Chapter 23
Morning came early to the town of Bootle and like any other day, it hummed with the sounds of daily business. As it turned out, the blacksmith was also a member of the town council, and before opening his shop, he introduced Aiden to the other council members. He presented his idea for the baptism of the town's children. Their approval was immediate and conveyed to the town with the ringing of its church bell. It didn't take long for parents to line up at the church door with their children, waiting to be anointed by the strange holy man that had entered their town only the day before.
Standing in front of the church's baptismal font, Aiden took a moment to pray. He held his open palms over the water and as his hands began to faintly glow, the dingy water cleared almost instantly. With the town council standing nearby, Aiden pulled his hood down over his back and motioned for the first child in line to approach. But upon exposing his face, the branded symbol of the Urielin Order made itself clearly visible. The mother of the child to be baptized gasped and dropped to her knees. The members of the town council were left speechless as others knelt in reverence. Aiden was confused. With the crucifix on the wall behind him, his first thought was that they were kneeling to God. It was only when the child's mother refused to make eye contact that he realized there reverence was for him.
"Everyone, please stand," he said. "It is not me you should kneel to, but Him. I am only a monk and the last of the Urielin Order."
Everyone slowly rose to their feet but kept their heads bowed. Once they saw the mark on his forehead, the people of Bootle treated Aiden as though he was the Messiah himself, come to claim His followers. Or, perhaps, they reacted out of fear. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference.
By the end of the day, Aiden realized that there were more people in the town of Bootle than he had first assumed. And after the last of the town's children had been baptized, the council – led by the blacksmith – approached him.
"Tell me," he began. "What is your name?"
"Aiden," he replied.
His response was very matter-of-fact. "And your last name?" the blacksmith continued.
"I don't know my last name," Aiden answered. "My mother and father gave me up to the monastery I was very young and naturally when everyone takes a vow silence, names are rarely spoken." The blacksmith's face reflected the council's concern.
"I am at a loss for words," he said. "We have always thought that your people were just a myth."
That one word – myth – grab Aiden's attention. He had heard this before in the town of Appleby and became curious as to what was meant by its use.
"I have heard that said before," he began. "But can you tell me, in what way are they known?"
The blacksmith paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Aiden, I do not wish to offend you. You have done this town a great service and we are very grateful. But, people believe what they want to believe and truth is a relative matter. What one person thinks is true, another thinks is lunacy."
Aiden nodded in agreement.
"I am very familiar with lunacy, but God is my truth."
The blacksmith smiled gently.
"I am very glad to hear that Aiden."
The council members followed them as the two walked out of the church and as they made their way down the street, those children who had been baptized came out into the street. They carried food, flowers, and clothing. Aiden was deeply grateful for their thanks but found himself feeling unnerved by such an outpouring. In his mind, one does not take but give. And it is in the act of giving that one receives, without material benefit.
Aiden quickly began to feel overwhelmed by the town's generosity and turning to the blacksmith, asked if their gifts could be given to the poor.
"We have no poor here," he answered. "Everyone gets an equal share of everything the town produces, even from our dealings with merchants."
But seeing Aiden's rising tension, the blacksmith waved off what was quickly becoming a crowd. He gently took Aiden by the arm as they continued down the street.
"Let's go back to my shop," he said. Aiden glanced back and took note of the concern on the faces of the remaining council members and while the people of the town seemed eternally grateful, Aiden suspected that something was amiss. Entering the blacksmith's shop, he decided there would be no other opportunity to ask the question that still went unanswered. He put the armload of gifts on a nearby bench and turned back to the blacksmith with tact and curiosity. "Back in the church, you mentioned the Urielin were believed to be the stuff of myths. Stories. What kinds of stories?" The blacksmith took a deep breath as he carefully composed his words, wanting to be honest, but not sweeten his response with semantics.
"Most of the townspeople are unfamiliar with the stories of your brothers," he began. "But when they see a mark on the head of a wandering monk, they take it as a sign from God. Now, the older folks, including the council, know the stories." He hesitated for a moment, constructing his next words.
