“It was like that with me, brother Gumm. But why? Why are they drawn here?”
Gumm answered quietly as they walked into the hall.
“Because when it comes to magic, like attracts like. That little holy mote within you is attracted to the light of Angall hidden here. Like small parts of a greater whole. It will be the same when you meet others with your blessing. You will ignite each other.”
Ignite each other. The phrase excited and terrified Alfred. The young female crusader flashed in his mind, gleaming in her armour and aflame with violence.
“In my dreams and visions. I see a girl. A fierce red haired girl. Could she be another like me? She obsesses my thoughts.”
Gumm grinned beneath his beard.
“I have no idea. But it’s not uncommon for lustful young priests to obsess over their idea of a pretty girl. Maybe best just keep that one to yourself.”
Alfred heard more murmurs as he passed a low table of supping monks.
“I hate feeling like the new boy in school.”
Gumm smiled. His teeth were square and strong for such an unhygienic old drunk.
"We were all the new boy once upon a time, lad."
Alfred heard a cough behind him and Gumm tapped him a little too hard on the shoulder with his big hand. Alfred turned and stood facing a beanpole of a man with a beaky nose and bristling side whiskers. His robes were a dusky grey and he wore a phoenix chain around his neck. His eyes were a faded blue, and waft of orris root drifted from his robes. Gumm nudged Alfred again, causing him to wince. The old man was as strong as a boar, and as subtle.
"Stand straight lad. This is the Abbot, Father Malkolm Bluheart. "
Father Bluheart gave Alfred a smile and cast a blessing with his hand.
"Alfred, it pleases me to see that you are on the mend. The road to Ironghast is not an easy one, is it?"
Alfred cleared his throat and tried to stand in a pious fashion.
"I am grateful for your hospitality, and the sanctuary you have offered me."
Father Bluheart cocked his head like a bird and gazed at Alfred with laughing eyes.
"Brother Phillip told us you were coming. We hoped to extricate you before the Witchfinders found you. I am sorry, we failed in that regard. But my old friend Phillip got you here in the end, bless him. I am so saddened by his loss.”
There was airiness and optimism to the old man that made Alfred want to tell him everything.
"How is it that you were expecting me? It would take weeks to get a letter here, if at all.”
Father Bluheart walked across and held Alfred by the shoulder. He leaned in conspiratorially. Alfred could smell the violet from his sweetened robes.
"There are other roads than the ones we pave between places, Alfred. Roads the gods have paved. There are those in the monastery who can communicate with merely a thought. Or through the mind of a bird or a tree. Or through vivid dreams. We with the Magus within need to use what we have and find secret ways to send our messages. Ones the king and his Witchfinders cannot see."
Alfred shuffled as the abbot fixed his gaze. He thought of his own dreams and visions that had plagued him for years. The abbot’s face was open and friendly but Alfred also could feel himself being studied meticulously. He wondered if it was also the first time that Bluheart had met anyone blessed with Angall’s Whisper.
“Master Phillip told me that Ironghast is a sanctuary for people like me. People who were born with the Magus. That I would find my purpose here.”
Bluheart nodded.
“People, beasts, rare plants, even elemental beings. Any living thing however eldritch that has the golden heart within. Anything that the king would hunt to extinction and the Sorrow would drain like a leech. We protect precious things here as best we can. And we all find our purpose here, or choose it. According to our wants.”
Alfred looked around the hall and several of the monks were glanced up at him as they ate. As if he were some curious new bird whose markings they had never seen before. They tore the warm bread and drank the wine from their wooden cups and his belly rumbled. He could not recall the last time he sat at a rosewood table and broke bread without fear of being eaten or arrested.
"Father Bluheart, Master Phillip told me that Ironghast is also repository for the rarest books, books of magic that have been outlawed or thought lost?"
Bluheart gave a little chuckle and led Alfred up a few shallow steps and across the hall to an arched window. He stood there looking out over the low hills that led up to jagged peaks. Down in a valley, Alfred could see the ruins of a town nestled amongst coarse bushes. Father Bluheart took in a deep breath as he surveyed the dramatic landscape behind the monastery.
