Chapter 32
It was late when Aiden woke. He had spent so much time sleeping on the ground that the comfort of a bed had become foreign to him. But, he slept well nonetheless. Rising from the bed, he lowered his feet over the edge and discovered a pair of leather boots sat where his sandals had been. Slipping them on, he found them to be a perfect fit. Walking through the chieftain's home, he and admired both its construction and design. The roof was built of thatch and sod, while the walls were fashion from fieldstone. He found the fireplace to be a perfect mix of form and function, serving not only to warm their house but also as an oven. He thought that those who built monasteries could take a few lessons from the Scots.
Walking out into the cold night air, Aiden was immediately drawn to a large fire, where several people sat around, listening intently as the chieftain recited a ghost story to the clan's children.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Aiden said. Everyone around the fire turned at the sound of his voice. The chieftain stood and with a jovial expression, introduced him to the children.
"Oh, certainly not, lad," he began. "Come, sit with us. Everyone, this is our new friend, Aiden. He is a holy man, a servant of God."
The children welcome him timid voices as Aiden joined them around the warmth of the fire. The chieftain continued his story. And as if on cue, a pause in his words was punctuated by the distant howl of a wolf. The chieftain, being both intelligent and creative, wove the animal's cry into his story, bringing something real into the fantastic.
The story was brought to an end and the children sent off to their beds, their mothers quickly following, ready to tuck them in for the night. Now, it was the men who sat around at the roaring flames. Some were occupied with sharpening their swords, while others stared into the fire, their minds adrift on a sea of comfortable emptiness.
"So," the chieftain began. "You are from England, aye?"
"Yes," Aiden answered. "I don't know exactly where. My mother and father gave me up to the monks when I was very young."
The chieftain's attention was focused on his every word as he formulated the questions he would ask.
"So, how did you happen to wander into Scotland?"
This was not as simple a question as it seemed, but sometimes the most unexpected answers arise from the vaguest questions. And Aiden immediately recognized it for the tactic it was intended to be. As a counter tactic of sorts, Aiden decided that a vague response was called for. Yet, he did not wish to insult the chieftain with an ambiguous or evasive answer.
"When I left the monastery, I began traveling the countryside with the purpose of doing God's work."
There was a moment of tense silence as the chieftain dissected Aiden's words. "And what exactly do you see as God's work?" he asked.
Aiden found the chieftain's degree of intelligence both impressive and intimidating. He wanted to avoid a war of semantics, but still, conceal the details of his past that might present him as a threat.
"The work of God?" Aiden began. "The work of God is to banish evil."
The chieftain's next question came immediately and did not completely take Aiden by surprise.
"And how does one go about banishing evil?"
Aiden was already armed with what he believed to be an effective response. "Through prayer, of course," he began. "Reading aloud the Scriptures. And sometimes, it is necessary to cast evil out by exorcism."
"And what does one do when those methods have failed?" the chieftain inquired. "Not everything works as it is meant."
Aiden nervously searched for words. The chieftain had successfully backed him into a corner. But, it wasn't just answers he was looking for. The chieftain was the clan's leader. But, he was also a hunter and enjoyed playing the game of dialogue, launching intellectual strikes and counterstrikes in a battle of wits. Attacking at the speed of thought. But, just when Aiden felt as though he would have to reveal the gruesome details of his war against evil, and the answer came to him. One that sufficiently acted as the escape route from the chieftain's probing questions.
"Well," he began. "Thus far, I have not yet had to find out."
This was true, for the most part. But, people had been killed and for a brief instant, his mind flashed back to Sheffield and the image of the boy, whose body momentarily dangled from his blade.
"Why is it you ask?" Aiden asked.
Aiden would quickly realize the mistake of asking this question as the chieftain replied with a keen observation.
"I noticed a bit of dried blood on your sword. Have you used it in your battle against evil?"
He didn't feel as though he was on trial, but he felt trapped nonetheless. But, in the struggle for intellectual supremacy, Aiden was inspired by a few past events. The night of the wolf attack being among them.
"I swore to use it only in defense of my life and as an act of mercy and when all else fails in driving demons from their hosts."
The chieftain nodded attentively.
"And when was the last time you used it?" he asked.
Aiden remembered back to the pub in Whitby. By this time, he came to the belief that what the chieftain wanted, as well, was a story. So, Aiden would not give him one, but two.
"The last time was in a small town on the English coast," he began. "I was confronted by a rather large Scotsman who seemed quite resentful of monks. I believe he was quite drunk when he attacked me."
Kinaed was the first to speak with a humorous reply.
"Sounds like a Stewart."
The rest of the men chuckled and amusement. Clans develop either allies or bitter rivalries. There were never compromises.
"So, how did you bring him down?" the chieftain asked.
Aiden continued the story.
"When he brought his blade up over his head, I lunged low and away, swinging the end of my sword across and tearing out his knee."
The men who sat around the fire quickly recoiled back at the idea of so much pain. There was one exception. A man named Ulad, who sat leaning on the grip of his sword. He appeared as the stoic warrior. Hardened by battle, his face and head bore a number of well-earned scars.
"But, did you kill him?" he asked.
"No," Aiden answered.
Ulad quickly countered with a question that was not completely unexpected. "Why not?" he began. "Personally, I would be quick to slaughter the man in front of his own mother."
With this, Aiden decided it was time for a different story. This would be a narrative of the unfolding events at the York Shire Moors when he found himself surrounded by wolves.
"I simply let him lay where he fell," he replied. "No one ever learned manners by dying."
Ulad nodded in the understanding that Aiden's response was likely typical of a deeply religious man. The chieftain spoke up again, wanting to hear more. "You fight for God," he began. "But, have you ever fought for your life?"
