Chapter 30
Aiden didn't spend a lot of time in Egton. Half a day, at the most. But after wielding his sword against the old woman, he quickly came to the conclusion that he'd had enough of Egton. His venture through the empty town was over. He did, however, find a razor. But he would use it later, after putting a considerable distance between himself and the town. Walking down the side of the street, Aiden sheathed his sword. By this time, a thin layer of dried blood had gathered on the inside of his scabbard. Every time he drew his sword, it's cold sharpened edge scraped away a small amount that had collected around its open end.
Returning to his horse, he packed what he had recovered and, again, tying the sacks together with a length of rope, hung them over his shoulder. Mounting his horse, Aiden made his way back to the river, following it downstream, away from the town. But as he forded the river, his mind was overtaken by the old woman's face and the sight of her bisected body. It no longer mattered if she had been a witch or not. From now on, if there were any doubts, his sword would make the final decision.
Following the River Esle, Aiden was, once again, struck by a familiar scent that seemed to be with him since his arrival at the Yorkshire Moors. Until now, he had been unable to place it. He had, however, been to the coast of the Irish Sea and given that particular leg of his journey, Aiden's memory acted to bring the scent back to life. And as he neared the end of the river, the North Sea came into view, rising up as a glimmering mistress, tempting those who would cast their nets into the beauty of her dark waters.
He had forgotten how tranquil the ocean could be and finding a path to the beach, dismounted his horse and led her down to the sand. Aiden found the smell of the ocean soothed his soul and the constant rhythm of the waves to be the primal heartbeat of God, and the living earth. But, the English coast was lined with rocky cliffs that brought the waves to a sudden tumultuous stop as waves rose, one after another, climbing high from their rolling repose. Reaching the crest, they carried themselves forward in a suicidal dance against the rocky wall, their watery remains shattering as the next wave made its terminal approach. But while Aiden found the smooth distant ocean calming, the pounding waves, that, since the beginning of time, wore away the rocks, left him reflecting on his turbulent life, and what had become of it.
He thought about spending the night nearby, where the river met the sea. But instead, Aiden took up a high place in a large rock at the top of the beach. The afternoon shadows were growing long, but the day was not so short they couldn't make out the distant shapes of roofs just to the north. And returning to the river, Aiden watered his horse, letting it drink without consuming too much. Turning back to the trail, he walked his horse north and arrived at the edge of Whitby. By now, one town was beginning to look like every other. But, Whitby quickly came to hold something special for Aiden. It was a small town on the rocky English coast, with the North Sea as its backdrop. Again, he pulled his hood up and over his forehead. If the stories of the Urielin monks were as widespread as he suspected, exposing the brand on his forehead might prompt peoples superstitions, thus, raising their fears. But, there was another reason for his attraction to Whitby. Hunger. Aiden had run out of food and there was nothing to be had back in Egton. He would have to rely on the generosity of strangers and considering the results of his recent battles with evil, Aiden hoped for a quiet isolated place. However, Whitby was a coastal town and, therefore, dedicated to fishing. And as fishing towns go, there was always a constant flow of visitors, generally from other coastal towns looking for trade.
Entering the edge of town, Aiden heard the laughter of children and detected the strong odor of fish in the air. He had, for some time, traveled with a heavy heart. But arriving at Whitby, he felt its innocence as the town's children began to gather around him out of playful curiosity. As he made his way into the center of town, people rushed out towards him and touching his robe, hoped to receive a blessing from God. With a gentle smile, and also took the time to reach out to people and touching their hands caused some faint in a religious ecstasy Aiden realized immediately that while their faith was strong, so too, were their needs and they reacted to him as though he was the living Messiah. In its history, the people of Whitby had never seen a monk pass through their town and saw Aiden's presence as a good omen. But as excited as many people were, those coming up from the docks saw something unusual about him. Perhaps, it was the fact that he carried a sword, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, Aiden stood out.
Stopping at the square, Aiden scanned the town as people receded from him. Women came out to prompt their children to play elsewhere. And looking across the town square, Aiden noticed the church as well as a robed figure standing in its doorway. With both curiosity and a sense of urgency, he walked his horse across the square to the church. But by the time he stood in front of it, the robed figure stepped back and faded into the darkness. Now, part of Aiden's mind that someone, or something, was playing tricks with his imagination, sitting in a dark corner, giggling at his expense. He stepped cautiously through the doorway and called out to the darkness for whoever it was he'd seen from the square. Calling out again, he was startled when a voice answered from across the darkened chapel.