"Phillip told me that you are a lover of books. Then you will be very happy here. Our library here is one of the richest and rarest in the world. Many of its books are to be found nowhere else. And some no one has been able to read for centuries. I have heard it rumoured that Angall’s Whisper can sometimes grant the gift of understanding lost languages. There are certain books here that the Sorrow would kill to possess, if only to destroy them. Books that in the proper hands could turn the tide of war. "
Alfred's heart quickened. To pore over the ancient books of a secret library night after night would make the entire miserable journey so far worthwhile, he thought. To be able to read words that perhaps even Angall himself had written. Alfred blinked as he felt the magic rise in his blood.
His mind flashed with an image of an open book sat upon a pedestal. A dome of golden light shone over it and within that light a thousand motes like his own blessing. The open book was heavy and old. It pulsed with energy that Alfred could feel in his blood. It felt like it was calling to him. Alfred had not experienced a vision this clear in weeks. Somehow, the book knew him.
“Father Bluheart…”
Bluheart gave Alfred a knowing smile and his eyes scanned the boy’s face.
“Many things thought lost are here. Waiting.”
Alfred remembered the injured monk in the infirmary. Claiming this to be a haven of monsters, abandoned by the gods.
"So what else is here in Ironghast, father?"
Bluheart looked like he was making a mental inventory, his lips moving silently.
"We the last safe place for the lost and the damned. The few remaining stragglers of the Old Races, the last surviving members of species most of humanity thinks are myths, as well as those rare and special children of men who are born with the Magus within them. Everything that the Sorrow didn't kill the first time it came, and everything our poor corrupted King Oligan has not managed to hunt to extinction. We hold them here. To preserve the last vestiges of things that would otherwise be lost to time, to preserve the beauty of magic, and lastly to keep safe the few blessed powers that might keep us safe from the Sorrow when open war does come."
Alfred looked up at the old holy man, and then cast his gaze out of the window at the moon over the mountains. The burden of responsibility settled on his narrow shoulders once again. Yet it was less uncomfortable than before.
"Am I one of those lost souls now, Father Bluheart?"
The old man nodded.
"Yes, Alfred. You and those like you in particular. There are many strange and ancient powers in the hidden places of the world that might be used against the might of the Sorrow, but Angall's Whisper, that is a rare one indeed."
Alfred turned to the old monk and fought for the right words. The old man stood by the window with his hands clasped. Behind him, Alfred could hear the low chatter of the monks and smell the aroma of warm bread.
"Master Phillip told me as much in Old Vassonia that it only surfaces in people when the world needs it. Though he would tell me precious little else. Except that there may be others like me spread across the world. Will they be drawn here too?"
Bluheart nodded.
"If they are amongst the wise, who see their blessing for what it is, and who know the secret of Ironghast, then yes, hopeful
ly others will be drawn to us here."
Alfred frowned and he leaned his hands on the cold stone window ledge as he looked out. The cold night breeze blew on his face.
"Why did Master Phillip tell me so little?"
Malkolm Bluheart breathed in the night air.
"Not to pain or confuse you, lad. He likely felt guilty."
"Guilty?"
Malkolm Bluheart nodded.
"According to what records we have, those born with your particular blessing have trials ahead of them, tests and suffering that most men cannot bear. From what I have read, only a few survive. I realize that this is not comforting new to you, Alfred."
The monk's blue eyes cast upon him with pity.
"Angall's Whisper, though useful for lighting candles and sending Kraven away with burning tails between their legs, is meant for a greater purpose. Those rare Angall's Riddles kept here within our library that we have deciphered hold it as a fire of vigour and animation."
Bluheart took a deep breath and cast his eyes out over the bleak ragged country below. He considered his word and then explained in a measured tone.
"As I interpret the writings, that mote of light you can exhale, it wakes up sleeping angelic beings that have lain dormant since the Sorrow last invaded. Holy living weapons of Angall that are buried deep within the earth, very close to where we now stand, in fact. In the Torrent.”
