foreboding words.
Joan cried out, “No! Dear God in Heaven, I beg of you, give us more time!”
The fire evaporated. Pierre liquefied into a sizzling, bubbling pool from which putrid smoke rose in a violent twirl.
Joan’s legs buckled. She dropped to her knees next to the oily pool and pounded the floor with her fists. “Oh, Pierre, what have you done? Such folly! You have wasted your soul!”
Her head began fading to transparency as did her legs. She was leaving this world. I pulled the ring off, rushed to her, and grasped her wrist. As I fought against her continued flailing, I pried open her fist and pushed the ring over her thumb. Then I drew back, breathless as I waited to see what would happen.
Her hands on the floor, she let her head hang over the rising smoke, as she whispered through sobbing spasms. “I’m sorry, Pierre. I failed you. I am so, so sorry.”
After a few moments of silence, she straightened, her body restored, still on her knees as she stared at Pierre’s residue, sniffling and whispering something too quiet to hear.
I stepped close again and dared to speak. “Joan? You’re still here. Should you have departed by now?”
Her face dripping with perspiration, she gazed at me, gaunt and trembling. “I thought so. I have been asking for understanding, but I hear no answer.”
“Maybe the ring saved you.”
Her tremors easing, she touched the ring. “My mother’s gift. Endowed by God with protective power.”
“Then the legends are true.”
“Perhaps so. I have no other explanation.”
I extended a hand. “Would you like to get up?”
She grasped my wrist and rode my pull to her feet. Giving me a demure smile, she whispered, “Thank you.”
I looked at the spot where Pierre once stood, now a blackened smudge. “Such a tragedy. I am deeply sorry, Joan.”
“Thank you for saying so.” She sighed. “It is truly a great loss.”
“I wish I could have spoken the right words at the end, but I failed.”
“Reaching Pierre was not your responsibility. Besides, his latest act proved that he was beyond reach. Words of wisdom were like a whip to him. He was so obdurate, no amount of persuasion could have set him on the right path.”
“Was the fire his judgment?”
She bowed her head. “I fear it was only the beginning.”
“What of Jean? Is he as stubborn as Pierre?”
“Probably more so, but Michael has a way with Jean that penetrates his resolve. I am hopeful for a better result.”
“Then I’ll hope with you.” I nodded toward the way we came. “Shall we return to your schoolroom? Maybe Michael and Jean are already there.”
She smiled again, though sadness weighed down her eyes. “This time, I will walk.”
We climbed over multiple piles of rocks and bones and, with the lantern lighting the way, retraced our steps. After several minutes, the lantern sizzled and snapped before finally dying, leaving us in total darkness.
Joan slid her fingers along my arm until they found my hand. “Do you trust me?” she asked.
“Without a doubt. I would trust you with my life.”
“Then follow my lead. Walk without hesitation.”
She pulled my hand. I followed her stride for stride. For now, we were walking on a dry, bare floor, which made it easy to trust her. Would I be able to do so across the bones?
As we walked, Joan spoke in a calm tone that eased my tensions. “Justin, have you yet discerned who Michael and Jean are?”
“Michael told me he’s from Spain and that Jean was a pastor who burned Michael at the stake, or arranged for the burning, I suppose. I don’t know the details.”
“Those statements are correct. Jean was, indeed, a pastor.” Joan let out a long sigh. “Do you find it odd that clergymen, people who are called to teach as Christ did, are sometimes the last to turn the other cheek, the first to torment a neighbor whom they are supposed to love as themselves, and the most eager to bear false witness that condemns their enemies to the flames?”
“Odd is a mild word. Damning is more accurate.”
“Yet I hesitate to use it. I am no one’s judge.”
“True. Forgive me.”
“Granted.” Our feet sloshed in shallow water, but Joan’s firm hand kept my confidence high. “Justin, I knew priests who were humble servants, beautiful examples of Christ’s love and beneficence. But I have also known priests who demonstrated none of those qualities.”
“As have I.”
“My question is, what are the people to
do? When the shepherd is more crooked than his crook, should they be obedient lambs? Where are they to go for counsel and spiritual succor?”
“I have often wondered that.” I shrugged, though she couldn’t see the gesture. “I just stopped attending services.”