“Can I help you?"
The voice was calm and gentle and was soon followed by the shape of a robed man. His hood was also up over his face, but his hands were occupied as he fingered through a set of wooden prayer beads.
"Would God allow me to enter into His house?" Aiden asked. "You do not need His permission," the man answered. "God's house belongs to everyone."
As Aiden stepped closer, the man pulled his hood back, displaying a kind gentle expression.
"I am the priest of this church," he continued. "How may I help you?"
His words were softly spoken, his demeanor warm and comforting. Aiden had not yet revealed his face, believing that the priest may also have heard the stories of the Urielin monks.
Since leaving the monastery, Aiden had been traveling with a troubled soul. Death seemed to be a constant companion or maybe, he was simply drawn to it. If death and evil carry a similar odor, then one must always be with the other resides. But, Aiden could not accept the idea that fighting for God necessitated the deaths of innocent people. He was there to seek out advice, but more importantly, he sought absolution. And being face-to-face with the priest, Aiden made his request. “Father," he began. "I have come for confession."
The priest motioned him through the church, toward the confessional. They sat next to each other with privacy screen between them.
"Bless me father, for I have...," Aiden began.
But, the priest interrupted.
"Aiden," he replied. "I know why you've come."
Aiden was startled to see that the priest, somehow, already knew his name.
"How did you...," he began.
"That's not important," the priest interrupted. "You are a warrior of God. At least, that's what your Abbot told you. Is that right Aiden?"
Aiden was suddenly without words and in the absence of a response, the priest continued.
"Why do people die in war?"
The question seemed irrelevant and Aiden was caught off guard by it.
"I... I don't understand," Aiden said. "When two armies clash in battle, people die, yes?" the priest asked.
Aiden collected himself enough to answer his question.
"Of course," he answered. "People will always die in war."
The priest let a few moments pass as he chose his words.
"Yes. It is expected that soldiers will die in war. But who else dies?"
Aiden knew exactly what direction the priest was taking.
"Others," he replied.
"And who are the others Aiden?" Soldiers are not the only ones who die in war. Others die as well. They are nameless strangers, anonymous casualties of war, acceptable losses. Call it what you will, it is an unfortunate reality and a consequence of doing battle.
"Were they simply in the way? How many died that day? No doubt, you still remember the boys face."
Aiden's eyes began to tear up.
"Please," he began. "I seek only His forgiveness."
"I know," the priest replied. "But in your obsession to fight evil, you forgot about what makes a kind heart. Did it ever occur to you that others have died for your fight?"
Although he did realize it, it was the one thing Aiden tried never to think about. He had only begun his journey outside the monastery and yet, more innocent people had been killed in the name of God than the despicable hoards he was sworn to fight.
"So now you come for forgiveness. Perhaps, you should seek forgiveness from the woman whose son met the end of your blade. Asking God for absolution is easy. Asking forgiveness of those we hurt is not. But to receive God's forgiveness, you must first seek the forgiveness of others."
Aiden had read the Bible several times over throughout his life, and did not recognize this idea, but understood that God's forgives unconditionally without the requirement of accountability to one's fellow man.
"I cannot ask for forgiveness of the dead," Aiden replied.
"No, I suppose not," the priest said. "You would go to those who were closest to them, such as the mother of the child who met his untimely demise at the end of your blade. She still deeply grieves." Aiden explained the circumstances of the events that led to the young boy's death. The priest calmly interrupted.
"The responsibility is still yours to bear." A moment went by as Aiden absorbed the conversation.
"I'm sorry Aiden. I cannot help you. Not yet."
Aiden was stunned. God had abandoned him yet again. What priest would deny absolution to anyone?
"Father, please," Aiden said. "I'm begging you, please."
His request was met with silence. He called out to the priest again. But again, there was no response. Opening the door of the confessional, Aiden rushed out and flung open the other door, only to find the priest's booth empty, with one exception. His robe lay on the bench in a heap, but the priest had vanished. Turning away from the confessional, Aiden scanned the church's interior for him. But, what he saw was even more shocking. The congregational hall was not what had been when he arrived. Upon entering the church, Aiden found it in pristine condition. Every stick of wood had been polished; the crucifix humbly hung on the wall behind the pulpit with candles burning on either side. Now, here was filled with dust; the congregational hall was in a heavy state of disrepair and the pulpit layered with dust and grime.