Alfred’s jaw fell. Whatever courage was blossoming in him recently shrivelled.
“The Torrent? I am not well travelled, but even I know that no man can enter that place. I knew Ironghast was close to it, but never imagined that I would get close to it. Nor do I desire to. Not even to see an angelic spirit.”
The Torrent was a place of myth that had crept into the childhood stories of most people in the realm. Rumored to be an area where the war against the Sorrow was so destructive that the gods had sealed it off with their magic a thousand years before. It did not sound to Alfred like the most intelligent place to journey, blessing or no blessing. Bluheart could see his fear.
“It lays only a couple of miles behind the monastery, in a narrow valley. What you need to find lies in there. Your mote is the fire in the furnace of some ancient machine, whose form and composition are like nothing in nature. They are creatures of pure spirit, whose forms are clothed and housed in skins of living ore, in shapes that our mind cannot fathom. Once you awaken such a spirit, it will enter your body and be consumed by you, merging inseparably with you as salt dissolves in water. If your body accepts the spirit, it will change you and give you strength. If not, it will tear you apart."
Alfred felt a shiver run through him that was more than the night air from the open windows.
"I fear I am too weak a vessel for such a spirit. I will rip asunder."
Bluheart shrugged.
"Perhaps. But I believe Angall does not give such things to those who cannot bear the burden."
Alfred glanced behind him. Hot steaming platters of meat in sauce were being brought out to the seated monks. He did not recognise the meat but it smelled like fresh seafood. His mouth began to water.
"Do you think I might have a few nights sleep in a bed and supper at a table first, father?"
Malkolm Bluheart laughed and held Alfred's shoulder, ushering him over to one of the long benches.
"Of course Alfred. Come, sit with the others."
Malkolm Bluheart sat down at a bench on a raised dais at the back of the hall. With the other benches laid out in rows below them. The monks looked up at him and then at a gesture from Bluheart they resumed their feasting.
A platter was laid down before Alfred and although he was ravenous his stomach churned. Steaming hot piles of what looked like grubs filled the platters. Laid out on clumps of green vegetation. In his politest guest voice he turned to the abbot, trying to swallow the bile.
"I have never seen this… delicacy."
Bluheart picked up on of the large grubs, dipped it in a pot of buttery herb sauce, and bit it in half. A whitish liquid dribbled own his chin.
"Ironghast is far from the farming communities at the edge of the Bleaks, and there is little in the way of arable land here. Nor is there rivers teeming with fish. What we do have, are deep caverns and tunnels beneath the mountain. There, a moss grows in abundance that is the essence of nourishment. It tastes bitter, but once boiled overnight it softens to the consistency of seaweed. It alone has kept us all alive for decades. A man needs nothing else."
Alfred prodded one of the bulbous grubs and its gelatinous flesh puckered.
"I wasn't referring to the garnish, father, I was looking at the slugs."
Bluheart laughed with a full mouth, and Alfred struggled not to gag.
"Slugs? Alfred these are moongrubs. They feed also on the moss underground. They are our vittles, our beef, or pork, our chicken, and our fish. They are pure and abundant source of meat. Be careful when you bite in, the insides are cooked like soft boiled eggs."
A few spaces along, a burly monk with an eyepatch and a wiry ginger beard flecked with grey leaned forward. He looked to be past sixty but he was solid of frame. His one eye glared at Alfred with undisguised impatience.
"Ah tuck in laddie, unless you'd like to go back out into the Bleaks and feed on the dead Kraven by the roadside?"
Malkolm Bluheart laughed and raised a hand.
"Alfred, may I introduce Brother Kobold. He has been with us for a few months now. He is an old soldier prior to finding the cloth, so forgive his barrack house chatter. Kobold, the lad is new to us, it took you a week of hunger before you got a taste for the moongrub."
Brother Kobold grunted and picked up a grub, dipping it in sauce and stuffing it whole in his mouth. He leaned further forward and spoke to Alfred in a gruff tone.
