The Exiled Monk

by James T Wood

  The robed and bearded man offered them the food from his garden and the fruit of the tree. They dined, drank deeply of the oasis, and talked far into the night. The travelers asked Eytskaim many questions. After a brief pause he would answer them. His wisdom marveled and confounded all who heard it.

  “Power is an illusion of freedom. Great ability brings more limits.” Klaudi of Abhainn

  P

  eek reached out, flailed his arms, grabbed for a hold. He found nothing. He saw the monk, yet in the light of the setting sun, Peek realized that it wasn’t the monk who came to his village. Every detail of the scene stood out. The look of shock on the monk’s face, eyes bright and blue above his long, white beard. His brown robe, girded up for speed, hung on his thin frame. Behind this monk-twin the clouds shaded from pink to purple over the sea. Beautiful, Peek thought, at least he would witness beauty before his death.

  After falling for a long time, Peek looked back at the monk on the steps. He should have been a distant speck. Peek should have been crushed on the ocean-drenched rocks below. The monk held a set of reeds to his lips. Peek could barely hear the sound over the waves beneath him. But there was a sound, a song. The monk played a tune, perhaps a dirge to mourn Peek’s death.

  Peek accepted that his death would seem to take a long time. Stories from the village convinced him that in the moment before death, time seemed to slow. He was not, however, prepared for his fall to reverse itself. Slowly at first, and then with increasing pace, he rose up toward the monk on the steps. As he got closer the airy sound of the reed pipes became more clear. When he was on a level with the monk the elevation stopped and Peek started moving toward the stairs. Just before he reached the steps with the monk the song ceased. Peek fell again, but only a few inches to the stone beneath him. The monk reached out to grab him and steady Peek on the stairs. As soon as he was on firm ground Peek collapsed to his knees.

  “Welcome to our island, young sir.” Words were not available to express what Peek was feeling at that moment. He simply nodded and breathed heavily. The monk knelt next to him and placed one hand on his shoulder. “Take your time. You’ve had quite a start.”

  Peek nodded wordlessly. He glanced up at the old man and noticed the slight differences between this monk and the one who’d visited his village. They both had the same long hair braided down their backs. They both wore the same brown robes of roughspun cloth. They both had long, white beards. But this monk’s eyes were more worried than joyous. His nose hooked like a hawk’s beak instead of flipping up at the end.

  “How did you come here, young sir?” The monk gripped Peek’s arm and pulled him to his feet. There was a bite of urgency to the man’s voice.

  “I…” Peek felt a wave of vertigo steal his balance. The monk steadied him.

  A look of concern passed over the age-lined face. “I apologize, I was not being hospitable,” The monk gestured up the stairs, “We are yet close to the gardens where you can rest safely and comfortably. Let us continue our dialog there. Shall we?”

  “Uh,” was the best response that Peek could muster as the surprisingly strong monk helped him to his feet and guided him up the stairs.

  A few minutes of ascending gave Peek’s heart time to stop pounding and his brain time to realize that he was not yet dead. He risked speaking.

  “How did you…”

  “The Melody has many powers,” he threw the words back over his shoulder with a smile.

  “What? What’s the melody?” Peek concentrated on the stairs before him so the words of the monk took extra time to filter through his mind.

  “In good time, young sir. I also have questions for you.”

  “I thought this island was empty.” Peek looked up and saw the end of the stairs at a stone wall.

  “Nay, young sir, we monks live here.” His voiced shaded from welcoming to dubious.

  “Wait, are there more of you?“ Exhaustion stole Peek’s discretion and the words escaped his mouth as soon as they entered his mind.

  “Aye, many. Yet that is not important now. How did you come to our island? Who gave you the key?” The monk looked over his shoulder again, but this time without a smile.

  “I… I heard about it from a friend.”

  “The only friend who could possibly tell you about this place would be another monk like myself. You must be mistaken, young sir.”