Aiden stood struck by a profound sense of confusion and called out for the priest. But, the only voice he heard was his own. Walking to the open door, he looked out onto the town square where people milled about, going on with their business, where children chased each other up and down the street with innocent laughter. Everything was as it had been, except what lay in ruins behind him. But as Aiden stared out at the town square, an elderly man hobbled up next to him.
"Are you lost young monk?" he asked. He turned to him with a start and after a moment's hesitation, asked where he might find the town's priest.
"The priest?" the elderly man replied. "There's been no priest here for years." Aiden found this more than odd. The fact that he'd just been in the confessional begging for forgiveness to a man, who apparently, may not have been there at all, left him fearing for his sanity.
"Are you sure?" Aiden asked. "Young man," the elderly man replied.
"I've lived in this town all my life and I can tell you, there is no priest here."
If this was truly the case, who was it that received Aiden's plea forgiveness? He tried to rationalize it as a trick the devil. But, this was met with the logic that God would never allow the devil to wear the cloak of a holy man, much less in His house.
Walking over to his horse, Aiden's mind drew a blank. He was unable what he had just experienced. If this was not the work of evil, then there was only one other possibility. But in Aiden's mind, the probability of a visitation such as that was unthinkable. Not only was he left without answers, but he was also far from certain as to what the question should be.
Tired and confused, Aiden walked his horse across the square to the town's only pub. He wasn't looking to drink, just a place to sit and let his mind wander. Since leaving the monastery, he had either walked or rode on horseback. A wooden post stood outside the pub's façade and tying his horse's bridle around it, Aiden walked toward the front door. Not far from the doors, a Scotsman stood by who seemed especially interested in Aiden's horse. He hesitated as he neared the door of the pub, making eye contact with the man.
"Try to steal her and you will be very sorry," Aiden said.
The Scotsman snickered slightly as Aiden opened the door. Obviously, he did not believe that Aiden could be of any real threat and discounted his words altogether.
From the moment he stepped inside, everyone fell silent. A monk passing through town was unheard of, much less in the pub. And walking through the crowded silence, Aiden sat at a small square table towards the back. Looking out the window, he could see the Scotsman inspecting his horse. Aiden sat, lost in the experience he had in the church. None of it made any sense, but his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a woman's voice.
"Yes," he replied.
He looked up into the face of the young woman in her late teens. There were no introductions; no exchange of names. "What can I get for you?" she asked. "Water," he answered.
"Anything else?" she asked.
His stomach had begun to growl with hunger.
"Do you have any bread?" Aiden asked. "Bread, yes," she answered.
He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room focused on him. With his mind still struggling on the events in the church, it seemed as though only moments had passed before the young woman returned with a bowl of water and a loaf of bread. Setting everything on the table, she also served him with a bowl of stew. Aiden had not tasted meat since the nights spent on the Yorkshire Moors when he was forced to kill a pair of wild intruders that crept in from the night. He looked up at the woman inquisitively.
"On the house," she said. "A holy man is certainly welcomed in our town."
Aiden looked up into her kind face as she made a request. "Would you bless me? We haven't had a priest here in years...please."
Aiden was not one to refuse such a request and agreed without a second thought.
"Of course," he said.
He stood as she knelt on the floor in front of him. He wondered if God had abandoned him, that He may have taken from him the one thing that he'd received in order to carry out his fight against the unholy. He brought his hands together as though praying and slowly bringing them apart felt the heat built between them. His link to God was still with him, even if God was not. Placing his hands on the woman's head, he saw the faintly glowing orb surround her head as the space within it became slightly warped as he whispered the Latin that began nearly all ceremonies, Aiden was struck with a feeling he could not avoid. More like an impression. The young woman was pregnant. This was a new experience for him. Then again, he had never laid hands on anyone. He was always fighting. Always at war with anything dark that found comfort in the human soul.
Sensing he still had an audience, Aiden made short work of the woman's request and as she rose to her feet was suddenly overtaken with both lightheadedness as well as a feeling of ecstasy. It was clear to Aiden he had shared with her, to some small degree, his link with the divine and it affected her on a profound level. After regaining her balance, she grabbed Aiden's hands, thanking him profusely.
"There is no need to thank me," he said." I am in service not only to God but all living things. And thank you for the stew."
She bowed her head slightly as she released Aiden's hands.
"You're welcome," she said.
Her face flushed slightly as she turned and resumed the daily activities of her job.
