“Does he have a large cut on his left arm?” he asked.
“Yes. And many smaller marks all over his face. He’s holding a jar.”
“A gray jar with a red circle?”
“No, a green and black one.”
“Strange.”
We were already outside the cave walking fast. I called out to him that I had brought water and an apple to give his legs strength for the walk back. He had been alone at the northern cape night and day with little water and, according to the Canon, he would eat a small piece of bread with salt once a day for a week. He took the water flask and a bite of the apple.
The only way for any traveler or invader to reach the Castlemonastery, or even the rest of the island, from the sea was to climb the thirty-eight and a thousand steps. The steps ascended straight out of the sea like a slithering monster sent from Hell to devour the few believers who were seeking refuge behind our walls.
The monastery itself was called a castle because it was the only passage through which travelers could reach the rest of the island. Its walls protected the monks, and the peasants, from pirates and invaders. There was only one small hidden harbor, its only dock on the eastern side. The harbor’s mouth was at the southeast corner, visible only to those who approached from the south just before they were about to crash onto the southern cliffs. That harbor led to the steps that Da-Ren had climbed.
The other sides of the island all ended in steep cliffs. No one other than the island’s wild goats could climb them. The whole island had been created by God to be a natural fortress, immovable and impenetrable, an ideal place for many other defenseless monasteries to hide their gold.
The church separated the yard into halves—one for the peasants, one for the monks—both reaching the main gate. The monks and the peasants would meet at the gate or at the church but never in the monks’ yard. There were many sinuous paths from the Castlemonastery leading to the rest of the island. They passed through the huts and the sun-baked crops of the villagers and led all the way to the northern and western cliffs.
We took one of those paths, wedged between thorns and sage bushes. Their flowers, the color of purple mourning, reminded me of the mortal danger that had landed on the shores of Hieros Island.
Baagh’s aged face flushed red and dripping with sweat as he straddled the knee-high xerolithos fences. He was moving as fast as he could, shouting, “Run! We won’t make it in time.”
We returned to the Castlemonastery faster than it had taken me to reach him.
As unbelievable as it seemed to me, these two men from two opposite sides of the world greeted each other like brothers.
“He has been lying cuddled like that since you left,” Rufinus said.
Baagh ran, embraced the man and held his head to his chest, speaking softly to him. Then he turned and announced to all of us: “Be at ease, brothers. This is Da-Ren, a disciple of mine. He means no harm to any of you.”
Of all the monks of our monastery, Baagh had a unique gift that I learned of later: he could shout out lies as easily as he could the truth. That barbarian was no disciple. A gray-white pigeon seemed to believe him, though, and returned to the courtyard close to his feet. The rest remained perched like marble statuettes on the bell tower as if they knew better. Baagh whispered, only to me, to bring a wooden cup of hot water and to throw in a handful of sleepflower and another of valeriana.
“Throw in what? That will bring down an ox.”
“Bring it before it’s too late.”
“We don’t have enough valeriana.”
“Throw in all that we have. All of it. And tell someone to hurry up and bring the blacksmith from the village to chain him as soon as he falls asleep.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“He can massacre the whole island with one arm tied. He is the most dangerous man that I have met on the four corners of this Earth,” Baagh said, just as the other monks were starting to approach.
“He is the Devil disguised,” the monk Rufinus murmured behind me, moving his three fingers here and there.
“Almost. He is Da-Ren,” said Baagh. “The Devil has been trying to do away with him since he was a child.”
The man slowly rose to his feet from his corner as if he were just emerging from a demonic possession and calmly looked Baagh in the eye. “I don’t have time. I brought the offering, Baagh. I did everything you told me. You must help me. Now!”
Baagh went closer and whispered barbaric words to him while caressing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. He gave him the cup I brought and implored him to drink all of it. The man looked at the faces around him for a few instants and in between sips exchanged a few more unintelligible words with Baagh. He grew more lethargic with every sip. After a while, he leaned back into his corner but face down this time, unconscious and heavy as a corpse. I untied with great effort the scabbards and the belt that were strapped tightly around his body to remove his blades.
Two monks, the blacksmith, and I carried his heavy body down the dark rock steps and laid him down in the underground prison. My bones suffered from the pain, but I endured without complaint as I did throughout every ordeal.
We passed the double-bolted cells where we kept the olive oil, wheat, and other offerings and valuable gifts from the devout, and reached the far end of the cellar. There, where no one ever went unless something terrible had happened. All in all, there were three dark cells. One for the lepers, which thankfully had been locked and empty for years now, one for isolation and repentance for great sin, and the third that housed the bones of our departed holy brothers. This third one was the brightest of all when the sun rays made it through the narrow window and reflected off the rain-washed bones. But there was no light to be seen in those hollow eye sockets, saintly as they were.
We put him in the second one, since we had no cells for prisoners in the monastery. Not until then.
“Quick, the chains!” cried Baagh.
The blacksmith had only one chain with one ring that we placed on his ankle and nailed it to the ground with an iron awl. If he were as strong as he looked, he would be able to loosen the awl but not break the chain. I had never before seen us treat another human being in this manner in this holy place, as if he were a rabid infidel dog and we his tormentors in Hell.