"I hear you were part of a bigger party, young one? But that you drew the Wendigo down from the hills. Been a while since I saw one of those starving bastards. You must have some bad omens about you to bring trouble like that down upon yourself."
Alfred tried not to show the emotion on his face and replied in a level tone.
"Yes Brother. We were attacked while we camped at one of the brecanstanes. I was asleep before I knew what was happening. Only I survived."
Kobold grunted and stuffed another Moongrub into his mouth. It burst and stuck in gooey strings to his wiry beard.
"If they died at a brecanstane, then they have not died, not have they found rest. But I can see in your eyes that you know this."
Alfred nodded. He noticed that several of the other monks had stopped eating and were listening in to their conversation.
"I have seen a pale reflection of my brother within those foul stones. Is this land cursed?"
Brother Kobold laughed.
"I was on a pilgrimage to Thassus three months ago, in a caravan of twenty people and eight armed guards. We only meant to cross over the farthest edge of the Bleaks, but all sense of direction is thrown to the wind in this terrible desert. Between beasts and bandits, only I remained after the seventh day. Somehow, after five nights I found myself at the foot of this mountain. And here I've been stuck, waiting for a broken leg to heal before I make my way back to civilization. I'd have been dead in the dust, but now here I am feasting on slugs and moss with these fine fellows."
Kobold made an extravagant show of stuffing a handful of moss and grubs into his mouth. Until he was unable to talk and just stared at Alfred, chewing with a bitter look upon his scarred face.
Malkolm Bluheart shook his head and took a sip of wine.
"On the contrary, Brother Kobold, though you are most welcome here as a fellow devotee of Angall, for as long as you wish. This land is our cloak. The Bleaks are a strange place, saturated with the ancient magic from the old war. The king, even with all his seers, soothsayers and oracles straining their senses out into the world, they cannot detect us here. We are invisible to those who are sensitive to magic. But our own eyes can reach out and see what is happening in the world,
most times."
Alfred gingerly sampled some moss. To his surprise he found it refreshing and wholesome, and began to pile his plate high. As he ate, he turned to Bluheart.
"Father Malkolm, I wish to ask you of something, but I do not know how to form the words."
Malkolm Bluheart raised a bushy brow.
"Is it a scriptural matter, Alfred?"
"No Master. It is about something I saw on the road here to the Monastery."
Malkolm Bluheart gave a sympathetic smile.
"There are many strange things here in the outer rim Alfred. The ancient wars that happened here took a toll on the landscape. You saw it on your way here. The laws of nature can be bent and toyed with by twisted minds. Lesser gods prowl out here, son, not true ones. These aberrations are not part of the natural order, do not trouble yourself with them."
Bluheart raised his head and his voice once again.
"Brother Kobold saw many strange things during the wars when sorcery was abound in the world, did you not brother?"
Kobold took a sip of ale and glanced up at Alfred. His blind eye was a polluted pearl that made Alfred shiver.
"I saw things that would make you shit, boy. Grubben and Milk-Dogs stalking in caves. Dusk Bears and Man-o-Wars charging at us in whole legions with jaws slavering filth. Men that wore their bones on the outside as armour calling up wisps from the deep. Whatever it is you saw, it was a relic of the past that will soon fade to nothing. The days of magic are done, boy."
Alfred looked at Kobold, and thought that he had a similar bearing to master Phillip. The same grizzled face and hard muscle beneath the layers of fat. The same broad shoulders and haunted expression. They were about the same age and Alfred wondered if they had served together. He recalled how Phillip had told him of the questionable things he had done in his youth in the name of the king.
"You sound like you have fought in many battles, Kobold? When did you decide to take your vows?"
Malkolm Bluheart waved a hand.
"Do not press the brother on such matters, Alfred. It is impolite to enquire how and when Angall chose to reveal the Great Riddle to a cleric. We each get here in different ways. You yourself came by an unexpected path, did you not?"
A Prayer of Dusk and Fury Page 6