Aiden sat back down at a meal that was fast growing cold. But, he found himself distracted by something had not expected. As a young woman grasped his hands, his mind was momentarily flooded with the experience brought on by the warmth of her touch, the gentleness of her eyes and the kindness of her expression. From her perspective, she saw in Aiden and earthly connection to a kind, merciful, forgiving God. Aiden's reaction, however, was quite different. He found himself flushed with arousal but also felt as though God may be testing him. He had never considered it before, but now, Aiden realized another risk of leaving the monastery. The temptation of the flesh. In fact, he found it necessary to adjust his robe from below the waist.
Finishing his meal, Aiden got to his feet. But as he crossed the room, a rather large Scotsman stepped in front of him. "So," he began. "Ya' like the little girls, now do ya' monk?"
Aiden stopped and said nothing as the man chuckled at his expense. The Scotsman was obviously drunk, but Aiden refused to give him the pleasure of an angry response.
"Have I wronged you in some way?" Aiden asked.
The man chuckled again.
"No monk is without his humility, aye?" he began. "The only thing you have offended is my sight! You and you're kind think you're so holy! You're no better than the rest of us! Bunch of pious bastards!"
Aiden's eyes rose up to meet the man. Face to face.
"You are very correct," he answered. "But, I consider myself quite fortunate that I am no worse."
The Scotsman took Aiden's words for the insult they were intended and was quickly driven into an intoxicated rage. "Let me see your face!" he said. "I want to see who I'm killing!"
Aiden stood his ground as the crowd watched. There were mostly merchants, fishermen, and mercenaries. All of them hardened by heavy labor or battle. The Scotsman was especially large no one seemed willing to intervene, not even on behalf of a monk.
"I only wish to be left alone," he replied. Still angered, the Scotsman looked down at the sword strapped to Aiden's hip. "What is this?" he asked. Aiden's hand was quick to clutch its grip as the Scotsman reached down for it.
"A monk with a sword?"
He looked down at it again, then back up, trying to see beneath Aiden's hood.
"My cock is bigger than that! And let me see your face!"
At these words, the man brought a hand up and pulled Aiden's hood back, exposing the brand on his forehead. Any chuckling from the surrounding crowd came to an abrupt silence as Aiden withdrew his sword by only mere inches. He did not expect to fight, nor did he want to. The withdrawal of his sword was meant as a tactic of intimidation. Between that and the mark on his forehead, Aiden believed he had a chance to win a psychological game without having to raise his blade. The last thing he wanted was to take another life.
The Scotsman stood staring at Aiden's forehead. But, even the sight the monastic mark did not put aside his anger. Now, whispers began to drift around the room as the two men became locked in eye contact.
"Allow me to repeat myself," Aiden began. "I only wish to be left alone."
The Scotsman was unaffected by Aiden's request and in an intimidating silence, refused to let him pass. It seemed that his drunken resolve was stronger than Aiden's ability to use the Urielin mythos against him. Aiden could only think of one other method for dealing with him. And preparing himself, realized that he may have to step out of character and sink to the Scotsman's level. He also realized that the results could be messy. He stood up straight and prepared to deliver the worst of all possible insults, with the intention of using the man's inebriated rage to cripple his judgment. Thus, gaining an advantage.
"So, you would compare my steel against your feeble manhood," Aiden began. "I don't see how that's possible, considering your mother still firmly grasped it."
The room burst into laughter as the Scotsman quickly reached his boiling point. Aiden took several paces back, drawing his sword well ahead of the Scotsman. At this distance, Aiden knew that he had plenty of time to react to the Scotsman's drunken attack. But, he knew that large men are not especially quick on their feet and that he could easily be beaten with a minimum of effort and a well-timed stroke.
With his sword drawn, the Scotsman charged toward Aiden, roaring in anger. It was not in Aiden's mind to kill the man. Only to wound him. And he would focus on only one part of the man's body: his left knee. The opening for a successful counterattack showed itself immediately as the Scotsman made his infuriated attack with his blade held high over his head. Avoiding the down-stroke of the man's sword, he lunged long and low, swinging the last two inches of his blade from left to right a single precise strike. By the time he brought his left foot forward and stood up, the Scotsman had crashed to the floor, his left knee ripped away, held by only a few partially sheared tendons. Rolling onto his side, the Scotsman screamed in pain as he cupped his hands around what was left of his knee, while a steady stream of blood ran across the slightly tilted floor the pub.
Sheathing his sword, Aiden stepped back to the Scotsman and knelt down near his head. He wished the entire event could have been resolved without bloodshed, but he realized that when someone believes they have something to prove, nothing good usually follows. The Scotsman continued in a tirade of cursing as Aiden pulled his hood back up. Leaning down near the man's ear, Aiden spoke quietly, but firmly.
