by David Clark
“You’re next,” said William. The white light now halfway up the walls, on the way to the ceiling. Morax disappeared back into the bulge, and then up into the ocean of fire. Cardinal Depeche was released from his bonds and dropped to the floor, and the blaze above their heads began to swirl at a dizzying pace before disappearing with a roar that reverberated through every bone in William’s body. The room returned to normal, no signs of anything having been burnt. William rushed over to the cardinal, who moaned and groaned in pain. Black and crisped skin circled his wrists, ankles, and neck. With the fall from the ceiling, William was sure one or more bones were broken as well. Cristobal was tending to the monk, who had suffered similar burns. There was nothing left of the other monk to help.
29
Exhausted, William dragged himself, body and soul, back down the dark hallway, leaving the madness of the last several minutes behind him. The room he left had no appearance that matched the horror of the scene he had walked in on. There were no scorch marks on the walls or ceiling from the pulsating flames; every piece of furniture was in its place. Even the bed was just slightly tousled, but that had happened when Cardinal Depeche jumped out to fight his visitor. What was damaged were the lives and faith of every person there. The smoking skeletal remains of a monk lay on the floor in a heap, resembling William’s resolve. The monk’s compatriot was alive, but in pain, with burns that still smoldered in his skin. Also, alive, but barely, was Cardinal Depeche. The burns around his neck, ankles, and wrists still smoldered deep inside his skin, and appeared to continue to spread up his arms and legs. William and Cristobal had attempted to provide aid, but neither could do anything more than try to keep both men calm, something they were having difficulty doing themselves.
A feeling of relief came over William as several members of the navy and gold-clad Vatican guard arrived. Both guards stood at the door for a few seconds, to take in the scene. Neither asked questions about what had happened before they took action. William figured this was something they may have been used to, or possibly instructed to not ask and just serve. One of the two guards rushed in to help, while the other rushed away. He helped stretch out Cardinal Depeche flat on the floor. The old man, diminutive to begin with, looked like a fragile creature who was clinging to life. His hands were balled up and held close to his body, shaking uncontrollably as he moaned, even though he was unconscious. The guard showed the cardinal the respect he deserved and neatly adjusted his robe around him. Next, the guard laid the monk out straight and flat on the floor. His body twitched as his fearful eyes looked up at the ceiling, in search of the beast that did this to them. He didn’t utter a sound. The guard knelt between the two men and alternated his attention back and forth.
The second guard returned with two additional guards and a man wearing a dark robe with a long white beard. All four entered, but the guards remained standing at attention as the man in black knelt over the cardinal and then sprang up and ran around to the monk. While over each, he examined the burns, placed an ear to their chests, and held his hand under their noses. A phrase and question were spoken to the monk, but the monk didn’t respond at first. The phrase was uttered again, and this time the man made eye contact with his patient. This must have been the first time he realized who it was, and he held his hand up to his face as the monk attempted to open his mouth to answer the questions.
He stood up and barked a command to the guard, in Italian. The four men paired off. Two grabbed the cardinal, one under his arms and one under his legs. He winced at their touch and his moans grew louder. The other two hoisted up the monk, who also winced, but remained silent. They rushed out the door and down the hall, throwing the room into silence, with the exception of the breathing of the two men left in the room, one of which was letting out a sigh of relief and the other was taking in fast, short, panicked breaths.
William turned to Cristobal, who was still sitting on his knees on the floor. His chin was pressed firmly into his chest, his hands sat on his legs, but they were not calm. Each finger dug into the fabric of his robe, released it, and then dug into it again, squeezing it as hard as his hands would allow. Something needed to be said between them, but William didn’t know what that was, so he walked out, leaving the acrid smell of burnt flesh behind.
While William may have won, he felt physically and spiritually defeated. Not from any doubt in his abilities. When challenged, he put his skills to the test, and passed. At no time had he felt his faith wane or weaken. There was no pause before he took action. In fact, he felt surprised at how he had sprung into action, like a soldier on the battlefield of a war. In truth, this was a battle, one of hundreds, or even thousands, of battles in the war between good and evil. Since he had started his training, he wondered if it was possible for one side to win this war, and if it was, what would that look like? This was something deeper, and far beyond his ability to think about. What he did know was, he would not be the one to win the war, the best he could hope for was to string together enough victories in battle to keep from losing it. Then it hit him, why couldn’t he win the war? Wasn’t that what he was here to do? The weight of that realization collapsed down on him, already wearing on him, to further deflate his spirit. The gravity of that realization made every step down the hall, back to his residence, laborious.
His heart sank as the images of Ainslee being ripped apart from the inside flooded into his mind. Not a one of them was real. Nothing about what had happened to her was, but that didn’t change how he felt in that moment. The only way he had survived was by realizing it wasn’t real and dismissing it. Only then could he see through the illusion, and take control. He was able to push aside what he saw, freeing his mind and body. It removed the shackles of concern about what was happening around him and to someone he loved, from holding him back from taking care of what he needed to do. He now knows he was stupid and naïve. The scene he just left showed that people could be hurt, and even killed, when his adversary wanted to.
