by Z. M. Wilmot
***
Florence had pushed aside his thoughts of the previous day by the next morning – why would God choose him as a vessel? When he had questioned the voice, it had remained silent. He took that as a sign of his own madness. Indeed I have lost my sanity – that fireball must have taken what little of it remained. Having conversations with my conscience and believing it was God – what rubbish!
As Florence began work on his manuscripts, Father Paterias – who was now the Head Scribe following Calixtus’ death – was called away to speak to a rider that had arrived. When the monks were left unsupervised, they immediately began to mutter about its meaning; no one visited the monastery except with very important news. Florence, however, took no part in the conversation, merely continuing his transcription.
It would have been better had he not, for when Paterias returned he was in a state of great unrest. “Brothers, I have news for you.” The monks fell all silent and listened with all of their ears. “A new fact has come to light with regards to the Seventh King, in his Fourth Year, in the Third Month – Brother Florence’s page.” The monks all turned to look at Florence at once, who bowed his head. What happened?
“It seems as if…” Paterias’ voice faltered. “The Seventh King, for all of his lordly virtue, faltered once and copulated with the Great Beast Fellmawg, producing as his offspring…” the Father swallowed. “The child that would become the Eighth King, the grandfather of our current and Tenth King.” Florence was stunned. Truly I have gone mad.
There was silence. Brother Florence stared into the frightened eyes of Father Paterias. They shared common knowledge – what he had written had proved to be true.
Paterias broke off the eye contact moments later. “As such, we must begin anew that page – many copies of the Annals have not yet been sent away, and it is our sacred duty to be as up to date as we can. Brother Florence, I have prepared a new parchment for you to copy, and wish to speak with you privately. The rest of you, finish your current manuscript and then begin copying this page.” Paterias laid the parchment down on the table in front of him. “Begin now – Brother Florence, come with me.”
Filled with trepidation, wonder, and fear, Brother Florence followed Paterias to his study. The Father closed the door behind him. Sitting down opposite Florence, Paterias looked him in the eye.
“Tell me, Brother Florence – how did you know that this was true?”
Florence was silent for a moment. “I – I did not. The thought came to me unbidden.”
There was silence. “Then perhaps it is God who speaks through you – please inform me of any other ‘thoughts’ you may have. God might very well be using you as his voice – though such thoughts do go against the Church’s main teachings, there have been some cases known to mystics of this occurrence.”
Florence nodded, and was then dismissed. He returned to work, copying down the new page. His hand remained under his control the entire time, and by the end of the day, the current copies the monastery held of the Annals had been successfully edited.
As Florence lay in his cot, thinking hard on what had happened, there was a soft tap on his door. Confused and slightly afraid, he opened it, and found the figure of Sylvia the nun standing before him. She sidled past him and shut the door behind her. Before he could make another move, she had dropped her habit, revealing her glistening, naked body.
The rest of the night was a blur.