I was taught to forsake deceit and violence and to use prayer to tame the tortured souls who visited us. Baagh warned us to act differently with this man. I despaired at the thought of his demise and couldn’t help but cry for him as if he were my own brother.
When the blacksmith’s hammer fell heavier than usual and the sound echoed against the naked and damp stone walls, the barbarian murmured deliriously his own mysterious words.
“Zeria…Varazam—”
“Thankfully, he hasn’t slept for days. He feared that the ship wouldn’t stop at the island. He told me that he barely shut his eyes for many days,” Baagh said.
We left him like that, senseless and chained, across from a small window without shutters that looked out onto an abysmal precipice, this being his only evidence of the outside world, of time, of the sun.
Forty days passed before I saw the chained man again. My life had gone back to its daily routine, and only a fleeting thought, like the spur of Satan, would creep into my mind at night. I would be seized by a secret longing to dip my finger into the honey again. But Baagh took away the jar that Da-Ren brought. When I asked him about it, he told me, “I buried it.”
I didn’t believe him.
The First Elder reminded me to remove the image and the sin of the infidel from my mind and to return to my fast of mouth and thought.
Only Baagh would take food to him for the first month. In that time, in the name of the heavenly Father and with the fear of his infernal adversary, who may just have been the inmate of our prison, Baagh persuaded the monks to allow the man to live. He used the imperial edict as leverage when they at first suggested to starve him to death.
The Castlemo
nastery was a small nest built to house fifty souls at the tip of a rock. The walls protected most of the eastern and southern sides. The northern and western sides were protected by the mountain rock rising like a heavy gray curtain. The sun set early at the monastery, having the huge rock on its western back. At the far end of the monastery, perched high on the rock, was the monks’ two-story building, the rooms of the second floor and the refectory. Each narrow window of each small cell praised the sun that rose above the sea every morning. The dungeons extended underneath the whole yard. The supplies and heirloom cellars were under the monks’ building because we wanted them close by. The three cells, those of Da-Ren, the lepers, and the skeletons were all the way across at the northeast corner. Each one had a small window opening toward the cliff.
Baagh took me with him the night he went to free Da-Ren, with the other monks’ consent. When we entered the dungeon, the summer moon was too small to provide us with enough light in the middle of the night. We brought the oil lamps close to his face. He looked even more terrifying lying there, grimy and trapped, stirring on all fours like an animal. Da-Ren saw me and turned his back to me curled up like a worm that wanted to hide in the smallest crack in the corner. I was startled and took a step back when I saw the chain loose and unhinged from the floor and the dry blood around his ankle. It would be so easy for him to strangle and kill us right there with that chain.
“Be careful!” I yelled to Baagh, but he reassured me.
“He won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
Baagh turned toward Da-Ren as if he was simply continuing a conversation that had been left unfinished. “You must listen to me and be patient, Da-Ren. The monks here at the Castlemonastery do not possess the magical powers that you seek. I will need time to travel to find the ones who hold the secret and bring them back.”
“You had told me, Baagh, that here in this place I would find the all-powerful Sorcerers of the Cross. Those who had the power to command life and death. You are my last hope to save them,” Da-Ren said without turning around.
Baagh unlocked the chain from Da-Ren’s leg and left a clean white cloth with a bowl of fresh water next to him. I took a few steps back until my hands stopped on the slimy wall.
“I will tell you, Da-Ren, what I am going to do. Turn and look at me,” Baagh said.
We waited there for a while until Da-Ren turned around.
“Da-Ren, I took off your chains for good. Tomorrow you will move to one of the cells where we host our visitors. Eusebius will come to see you every day.”
Baagh looked at me. I swallowed hard. What trials the Lord had brought onto me. The old man continued.
“He will read to you from the books and the scriptures until you both fall tired every day, and he will tell you stories and teach you to speak our language properly. He is a kind young man and harbors no hate or rage within him. He came here an orphan. When you are ready, I want you to tell him your story.”
“No.”
“Listen to me. This is the island of God and if you want his help, you will do His will. When you begin, then and only then will I set sail to find the almighty monks, the Anchorites of the desert of the east and south. Those who have the power to help you.”
“What are you talking about? There is no time for that,” answered Da-Ren, with his trembling hands shaking an imaginary neck that he wanted to strangle. This empty cell was torture for someone like him, who had lived his life as a warrior. He needed an enemy and a blade.
“From the beginning. You will tell Eusebius everything, Da-Ren. Only I know what you are, but all the other monks must learn as well if they are to help you. Eusebius…” Baagh turned toward me. “When Da-Ren is ready to speak to you, you will transcribe the story of his life on papyrus.”
“Me?”
My surprise triumphed over shame and became desire. I wanted to do this. This challenge brought a feeling of sweet and irresistible impatience. The six psalms and the true hymns could not compare to this. Baagh continued, “I will supply you with all the materials you need: papyri, ink of two colors and reed pens, and anything else you want. Fortunately, he has brought gold with him and so have I. We have enough for you to begin, and you will be able to order more from the merchant ships.”
