saint Sebastian the Rose

  “What else can we get done? There isn’t much time left,” Jessica asked in desperation.

  “I have sent Father Jacques and Father Andrew to finish in the library and they might be able to use a hand.”

  “What are they doing?” Jessica wondered.

  “They are sealing up the library,” Father Dagrun stated.

  “Sealing it up? What for?” Jacob asked.

  Father Dagrun didn’t want to seem to be a doomsayer and only wanted to shoot straight with the twins. They deserved it. “The library has been here for a long time, and we don’t want anything to happen to it. Especially if things go bad, we don’t want to take a chance of losing it.”

  “What do you think will happen to it?” Jessica pleaded. She didn’t want anything to happen to it either; this was the place her father had spent so much of his time and had loved so much.

  Father Dagrun heard the plight of her voice and only wanted to soothe things. “Nothing is going to happen, but luck favors the prepared. Many precautions have been placed in the monastery to protect the library. Even though it blends in with the castle, the library was built separately; much has been learned over the years from the history of the castle and its mishaps.”

  “We need to hurry now if we want to finish anything. Everyone is to meet up before sunset in the tower—no exceptions. Jessica will you go and help them?” Father Dagrun asked.

  “I’ll go. What about Jacob?” she inquired.

  “Oh, we just have some unfinished business to take care of, some last minute tending to out here,” Father Dagrun covered. Jessica nodded. She knew she was being left out of something but trusted in her twin to tell all.

  The two watched her go and Father Dagrun made gestures and pointless remarks about the wood piles as she left the yard. When she entered the castle Father Dagrun dropped the charade and looked over to Jacob who was waiting to be let in on what the big monk was up to.

  “I just didn’t want her in on this conversation, okay? I have a hard enough time talking about all of this with you and dealing with a girl at the same time,” Father Dagrun blurted.

  “She’s actually pretty tough and really smart. I guess she gets that from me since we are twins,” Jacob joked.

  “I know, I know. I’m just not used to girls being around. Look, things are likely to get tough, downright scary and likely worse. What I’m trying to say is I don’t want you trying to be a hero! Protect her and yourself so you make it through this and can go on with your lives,” Father Dagrun said, pacing around on the grass.

  “I don’t plan on being a hero. I plan on coming out of this alive with my sister … but this is our lives right now … whatever comes of it,” Jacob said.

  “Was there anything else?” Jacob asked.

  Father Dagrun stirred and remembered he had not finished all he had wanted to say. “I would say stay close to Sebastian but I don’t know if that’s wise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he is probably the safest to be around because he is the most formidable, but on the other hand, he might attract too much attention,” Father Dagrun explained.

  “You think they will go after him hard?” Jacob understood battle tactics enough to know if you take out the best in a fight, the fight may be over. Father Dagrun nodded his head silently, not wanting to say it out loud.

  “Don’t you worry; we will do our best to protect him. He may just be hard to keep up with. You would probably be safer with Father Lemoine and his crew.”

  Both looked around at the preparations; the battlefield had been set even as some of the pieces were already in motion.

  “Would you check on Sebastian to see how he is doing? I know this is killing him to not be helping right now.”

  “Yeah, I have a couple of questions I need to ask him,” Jacob said with a smile. Father Dagrun gave him a fatherly look of warning not to get into too much mischief.

  Jacob was walking back toward the castle when he stopped and turned. “Are there any more surprises I need to know about?”

  “Not any you need be concerned with,” Father Dagrun said sternly, not wanting to put Jacob in any more danger than he already was. “I just hope our first surprise is going well.”

  chapter THIRTY-ONE

  FOR FATHER DONOVAN this was the realization of many nightmares coalescing into reality. How could things have come to pass this way? The questions flashed before his eyes. One moment the brothers seemed to have won the day, and the next moment they were in the lion’s den.

  The sounds of his commands were not heard at first over the din of battle-enraged monks who only knew victory was at hand. If only moments passed by then, let them be moments of eternity where time is relative and has no mercy for circumstance.

  Something must have caught the attention of the benevolent warring monks because most hesitated or stopped in mid-stride. Maybe it was the smell that wafted over them like a ripe dumpster in the summer, maybe it was the feel of entering a new room where the air has a different vibration, or maybe it was the movement caught in their peripheral vision telling them they were no longer the majority. Whatever it was—and surely that small fact will be discussed at length in front of a warm fireplace in a distant future with much enthusiasm and remembered anxiety—every mortal present felt their hair stand on end, and they finally heard their leader’s call.

  Father Donovan was calling out behind them and Father Lemoine was pulling at the arms of the closest monks, brothers he would not leave and brothers he would not let fight here in this pit of depravity. A few of the monks stood trance-like, possibly frozen in complete fear at what they witnessed.

  The room was worse than the imagination could give honest description to; a few clearly began to weep at the scene. The room was large and circular in shape, but these are the details that get lost in the true reality facing them. Lit only by a few braziers flickering weakly, there were so many nooks carved out of the walls, most would guess it to be a large beehive. The center of the room was fixed with a central stone dais similar to one they had already encountered in one of the rooms above.