Why he hadn’t realized that before, or comprehended the many times Cristobal had tried to tell him, he didn’t know. What he did know was, taking on this responsibility put him, Ainslee, and any future family they could have, in direct danger. More so than just being brought into a world that was full of more dangers than he ever imagined, but they had a proverbial and literal target on their chests. Any conniving demon could use them to manipulate William, or another thought that had just hit him, as if he needed anything else that night. Their kids would not only be targets to manipulate William, they would be targets, themselves, to keep them from continuing this work on their own. Could he bring a family into this world with that threat? Could he live with himself if he did? Those were all questions that weighed on his soul, but there was one heavier than the rest, what had he got Ainslee into?
There was one thing clear to him, it was the thought that was foremost to him at that moment. He needed to talk to her and explain all this. When his mind should have been thinking about how, it had already jumped hours and days ahead, as he watched her sail away to return home to St. Margaret’s Hope. The pain of losing her had already become a bad taste in his mouth that made him sick to his stomach. He saw no other outcome after what he needed to tell her. If only he had known, he wouldn’t have dragged her in to all this. Bishop Emmanuel was really the person to blame. He knew all this and should have stopped them. William wondered if this was why he seemed to protest so hard in Father Henry’s home that night. It probably was, and neither he, Father Henry, and definitely not Ainslee, had known enough to listen to him. He shook his head and muttered, “No. No,” under a heavy breath. This was not their responsibility, it was his. The danger she was in was his fault, and his fault alone.
“Something troubling you, my son?”, said a voice from the darkness. The voice had a soothing and calming tone to it.
William stopped and looked around through the shadows for the source of the voice. From what he could see, it was just, and only, him. “Who’s there
?”, he asked.
Stepping from the darkness in front of him appeared a man dressed in a white robe, with a similarly white zucchetto on his head. Where had he come from? William was sure there was nothing there before, just dark empty space. Yet, as clear as the nose on his face, stood this man. This honorable man, with a sensitive and compassionate voice, and two kind eyes he could see from where he stood. The man took several unsteady steps that hinted at his age, which William guessed had to be almost 80. As he came closer, the creases of time were clearly visible on the man’s face, but his eyes were still full of life.
“You look troubled,” he said again.
“A tough night,” responded William, as the man walked past.
A single hand rose up from the side of the man and motioned for him to follow. “Come, Let’s talk.”
At that moment, William recognized His Holiness and followed him. Unsure what the proper protocol was, he stayed behind him a step or two. There was something reverent about that moment. Walking through the halls of the Vatican with the Holy Father, himself, him, just a simple farmer from a small seaside village in Scotland.
“There are perfect days, and days that are less perfect. It is part of life. You know it is how you respond to them that shape who you are. I, myself, have been pushed to what I think is my breaking point, a challenge or problem too big for me. When that happens, I pray and search for guidance from my Lord. At times, he answers,” his eyes and head tipped up toward the ceiling before he continued. “Sometimes he doesn’t,” he said with a laugh. “Oh, yes, even me. I don’t take it personally. Instead, I take it as a message in its own way. It is his way of telling me to figure it out for myself, and you know what I do? I do. I walk these halls and pull in the inspiration from these very walls and take solace in the fact that they have seen challenges greater than the ones I have faced, and yet they have survived.”
William realized he had followed him through the great hall, and both men were exiting through the golden doors, out into St. Peter’s plaza. His Holiness paused at the top of the stairs. He held his hand out behind him. William took it and His Holiness squatted down and sat on the top step. There was a hidden strength in his old body that surprised William. Even though the arm shook slightly as he sat, William was not what helped him down, he was merely an anchor as he lowered himself to the step.
“And this, sitting at these doors, always helps me put my problems in perspective.”
William remembered the night he and Cristobal had first sat on these stairs and looked up at the stars. Cristobal had described the same feeling from the scene, and assumed this was what His Holiness spoke about. “The night sky relaxes you, too.”
“It does, but that is not it. It is the doors behind us. Those doors are always open for those with bigger problems than mine. Kind of puts everything in perspective, doesn’t it?”
There was nothing William could say to that, so he just nodded, while imagining a line of people filing in slowly for guidance and help with their problems.
“You and I share a gift.”
Again, William didn’t say anything. This statement made more sense to him than the previous. He wondered if it was a requirement to be able to see ghosts and interact with that world.
“It is not what you think it is. Yes, I can see spirits and tend to their needs, but that is not what I speak of. We both share an ability to shoulder a great burden. My service comes with a great burden, but God gave me the ability to deal with the crushing weight of it. Your service comes with a similar burden, and,” he paused, “God gave you the ability to handle that burden too. That is more important than seeing spirits and demons. Without it, you wouldn’t be able to survive the other gift. You have to live life to the fullest, and trust in him. He would have not saddled you with this, and brought you to us, if he hadn’t prepared you to handle it.”