Da-Ren then turned around and grabbed his chains with both hands as if he wanted to free himself from an even worse evil hovering over him.
“I don’t have…don’t have time, Baagh. The demons ravage the Blackvein. Death. Zeria. Aneria. I must save them. Magus of the South. Why do you torture me? I twice saved your life.”
“And I yours, many times over. And that is what I want to do now. You will learn our words.”
“I already know them.”
“Not well enough. You will learn them better, and you will tell Eusebius your entire story. With every detail. Do you hear me? With every detail, or else you will never see me again. You finally have to rid yourself of this curse you have carried with you since birth.”
I put an end to the whistling of a mosquito on my cheek with the palm of my hand so that I could better hear the fate that Baagh had chosen for me.
“The monastery will offer you peace, Da-Ren. In return, it asks for your cooperation and service. And your repentance if you choose, of course. I will bring the powerful Sorcerers of the Cross. In exchange, I ask for your story.”
“Let me go now, Baagh. Let me go back.”
“That is not possible, Da-Ren. There is no return. You know that. No ship will offer you passage, and you will never cross the sea straits of the Holy Empire on your own. They are at war again. When they see you, they will immediately know what you are.”
With those words, Baagh motioned to me that it was time for us to leave.
“I cannot understand why you are asking this of me, monk Evagus,” I said as soon as we walked out of the man’s cell.
“But you will understand when you finish.”
“Which Holy Αpostle shall I begin with? Shall I read to him the Five Holy Books, the new Canon, or the Aphorisms of the First Elder?” I asked. “I have recently written them down.”
“Do you know children’s tales? Folk stories of the peasants of the island? You can start with those, with the simplest ones. Teach him the words for the flowers and the trees. But listen carefully. You will teach him only the words for the essential things, the nouns. For only knowledge of the nouns paints the world of God. The verbs, most of them are the hole-filled vessels of Satan. Adjudicate. Condemn. Command. Judge. Criticize. All these verbs are not righteous work for the pious. Leave them alone, for only God should use them in a story of your fellow man.”
I had so many questions, most of which I didn’t yet know I had.
“Always use the abbreviated code of the sacred writing, Eusebius. Whoever reads it should know that it is the work of God-fearing people.”
“Is what I am about to transcribe a holy story?”
“Exactly the opposite,” said Baagh, as he abandoned me at the blade-carved gate of a thousand-day labyrinth.
XIV.
The Legend of Nothing
Thirteenth Winter. The Sieve. Twenty-Eighth Night
“Only seven lashes? He was easy on you,” Rouba told me.
I had asked him once. He was the older Guide and should know.
“Why Elbia? She was so… She was the best.”
“That’s why. They chose only her from the entire Sieve. This and forty-one other camps,” he said. “What sacrifice was worthy of Enaka? That weasel Atares or that worm Ughi? Or should we have offered the Goddess the ashes of a ninestar like you? The curse had to be broken, Da-Ren.”
Rouba motioned to a child, a Carrier, to bring more manure for the fire.
The sickness stopped spreading a little while after Elbia’s death, exactly as Sah-Ouna had foreseen.
“And if it hadn’t stopped, Rouba?”
“We would need another sacrifice.”
It was so simple, and I understood it many winters la
ter. After some sacrifice the plague would stop. Exactly as Sah-Ouna had foreseen.
Bako was spreading a different, false story: that Elbia was the one who had brought the curse to the Tribe and had to die. As much as I wanted to split his head in two, my strength had left me. Even from then, early on in my life, I understood that I wouldn’t be able to split open all the heads that spat out stupid stories.
“Rouba didn’t tell you the whole truth. I will tell you why they killed Elbia,” Malan told me on the twenty-third night after seeing me alone and lost in the darkest corner of the tent. “If you give me your meat today.”
“Half.”
He turned to leave when I stopped him, offering the meat in my hand. I had fought all day to win it, only in the hope that I would learn something from the Ouna-Ma’s Story. I picked it up from the mud and the piss of the fallen and washed it in the rain. When he ate it, he looked at me with a grin and patted me softly on the shoulder a couple of times. His lips were tight and his head was nodding.
“I will tell you. When you’re older.”
I jumped on him, and we punched each other until Keko’s lashes split us up. I got most of them because I wouldn’t stop.
I could feel the fresh wounds opening with every movement for many nights. My lips were torn and swollen, and that was a good excuse for me not to eat or talk to anyone. On some days, I stood through the trial because I could forget the pain. On others, I just didn’t care and fell. Not on purpose. Atares’s fate didn’t find me.
The only thing I cared about was to escape. The Forest on the north and west sides of the camp was a dark world I wouldn’t enter. To get to the trees, I had to get past the maulers. And then, what would I do in the trees? Reekaal lived there, wolves and terror.
Most of the sheds with the hay bushels were on the eastern side. Everyone would see me if I climbed over the sheds. And then to get down, I would have to jump above the wide and thorny bushes. The easiest way seemed to be the most straightforward: escape from the southern gate, the one everyone used.
Drakon Book I: The Sieve Page 9