  These minor details left the eyes almost immediately once one took in the other aspects of the room. The floor was littered with corpses that were strewn about lying one on top of the other in various stages of decomposition. From the ceiling chains were dangling with more unfortunate souls suspended, their blood flowing, running down their bodies to drip off of their toes, mixing with that of others, washing over the floor and collecting in the cracks between the stones and gathering in small pools. But that was not all: from the center of the ceiling dark holes appeared just over the central dais, and from them there was a steady drip, falling onto the stone table like an unnatural spring pouring from the earth.

  Many of the monks now saw even more that should concern them: many of the still figures that were lying in the niches were moving. They steadily regained their senses and their legs as they made way to retreat back through the doors that should never have been opened. Father Donovan stood his ground while his brothers were making their way past him, and he took his last glimpse of the room that would forever be ingrained in his psyche. On the floor he saw numerous long silver blades tossed about and drenched in the blood of many. He knew the significance and lamented their failure.

  With Father Lemoine ushering Father Donovan from the room just as he had done for his brothers he caught one last glimpse of the wretched landscape as two of his brothers were closing the bronze doors—a solitary figure emerging from a dark doorway, tall and slow in his walk, eyes fixed on the old monk’s face.

  The sound of the doors closing was not comfort enough for the monks who had seen a change of fate in an instant. Every ounce of confidence drained from them like warmth after jumping into an icy lake. He turned with haste and began to run as none of the other monks had ever seen their old mentor run before. Without a word of command the rest joined in, realizing they would not be told; instinct would need to take
over.

  The sounds echoing off the tunnel walls were the sounds of labored breathing and booted feet hitting the dusty stone in rapid succession. With only a few torches remaining, the few who carried them tried to hold them as steady as possible, but when running almost flat out it is hard to keep the arms stable and with this motion the strobe effect was disorienting. Light would come and go; a point of reference was there one second and the next it was gone. It was like trying to play connect the dots with where they were going.

  Father Donovan took up the lead after passing all of his brothers in their tracks. Father Lemoine had taken up the rear and was holding onto the faith that his friend would quickly navigate the maze of winding tunnels they had taken. After reviewing what he could of the direction they were headed, he was not very reassured since he recognized none of it. This was a tunnel they had not taken yet; he knew their odds just got worse. The only thing that was of reassurance was the fact there was a slight incline to the tunnel.

  As Father Lemoine ran along, the men in front of him slowed, and his frustration grew. He was in the back of the line, so he was the first in danger. With that thought he took a moment to listen as he turned his head to look behind him. This was something he really didn’t want to do; if he was to be taken he had rather it be without his knowledge. When he turned his head the light from the torches lost their effect behind him, and the darkness was complete. So was the silence; the only thing standing out was the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. His thoughts turned to his men in front of him; if they didn’t hurry, he would have some serious chores for them when they returned to the monastery. Soon the brothers continued their escape but were heading up stone steps; this was also a good sign.

  The feeling of being chased is not a sensation that anyone would recommend on a frequent basis. Of course, being chased is one thing, but running for your very life adds something inexplicable to the experience. Most would describe the feeling as a continuing heart attack or being on the verge of one. The only thing working harder than your heart is your brain.

  Father Lemoine only wished they would hurry. He knew he could run faster than this and did not want to think about how fast the ones behind him could run. His paranoia growing, as well as his instinct for his own personal safety, he put his hand up to the monk in front of him and urged him forward. When he thought about it he wished he could see them or hear them; this almost appealed to him more than the silence of not knowing where they were. He reassured himself he would feel something grasp him from the dark at any moment, and it would be all over—no more running, no more anxiety and no more light. Reciting a prayer, he bolstered his lagging faith in his friend who was guiding them to that light he thought he might never see. He looked to his watch and saw the light he wanted to see would almost be gone when they exited the bowels of the earth. This night would surely be a long one for any who would survive.

  The stairs seemed endless. They would go and level off for a short distance and start up again like the work of an insane architect who only designed towers. Towers—the thought came and went because his mind was interrupted when the stairs stopped again, and a small room opened up. The brothers remained very still in the center, and he did not know why. Father Lemoine made his way to the front, which wasn’t really the front anymore because the room was round and had five other exits. Father Donovan moved, with torch in hand, going from door to door. The Brothers of the Word looked to each other anxiously and looked to Father Lemoine as he too searched for what Father Donovan was seeking. They didn’t need to linger—not here, not ever here.

  Knowing he didn’t want to disturb the concentrating Father Donovan, Father Lemoine walked the perimeter of the room looking from the ceiling to the floor, which was covered with dust. The dust was disturbed in almost every direction, and he knew they were not the reason for the tracks; this was their first entry into the room.