William found himself staring up at the stars while His Holiness spoke. Well, he wasn’t looking at the stars, but past the stars. Through the vast darkness of space, in search of that place the human psyche believes and desires to be there. Up there is a golden throne, from which their creator looked over them and watched as HIS master plan proceeded, day after day, from the beginning of time until the end. It is not something the eyes can see, but the heart can. The spirit can. The emotional center of the person can, and it anchors them in beliefs such as, there is a plan for everyone, and this, too, must pass. There may be times in their lives that they lose faith in the plan or, even worse, question if there even is one, but they always return back to their beliefs, because even that will pass. They must trust in the plan, and this was the plan for him.
“You ok?”
William’s body jerked back from its celestial search and landed within himself on the top step. Cristobal sat down beside him as his head whirled around, looking for His Holiness. He was nowhere in sight.
“William, you ok? You look like you have seen a ghost.”
“Yea, ummm,” his head turned around and searched the darkness inside the doorway for the frame of the old man, but there was nothing. “I didn’t hear him leave.”
“Who?”, asked Cristobal.
“His Holiness, the pope.”
“William! He is in France, and won’t return for another few weeks.”
William’s body went rigid and he looked right at Cristobal. His eyes searched for any hint of a joke in his friend and teacher, but found nothing. “That is impossible. I was sitting right here next to him. We were talking.”
Cristobal raised his chin up and looked out of the side of his eyes at William. A smirk was draped across his face. William just sat there, stone-faced. “Huh,” Cristobal said as he turned his gaze to the plaza, “it would make sense.”
“What would?”, William asked.
“I am sure you wouldn’t be surprised to know that spirits of past popes roam these halls. We believe their duty and service pull them back here after they pass. Not so much to help the living, but to council and guide the sitting Pope. It is rare, but not unheard of, for someone other than the Holy Father to see them. I have. Others have, as well. Can you describe him?”
William explained, “Well, he was old. If I had to guess, I would say in his 80s. He shuffled a little as he walked, but still seemed full of life. He had a cheery laugh and talked plainer than I would have expected…”
Cristobal interrupted, “Let me stop you right there. The cheery laugh was a dead giveaway. I have one question. Did he talk to you in Italian or English?”
“Well, English, with only a hint of an Italian accent.”
“That would make sense. William, you sat here and had a conversation with Alexander VI. He has been gone from this world for almost 100 years. I am almost sure it was him. I have talked with him before, as well. Most of those who have spent any significant time inside the Basilica have, or thought they have seen him. What is unique for you is, he granted Spain the right to explore the New World. That just happens to be where you are going.”
30
Days blended into weeks, and weeks transformed into months. The passage of time brought about many things. The first hint of crisp fall air on the breeze that blew through the Vatican hallways. The migration of the swallows from the north, toward the Mediterranean to the south. The arrival of the Roman festival of Cerelia and accompanying feast, something William found he struggled to stay away from. The variety of tastes were exquisite, and overwhelming, to a man who grew up on simple meats, potatoes, and greens, with the occasional fresh catch from the North Sea. Ainslee expressed a concern that if there were many more of these festivals, they would need a bigger bed. William didn’t see any possible way he was gaining weight, no matter how many meals of rich pasta and sauces he ate. Every night he, and a cavalcade of others, walked miles into the city or countryside, to tend to their flock from the spiritual realm.
The most notable event of all was a quick meeting with Pope Benedict XIV. It wasn’t a conversation like the one he and Pop
e Alexander VI had had that night on the steps. It wasn’t much of a conversation at all, just a brief shaking of hands and a momentary placing of a hand on William’s head, as he said a blessing.
What didn’t arrive with the passage of time was a sense of comfort and relief from the events that had happened that night in the cardinal’s room, and what had happened just moments before that, in his own room. He spent many hours pondering the conversation he had on the steps that night. Even if his spiritual visitor was right, it didn’t mean that his wife could bear the burden of what they were asked to do.
William took every opportunity to talk to Ainslee about what he had learned and experienced. Over dinner, long walks through the streets of Rome, or just sitting in their room. He wanted to make sure she had a clear understanding of what they were in for. He never asked her if it was too much for her, or if she wanted to go home. Inside, he hoped she would say it on her own. But with each story he told her, she responded the same way, “We will go through this together.” The strength he saw in her eyes was admirable, and even added to his own, but he feared it was misguided. There was no way, even with how he had explained it, that she could have an accurate understanding of all this. It was all beyond human understanding, unless you lived it as he did.
Hearing about William’s concern and fears for her, Cristobal made a suggestion and included her in several of their lessons and field work, that is what William called their trips out of the Vatican to practice. After the shock, and several fainting spells, wore off, the comprehension and understanding set in. To her credit, and William’s relief, she never expressed any concern or fear. Instead, she was curious, and wanted to learn along with her husband.