  “I thought you were him when I first saw you. I never got his name, but I knew he was a monk. He played a song on his whistle that made me dance. He told stories of his life and travels and this island. He talked about it with, I don’t know, reverence. He loved this place, so—“ Peek nearly ran into the roughspun wool robe as the monk stopped in front of him.

  “It can’t be,” the monk said in a whisper.

  “What was that?” Peek asked.

  “Nothing. Look, the garden is just ahead and then you can really rest after your journey.” He picked up the pace so that Peek had no option but to cease talking and follow.

  They reached a low, stone wall with an arch built in it. The wall was built in the same fashion as the stairs with one flat stone carefully laid on another. There was no mortar or daub in sight, just the careful selection of stones that would fit together perfectly. The outside of the wall was smooth and rounded and as they stepped under the arch it became clear that the constant wind on the island had worn down the stones. Inside the walls the wind calmed to a whisper. The oppression of the wind that had gradually built as they climbed suddenly lifted and Peek felt as if he’d just broken the surface of the water after diving for shellfish.

  The large space was completely encircled by the protective wall. There were a few men and women in the same robes as the monk bustling around and tending to the beds in the garden. Peek could identify the lettuce and carrots, potatoes and onions, all growing in neat rows. There were other plants he didn’t know. They appeared to be leafy bushes, maybe herbs. As they stepped into view, the gardeners would give a perfunctory glance at the old monk, but then, when they noticed Peek, they would stop and stare.

  The monk led Peek to a stone bench, made of stacked, flat rocks, like everything on the island. Peek collapsed onto it and dropped his pack wearily. The old man sat slowly beside him.

  “I regret that we have not yet been acquainted properly, young sir. My name is Locambius, I am one of the elders of this humble island. You’ve stumbled upon our monastery where we study, meditate and eke out our existence.”

  “I’m Peek. I, um, I come from the coast. I paddled away from…” Peek thought that he’d better not tell them that he was hated at home or they might start to hate him here too, “to explore what my old, monk-friend told me about. To see if it was true.”

  “Young sir, you are welcome here, but you cannot lie to us. We will guide you through the steps of our daily dance and help you when you stumble. Speaking falsely is a major stumble, so let me help you recover. What is the truth of your statement?”

  He blushed, ashamed, not so much at lying, since he’d done that for as long as he could remember, but for being found out so easily. “I’m… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to say. Locambius, I… I came here because everyone in my village hates me. I had to get away. My father, well, the man who took me in, Vlek, he was about to kill me. I’m sure of it. He made me eat on the floor and work all day and he beat me if I ever crossed him. I just had to leave. I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth the first time. I just didn’t want you to hate me too.”

  “Ah, young sir, we are not a people of hate, but of love. You’ve done well to rejoin the steps of the dance.” Locambius put one arm around Peek’s shoulders.

  Peek stiffened against the touch, unsure what this man wanted or why he was offering so much help.

  “Ah, here is sister Patries with some water. Sister, I’d like you to meet our new friend. He arrived at the island today,” Locambius let the words hang in the air with unspoken meaning that Peek couldn’t fathom.

  Pat
ries’ eyes widened then narrowed before she addressed Peek. “Ah, that’s a long journey. Young sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Um, thank you, Patries, was it? I’m happy to be here,” Peek stammered.

  “Let him drink, we can ply him with questions later, sister,” Locambius said.

  The clear water seemed to burn as Peek gulped. Peek could only recall drinking water this cold in the dead of winter after melting snow, but in the heart of summer he subsisted on muddy river water and the gamey water from his goat-hide flask. This draught cooled and refreshed him in the fading warmth of the late summer day.

  Peek was stirred from his reverie by the sound of Locambius clearing his throat. He looked over at the monk and then looked down at the bowl in his hands to find that he’d drained it dry. He blushed again and handed the bowl to Patries without a word. Patries arched an eyebrow to Locambius, smiled at Peek, and left them again.

  “May I ask you questions now?”