"I only wanted to be left alone."
He got up and walking toward the door, saw someone attempting to ride off on his horse. The horse, however, had other ideas. He reared up, throwing it would be thief to the ground. But before he could get back on his feet, the horse shifted around and kick him squarely in the face. The impact pushed one of his eyes out of its socket, shattering his jaw, sending most of his teeth into his throat and tore his nose away from his face. But, this was only on the surface. Beyond these horrific injuries, his brain bled and swelled within his skull.
Walking out of the pub, Aiden saw the man who tried to steal his horse sitting in the middle of the street. His face bled profusely. His shirt soaking up a good portion of what continuously gurgled from the cavernous wound his face had become. Taking the reins, Aiden led his horse away from the pub and into the street. But, he stopped briefly near the man, who appeared pale as though about to topple into the grave.
"I'm sorry," Aiden said.
Although the man had tried to steal his horse, he could not ignore his pain and simply walk away. A degree of compassion was in order. No matter what wrong someone has inflicted, forgiveness always acts as the lever that lifts the burden of anger from one's shoulders.
"But I did tell you not to steal my horse." With his remaining eye, the man looked up at Aiden, who stood with his back to the sun, looking like a ghostly silhouette against the sky. He mounted his horse and just before leaving, spoke to those gathered around the grisly scene.
"Please do what you can for him. If he dies, be certain he does so peacefully."
If the choices we make carry consequences consistent with their nature, then certainly what we think, even on the deepest level, holds the potential to alter our lives in ways we cannot possibly conceive. The man who now lay bleeding on the street had allowed his thoughts to stray down a path that would soon cost him his life.
Upon his horse, he turned away toward the edge of town but was stopped by the man's last gurgling breath. Turning back, he got off his horse and knelt down next to him, making the sign of the cross. "In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit.”
Although he was not a priest, Aiden did not believe that the would-be thief should be robbed of his soul's elevation and in forgiving him, also gave him the blessing of the dead. Not by any official authority, but by his obligation to use his gift. Not just for combating evil, but also to spare those who would otherwise be damned by their actions the eternal suffering of spiritual agony. No doctor could have prevented the man's passing and with all Aiden was capable of, he was helpless to mend his wounds. Certainly, he could not raise the dead. In that regard, he was as ordinary as any other man and realized that interfering with death was an act reserved for God alone.
The man died relatively quickly and had the steady loss of consciousness appeared to pass peacefully. Another life had been lost and although Aiden was deeply sympathetic, he also felt that the burden of responsibility was not his. Not this time. But, the sight of so much blood, shattered bone, and torn flesh were beginning to take its toll. Twenty-five years of living a sheltered life of a monk had not prepared Aiden for the tragedy and pain of the real world. He surmised that some were accustomed to it, to the point of indifference, while others did their best to ignore it altogether, having no other way of coping.
He slowly rode his horse across the square and passing the church, studying its open door. Its interior was impenetrably dark, unchanged from when he left. And turning the corner, he followed the road north that would take him further up the coast, closer to the Scottish border. But shortly after passing the church, Aiden was taken by surprise by a familiar sound; the single haunting toll of a bell. He had heard the ringing of church bells before, but this sounded different. It was heavy, deep and loud. Its din seemed to go on forever as Aiden stopped his horse and turned to look back at the church. His eyes rose up toward the bell tower and in shocked disbelief, he discovered there was no bell. Perhaps, the bell rang only within his mind. A single clatter, signaling the approach of some eminent mental collapse. Or maybe it was another cause. Maybe the shadowy figure of the priest, to whom he offered his confession, was also involved. It had certainly been an unusual course of events and Aiden was quickly led to the belief that these odd apparitions were deeply connected. He didn't like the idea of succumbing to superstition or local folklore. So, his mind conjured up something more believable, something more consistent with his understanding of the world. He reached the conclusion that God may be trying to prompt his faith. But if this was so, why would he not be forgiven? From what Aiden had learned, God was supposed to accept everyone without question or conditions. Now, he was even more confused and with this came frustration and anger. What kind of message is given by an uninvolved, perhaps, indifferent God?
Aiden turned back to the road and prompting his horse into a faster walk, hastened his departure from Whitby. The bells single strike still rang in his head long after fading. He tried not to think about it and in time, he would deny these events altogether, blocking them from his consciousness completely. But, they would come back to haunt him as the nightmares escalated and more of his anger drifted to the surface.