  The seemingly second-in-command, Father Lemoine, stopped in front of one of the dark doorways, doorways that almost wanted to suck you in like a powerful gravitational force. With his mind playing games on him he made sure his footing was secure as he leaned toward the impenetrable darkness. He stood there for seconds blocking out the flickering sounds of the torches and of the small group, quieting the almost subliminal sound of the light breeze that was ever present in the tunnels, as though they actually breathed.

  There in the preternatural silence was something, something that had not been present before. It was not only his ears that had picked up on this but the synapses in his brain somehow must be connected with his sixth sense. They were firing off, sending tingling sensations down his body. He didn’t have to say anything; the monks around him had picked it up also. This scared them because Father Lemoine was a fearless leader, and now the slightest look of fear played out on his face.

  Father Lemoine looked around to his friends and to Father Donovan who had taken an interest in something else. It seemed the silence had made it impossible for him to think. He watched his wise brother to understand what he had picked up on, and he understood all too well: the threat was fast approaching. Too fast, it would seem. Father Donovan’s eyes grew wider and his friend understood the meaning.

  The darkness had revealed nothing to them but faint sounds that seemed to come from not one source but likely many. Sparkling malevolent lights came out of that hole, lights that seemed they would become accustomed to, lights that heralded the horror of the nightmares of kids and now these men. Father Lemoine turned his head as quickly as he could, uncomfortable with the thought of not meeting his fate face-to-face.

  In a flash he turned his head. The eyes grew in brilliance, and he knew the thing was upon him with no time to prepare. Reaching from the darkness, the hands grabbed him and nearly lifted him from the ground to take him into that nether region of his nightmares. He tried to reach for anything that would give him a chance to fight, but the hands had been too quick, locking his arms in place with the strength of a giant. Still he struggled.

  He realized his efforts were in vain and understood he would soon be gone, but those pallid cold fingers were not the only hands holding him tightly. He felt like a wishbone being pulled in several directions. The monk’s efforts only matched those of the one they were struggling against, and the slightest give would send him hurtling down the passage. As more of the monks reacted they were hurrying over to help, but they were not the only ones trying to join in the struggle. More gleaming red eyes appeared, and more hands reached out, but these did not reach for Father Lemoine. They grabbed another monk who was holding Father Lemoine’s life on the good side and wrenched him from his footing. He soon lost his grip on his leader, almost tearing the very clothes off of his back.

  A few of the others reached the scene, even though it was only steps from where they stood. Everything happened in mere seconds. They grabbed Father Lemoine, not thinking about themselves even after witnessing their other brother disappear into the hole. The other set of eyes vanished and they continued their tug-of-war with their brother against the monster. With more joining in the fray, the hands released when a torch was brought to bear by one of the free monks. All were sent flying backward into the center of the room, landing in a dusty heap and sending yet another torch into one of the other doorways out of reach of the room.

  Only a few sounds were heard from the men feeling the harsh stone hit them hard. They sat up quickly, though, ignoring any bruises. They looked to the doorway that had consumed one of their own and realized there was no going down that path. That path led to a sure doom. How did they know this? Their ears told them all they needed to know: their brother’s screams echoed against what had been crushing silence louder than anything they had heard all day.

  Hopes dropped like a brick. Most of them couldn’t comprehend that they had lost a number of their brothers in a matter of hours. How could this even register on their minds? Some had experienced traumatic loss in their lives; that is why they were here, but some
were too young or just never knew anything so devastating. They knew that war must be like this. It is a fact that some are going to die; you just have to look to the person on your left or your right and know that one of you will not be there the next moment.

  Father Lemoine was also affected so much he was having trouble understanding what had just happened. He stood up and began to walk toward the door. The only thing that stopped him was the wisest voice he had ever known.

  “Brother,” Father Donovan spoke softly even in such a tense and stressful situation.

  Father Lemoine stopped and turned to see his mentor standing there with a long face and his arms down in futility. He wanted to say something but no words came; he was not supposed to be the one saved by others. That was his job, to make sure they were protected. Father Donovan walked over to him quickly, grabbed his arm and whispered, “It is time to go.”

  That point was punctuated by the rising sounds that seemed to have zeroed in on their location. Their eyes spoke volumes to each other and the moment was over. He had others to protect and he would be much needed if they were to survive; his job was not over. He took his cue, shook his head and finally spoke.

  “Lead on … but which one?”

  Father Donovan looked back to the doors and walked directly up to one of the doorways, never stopping. He entered the darkness with confidence and was followed instantly by the others who knew their fate might not be any different than if they stayed. With only a couple of torches left to give any light, the corridors were very dark, which corresponded to the situation they were in. The only positive aspect to all of this was that they were not pitched in a life or death battle at the moment but that could change.

  The pace quickened; wherever they were going they wanted to get there and fast. Anything was preferable to where they had been seconds before. Suddenly they all sensed a change and a light returned to the faces of the weary monks. The air was different; the putrid breeze had been replaced by one that was scented more with the familiar smell of pollen carried by the wind from above. They were close.