“I don’t blame you for that decision, but it is one I could never make. In any case, I give you this warning. If you attend services faithfully, a crooked shepherd will use that against you. Such faithful attendance means that you should have known better than to do whatever sins he accuses you of committing. If you no longer attend services, a crooked shepherd will use that against you as well. You are clearly a heathen from whom no good thing can come. You are obviously guilty of whatever crime he conjures. You will be condemned by his hand no matter what you do.”
“I suppose the lambs had better stay in a straight line or else they will be the next sacrifice.”
“For the crooked shepherd, yes. The good shepherd, however, will search high and low for a wayward lamb, facing lion and wolf to rescue him and bring him back into the fold. Such is the difference between darkness and light.”
We came upon a floor of bones, slowing our progress. As we navigated the uneven terrain, Joan stopped talking, but she maintained a steady pace.
Soon, a flame flickered ahead. Joan whispered, “It’s Michael’s life candle. He is burning it to light our way.”
As she accelerated, I kept up, still clutching her hand. Although I no longer needed a guide, holding the hand of Joan of Arc was a treasure. Why release it if I didn’t have to? “Why would he use the candle instead of a lantern? The flame has to be weaker.”
“Because he knows I am drawn to it. The feeling has guided my way through the maze of tunnels.”
“Isn’t that dangerous for him, spending his life fuel?”
“Yes, but Michael is a good shepherd. He would spend anything to find a lost lamb.”
When we neared the flickering light, the chamber clarified. The candle stood propped in a pile of bones directly under the ladder leading to the surface. Michael and Jean were nowhere in sight.
Chapter Fifteen
Joan released my hand and ran ahead, calling, “Michael? Jean?” She stopped at the ladder and looked up. “There you are.”
“Indeed.” Michael climbed down from the ladder and stood gingerly on the bones. He then extended my carpetbag toward me. “Someone left this near the access door.”
I took the bag. “It’s mine. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked up and called, “Come, Jean. They are here. And close the door above you.”
I set the bag down and opened it. Something wrapped in a cloth lay on top, warm to the touch. If Francine had provided a hot meal, she must have left the bag only a short time earlier.
When Jean reached the bottom, Michael picked up the candle and blew it out. Another light shone from the school chamber. We walked there and sat in a circle around a lantern, Michael to my left, Jean across from me, and Joan to my right, facing the doorway to the corridor. After a moment of silence, Joan looked at Michael and said, “Pierre has gone to judgment.”
“I am sorry to hear that. This is the worst news possible.”
Jean covered his face with his hands. A whimper broke through, then gentle sobs.
As Michael rubbed Jean’s back, his brow dipped low. “Joan, how is it that you are still here? Shouldn’t you have gone to your reward?”
“Reward?” Joan lowered her head. “I failed. What reward do I deserve?”
“The reward due to a loving, forgiving saint. You volunteered to try to turn the heart of your own murderer from darkness to light.”
“I do not deny that love and the desire to forgive drove me to volunteer, but all good qualities are gifts. I simply chose to receive them. That deserves no reward.”
“Even so, the question remains unanswered. My understanding is that we teachers are to perish from this earth when our duties are finished.”
I raised a finger. “I have a theory about her ring.”
“Justin.” Joan touched my arm. “If I may, I would like to explain. I know much more about it.”
“By all means.”
Joan rubbed her ring as she provided a summary of our search in the tunnels, the discovery of the ring, and the ceiling collapse. She also gave more history behind the gift of her two rings, including how her captors took one immediately and the second during the trial.
When she finished, I touched her ring. “May I have a closer look?”
“Certainly.”
I brought her hand near my eyes and turned the ring slowly on her thumb. Made of dull metal, perhaps vermeil, it was etched with three crosses as well as the letters JHS-MAR. “What does the inscription mean?”
“The letters stand for Jesus and Mary.”
“Justin?” Francine walked in, wearing riding trousers. When she saw me, she halted and flashed a nervous smile. “I … I noticed that your bag was taken, so I thought I’d look for you.”
“I’m glad you came.” I could hardly contain my excitement. Soon Francine would speak face to face with her longtime heroine. “It’s about time you saw my hideout, don’t you think?”