  Peek looked over at this aged man and gawked; he’d never been asked to give his permission for anyone to speak, let alone one older than him. Peek simply nodded.

  “This other monk that you met. Did he tell you how to get to this island?” Locambius stared intently at Peek.

  Peek swallowed and thought back to the visit over a year ago. Nothing. No key. No instructions. Just the command to wait. Just the invitation to something more than a slave-life, without any way to accept it. Peek’s service to Vlek, and the constant fear of beatings, had been bad enough, but coupled with the knowledge that there might be something else, Peek could barely stand it. No, there was no key given. If there was, Peek would have used it long ago. To Locambius, he merely shook his head.

  “How did you travel?”

  “I paddled my canoe,” Peek looked askance at Locambius, “I’ve been training all summer to fight the current.”

  “And you simply paddled harder than the current?”

  “I…” Is that what he’d done? Peek thought back to the paddling. He’d barely made any progress while he tried, but when he drifted off into his daydream about dancing with Dray the work evaporated into nothing. “I think so.”

  Locambius turned to look at him directly. Peek took it as a question.

  “I tried my hardest. I paddled until I thought my arms would fall off. Then I remembered the monk — the one who visited my village — saying that we are made to breathe. So I breathed and paddled and then I was here.”

  Locambius’ brow furrowed and his face darkened. He tilted his head to the side and then to the other, chewing on a bit of beard that found its way into his mouth. He shook his head after a moment and turned to Peek again.

  “If you’re rested enough we can continue onward,” there was warmth in the invitation, but also something that sounded almost like fear.

  Peek nodded and they rose together. Peek had to duck as they went through another archway in the stone wall. This led them to another path paved with the flat stones. They ascended more slowly than on the stairs, but still climbed up toward the top of the island.

  They passed a strange looking hut made all of stones laid in a spiral formation. Starting with a circle at ground level, the stones were laid, without mortar or mud, in a perfectly level row. All the stones were no more than a few inches thick so there were dozens of rows. About head-high, the courses of stones began to contract from the circumference of the base in a steady spiral so that a couple dozen more rows brought them together at the top of the hut. The sloped sides and the uneven stones made the hut look like a giant, gray beehive more than anything. As they passed it, Peek could see an arched door in one side of the hut with a leather curtain covering the entrance. Around the hut was a short wall, also made of dry stones, masterfully stacked.

  “Who lives there?” Peek asked.

  “Everyone,” replied Locambius.

  Just then they rounded a corner and Peek saw a cluster of hives. There were several dozen of the beehive huts all within one large wall. They were identical in construction to the first that he saw, but some varied in size. A few were taller and one was much larger and even had windows that looked out to the sea.

  “My teacher always told me,” Locambius observed, “that I would do well to keep my mouth closed, lest I gather gnats.”

  Peek recovered from his shock and closed his gaping mouth. “But, how did you do all this?”

  “I haven’t done much, young sir. And we’ve been here for generations, so we’ve had time to put a few things together. Dinner will be ready shortly; would you care to rest in your hut for a time?”

  “My hut? I don’t have a hut.”

  “Ah, but you do, young sir. For the Month of Observation you can rest in the walled hut. It is yours, for now.” Locambius placed a gentle hand on the small of Peek’s back and turned him back toward the hut with the low wall around it.

  “Ah, I…”

  “Worry not, young sir, I have no doubt that rest will restore your powers of speech as well as your strength.” The twinkle in Locambius’ eyes was the only clue to his facetious humor. He guided Peek back toward the first hut. When they arrived, Locambius held back the leather curtain and helped Peek remove his pack. “You may rest or meditate as you see fit. I’ll send someone to retrieve you when dinner is ready.” And, with that, Locambius left him.