"Your fellow monks are said to be followers of the devil. Their monastery, supposedly, a well-guarded gate to the mouth of hell."
Aiden knew that at the basis of every myth lies a small grain of truth. But, this story held far more than a simple fundamental idea. Aiden wasn't certain as to how to respond. After all, how do you tell someone that what they fear could, in fact, a real?
"I can see this makes you uncomfortable," he continued. "My apologies."
The blacksmith leaned back against his workbench, trying to decide how to continue the conversation. He was anxious to know more; to discover if there was, indeed, any truth to the stories. "So, how long will you be staying with us?" he asked.
Aiden didn't need a lot of time to answer his question.
"I appreciate your hospitality, but I am finding that I am quite uncomfortable around people."
In an attempt to argue the idea that Aiden should stay in their town, the blacksmith turned to religion.
"As a monk, you serve both God and man, correct?"
"Yes," Aiden answered. "It is my duty to God that I serve both."
"Alright," the blacksmith began. "So why not be of service here? These people need you. You will be fed, clothed. You can live in the church if you want. This town will take care of you."
It was a tempting offer. Perhaps at another time, he would return. But in Aiden's mind, there was work to be done and evil cannot be cast out where it does not exist.
"You have been very kind," he began. "But, I must continue. I will leave at first light."
As he tore off a piece of bread and as he ate, the blacksmith asked one last probing question.
"Will you be returning to your monastery?"
Aiden brought his head up as he paused in his brief meal.
"There is nothing to return to," he replied.
Aiden since the blacksmith's curiosity, but didn't believe he would understand. At the same time, he felt that the truth would be more frightening than the story. "Aiden," the blacksmith continued.
His curiosity piqued as did his concern. As a member of the town council, one of his duties was to ensure the safety of its people and felt that his questions were justified.
"What happened?"
As far as the town was concerned, Aiden walked in from out of nowhere and given the story being told about the monastery and its monks, he felt an explanation was in order. He stared down the street as people moved about on their daily business.
"I spent my entire life with the monks. I came to see the Abbot as more than a simple man of God. He had become something of a father to me. One day, I discovered him practicing magic. He was trying to cast a spell... to turn me away from God. Before he could finish the spell, I took his life. The other monks came to his defense. They are also dead." Aiden thought it best not to explain any more than what the blacksmith was asking. But, he did understand the concern behind his question. After all, it was likely very rare that a monk would simply walk into their town. They usually remained cloistered for their entire lives, often dying in their cells.
The blacksmith listened with rapt attention but suspected there might be more than Aiden had revealed. However, Aiden made it a point to reassure the blacksmith that the monastery did not, in fact, harbor the entrance to hell. The blacksmith smiled slightly.
"It does sound rather far-fetched, doesn't it?" Aiden was not accustomed to humor and found himself doing something he had never before experienced. He smiled. He could easily be assumed that, on some innate level, humor is universally understood. But, smiling created a sensation Aiden was unprepared for. It was an uplifting, emotional release that made him wonder what else he had been missing all those years.
"Yes, it does," he answered. The next morning, the blacksmith fulfilled his part of their arrangement. Bridle for baptisms. He showed Aiden how to set the bit, gave him the food that had been provided to him the day before and let him go on his way. With his hand still on the bridle, the blacksmith offered a last invitation. "Aiden," he began. "If you ever want to return, we will always welcome you." Aiden nodded and thanked him for his offer.
"It's good to know that I have a place to return to."
With those last words of gratitude, he gave his horse a slight kick and started down the town's center street. People ran up to him to touch his robe as children playing in the street. Momentarily, he wondered why he was leaving such an idyllic place where no one went hungry and everyone was clean and housed. If one needed work, it could easily be had.
He rode past the church, remembering it simple beauty. Shortly arriving at the edge of town, he continued south, down the road and vanished into the distance. His only objective was to serve. There was no destination. No map. Only the voice of God whispering into his soul, guiding him. And the one thing that would keep him from being truly lost was his faith that God would never betray him.