She scanned the room. “This is certainly a good place to hide. It takes a long time to climb down, but your light was visible from up there, so I kept going.” She wrinkled her nose. “But how can you stand being in this … this exposed graveyard? I must have stepped on a hundred bones to get here from the ladder. Real bones. Dead people scattered everywhere. It’s a nightmare.”
“You get used to it.” I couldn’t contain my excitement a moment longer. “Look, Francine.” I displayed Joan’s hand. “I found the ring near the wall of skulls, just as the diary said.”
She blinked at the inadequate light. “You did?”
“And I still have your brooch.” I rose, withdrew the scarab, and gave it to her. “It helped me find the ring.”
“That’s wonderful.” She slid the scarab into her pocket and took a step closer.
I raised a halting hand. “Introductions first.” I nodded toward Michael and Jean in turn. “The man is Michael, and the boy is Jean. I then gestured toward Joan. “And this is none other than Joan of Arc.”
“Joan of Arc?” Francine stiffened. “The Joan of Arc?”
I laughed. “Yes, isn’t it amazing? And now Joan has her ring. Of course, it wouldn’t be right for you to claim it since it belonged to her first.”
“Of course.” Francine took a step back, her body trembling. “Well … maybe I should go.”
“Don’t be frightened. You’re among friends.”
“Friends? Really?” She swallowed. “They … they do look friendly, Justin, but this place is—”
“Haunting. Yes, I know. As you said, it’s a good place to hide.”
“I … I have to go.”
“But you haven’t said a word to Joan. After all the years reading about her, surely you wondered about her thoughts and feelings while planning and executing the great battles, while talking to angels, while suffering under trial for crimes she didn’t commit. Don’t you have questions for her?”
Her lips quivered. “I do … but … but …” She turned and hurried away to the sound of bones crunching under her steps.
“Excuse me a moment,” I said to the others as I followed. When I reached the ladder, she had already ascended a dozen rungs. “Francine. Wait.”
“No. I will not spend another second in that awful place.” Grunting, she continued her ascent. As I climbed, I said nothing, choosing instead to watch her feet and to be ready to catch her, should she slip. Although loose slats caused a temporary pause now and then, she regained her balance each time and hurried on.
When she reached the open trapdoor, she climbed out and disappeared from view. I scrambled to the surface and squinted in the light of the midday sun. Soon I found her running toward the brook.
I sprinted in her direction but was not able to catch her
before she jumped onto the makeshift bridge. Balancing with arms extended to her sides, she began an unsteady journey across.
When I arrived, I dared not join her on the bridge lest I be the cause of a spill. “Francine, please come back. We need to talk.”
“No.” She broke into a run. A tie line snapped, and the logs separated. She toppled to the side and fell into the brook, still swollen by the recent storm.
When she surfaced, flailing and splashing, I leaped in and wrapped her in my arms. “It’s not over your head. Just put your feet down. You’ll see.”
She complied and stood next to me in chest-deep water, shivering. I guided her to the city-side shore and sloshed with her up to the bank. “The sun’s warm. Let’s sit and have a talk.” I found a patch of grass in a sunny spot and sat with her face-to-face, our legs crossed in front.
She wrung out her hair and let the water drip to her side. “I apologize for my outburst. I was just surprised. Terrified, really.”
“No apology is necessary.” I laughed. “When I saw Joan for the first time, I was also frightened.”
“The first time?”
“Yes, I have seen her multiple times now.”
Francine spread her hair over her shoulders. “When was the first time?”
I nodded toward the schoolhouse ruins. “During the party. Joan was in the library. I thought she was you, since you look so much alike.”
Francine’s brow lifted. “So that’s why you said we were together up there when we weren’t.”
“Right. And Michael and Jean were there as well.”
“The man and the boy?”
“Yes.” I leaned forward and spoke in low tones. “Francine, you and I have seen Joan of Arc with our own eyes, but I don’t think anyone will believe it. We need to keep this secret between us.”
She leaned forward as well and copied my near whisper. “Of course. I would never reveal this to anyone.”
I drew back. “Good. That’s good.”
She did the same. “Where is the ring?”
I looked across the brook at the school. “Joan is still wearing it. It has protective powers, just as you thought. If she takes it off, she’ll lose her grip on this world and fly to heaven.”