  The interior of the hut was dark when the curtain fell back across the door. Peek stumbled a bit and found the thong to tie the curtain out of the way. He explored his new home. Opposite the door was a low bed. It looked like stones held it off the ground and it appeared to be a mattress stuffed with something. Peek wandered over and found that it was stuffed with feathers and was, perhaps, the softest thing he had ever touched. He sat on the bed and examined the rest of the hut.

  In the center of the floor was a fire pit. Instinctively he looked up, but he couldn’t see any way for the smoke to get out. He puzzled for a bit before he realized that the stones had no mortar, so the smoke could easily escape through the cracks in the walls and ceiling. He also wondered about how well the stones kept the weather out, but the bed and floor appeared dry. To his left was a stack of firewood. On the right was a low shelf with a few robes and some blankets.

  He sat back on the bed and soon found himself lying down. He sank into the soft, down mattress, and felt all his muscles at once. The pain that he had been ignoring from his paddling and climbing all came rushing back, and his muscles screamed as he tried to relax. After fighting with himself for a few moments, comfort finally overcame his rebellious body and the knots in his back unwound. He stared at the oddly regular spiral of the ceiling and thought about his day. His escape before dawn had been the biggest risk he’d ever taken. Some moments he still thought of running back and hoping that Vlek would not beat him too badly. But now that Peek was on the island all his plans were for naught. The monks owned it and controlled it. Peek was at their mercy. And, something about how Peek got to the island evoked worry or even fear in Locambius. Surely they didn’t fear Peek, but what else could it be? His paddling prowess was not something to strike terror into the hearts of grown men, nor were his daydreams of dancing with Dray. Peek resolved to discover more about these monks before he accepted too much of their hospitality. He did not want to become a servant to them mere hours after escaping his slavery to Vlek. He thought of the best way to learn more about them without revealing too much of himself, but exhaustion stole his will to plan. Between one thought and the next Peek fell into a deep, sound sleep

  Four

  Soon the story of the lonely man under a desert tree spread throughout the world. People began seeking out his wisdom, which he freely offered with the simple question, His escape before

  Each time people approached his oasis they found changes in the walls, house, and pool. It continued to grow more lavish and comfortable so that there were soon guest houses for all the visitors who came and the garden was expanded to provide food for the masses that trekked to visit Eytskaim an
d hear his wisdom.

  “Life without music, like food without salt; bland at first and ultimately deadly.” Vin of Oileain

  “I

  ’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll get right to the chores. I’m sorry,” Peek shouted before he was fully awake.

  “Worry not, there are no chores, just a dinner to enjoy,” a new voice spoke to him.

  Peek slowly recalled where he was and what had happened. He was still resting in the hut, not back at Vlek’s home. He sat up, groggy and looked around to see the source of the voice. The face he found was no more than a few years older than his. A beard had started to grow, but it was wispy and thin. The clear eyes and bright smile convinced Peek that this was a friendly face.

  “Oh, sorry, I must have been dreaming,” Peek apologized.

  “Think nothing of it. I just came to fetch you to dinner. It’s my fault for awakening you so abruptly. My name is Adrocus, by the way. I’ve been assigned to you for the month, so if you have any questions, just let me know.” His smile widened, “But I’m really getting hungry, so if you don’t mind, maybe we can talk about it over dinner.”

  “Oh, sure.” Peek hefted himself to his feet and followed Adrocus from the hut. He pondered what having someone assigned to him meant as he looked more closely at the young man leading him. He stood somewhat taller than Peek, with a round frame. Peek judged that it wasn’t fat so much as thickness. Where Peek was thin to the point of being gaunt and Cor was muscled like a man, Adrocus was built like a column, sturdy and solid.

  They walked together down the path and came to the cluster of hive-huts. In the center, everyone was gathered around a large, flat rock that formed a huge table. Peek started to think about the vast weight of the stone and the number of people it would take to move it, and what the monks might do in winter when the rains came, but lost his concentration when he spied the food. Piled high on the rock were plates and bowls filled to overflowing. The smell possessed Peek, his mouth watered, and his stomach growled in response to the enticing aromas.