This was the opportunity for Aiden to tell, what he believed, was a truly harrowing story and he began where any good story begins. The beginning.
Aiden described the English moors in striking detail as the fire crackled and popped, illuminating the faces of the warriors, who sat in rapt attention. Even Ulad seemed mildly interested. He spoke of the wolves glowing eyes as they crept towards him, like ghosts in the night. He described their screens as two of them leaped at him and the sound of crackling bones as he laid them open.
"That night, I did discover that when cooked properly, wolf is especially good. Although, it is a bit tough."
The chieftain was obviously impressed. "Now that is a good story," he said.
Ulad, however, was not so quick to believe his story.
"It doesn't look as though you were injured," he said. "Many men, in fighting such beasts, would not walk away so easily. How is it that you bear no wounds from this battle?"
The men looked at Aiden, anticipating a believable answer.
"Ulad has a point," the chieftain said.
A tense moment went by as Aiden prepared an answer that he knew would require lengthy explanation.
"One of the things taught to me in the monastery was the use of the sword. The Abbot was a master of the weapon and one of my final tests was to challenge him. A touch to the neck was all that was required. I beat him."
He displayed no pride in this accomplishment but conveyed it as purely factual. The chieftain inquired of the Abbot's demise, still looking to learn more about the man beneath the hood. "Not to open an old wound," he began. "But you claimed your Abbot was possessed. How could this happen to a holy man?"
He anticipated that, at some point, he would have to explain the circumstances behind his exodus from the monastery. But in his mind, the practice of witchcraft is not performed out of curiosity. It is done so under the influence of the devil.
"The Abbot, whom I had placed a lifetime of trust in, was practicing witchcraft. He was attempting to turn me against God. I caught him as he was casting a spell and took his life before he could finish."
The chieftain was appalled by the idea that any man would breach that level of trust, especially one who is charged with leading others to God.
"Aiden," he began. "I have killed many men in defense of my clan, my land, and my family. And I can tell you that it is no fault to plant your blade in a man. As long as you do it for the right reason." Throughout his travels, Aiden had not stopped to consider this. Thus far, the totality of his life had prepared him for only one thing, leaving him blind to everything else.
More stories were told. Stories of battle, of fallen comrades and ancient lore. But, as the fire died down to a glowing heap of embers, the chieftain decided to retire for the night. However, before the rose to their feet, Ulad addressed Aiden again.
"Monk," he began.
He was suspicious by nature. It was a trait that served him well in battle, always knowing where the enemy was coming from.
"Why have we not seen your entire face?"
Looking up from under the edge of his hood, Aiden noticed a look of concern on the chieftain's face. It seemed that everyone had been thinking the same thing. Aiden answered after a moment of hesitation.
"I bear a mark, burned into my flesh. It was...given to me by the Order. But, that was before I realized the Abbot's true intentions."
"And what is this mark?" the chieftain asked.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on him as he prepared an explanation. So many people had heard the stories of the Urielin Order that he wanted to avoid a confrontation, be it verbal or otherwise.
"Do you know of the stories of the Urielin monks?" he asked.
The chieftain looked around at his men and seeing that no one reacted with any familiarity, claimed ignorance to the stories.
"We are a rather isolated people," he began. "The English have their stories, we have ours. But please, show us this mark."
Aiden knew that they may not be so hospitable if they recognized the mark. But, the moment had arrived, and Aiden did not wish to offend them by denying the chieftain's request. Reading their expressions, Aiden pulled back his hood, exposing the mark on his forehead. The light of the fire had dimmer enough that the men were forced to lean towards him in order to see it.
"I have never seen anything like it," the chieftain said. "What is it?"
Aiden took a deep breath as he organized his answer. Here was the difficulty. How does one explain the purpose of having the brand of Satan on one's body without suspicions of witchcraft arising?
"The Abbot told me it was there as a constant reminder of the evil I fight. It is the cross of Satan. But now, I fear it may have been intended for another purpose. Perhaps, it was meant as a representation of the monastery's goals. Not to fight evil. But to fight for it."
The chieftain examined it closely.
"Did they brand you?"
Without missing a beat, Aiden gave his answer.
"Yes," he began. "I was held down as the mark was pressed into my flesh."
The chieftain sat back down, his face expressing deep concern.
"I cannot imagine such pain," he said. Pulling his hood back up over his head, Aiden's response was a reflection of both his will and fortitude.
"I believe that one can bear anything if one has the will."
With that one statement, Aiden had quickly gained the respect of every man who sat around the dying embers of what was earlier a roaring fire, ablaze with a life of its own.
It was late when the men turned in at night, leaving the settlement quiet and cold. The chieftain, again, directed Aiden back to the stone-walled abode he called home. His children lay fast asleep in front of the fireplace, allowing Aiden to occupy the bed. He was not accustomed to being up that late. The monastery, like most, enforced a routine that demanded specific duties to be performed at specific times, including when to sleep and when to rise. By morning, Aiden was well rested. Possibly, for the first time in his life. He rose to a sitting position and was taken by surprise at the site of a small girl standing at the foot of the bed. Her red curls fell to the middle of her back as the morning sun shone in from behind her, giving her an angelic appearance.
"Good morning," Aiden said. His tone was gentle and kind, befitting the manner in which one should speak to a child. "And what is your name?"
The small girl grinned slightly and flushed with embarrassment.
"Kylee," she answered.
Her voice was weak, and in her shyness, she would not get any closer to Aiden than where she was. In her hands, she held a wooden bowl and holding it out towards Aiden, delivered a short message she was sent to give.
"Papa said I should give you this." Taking the bowl from her small hands, Aiden thanked her and began consuming its contents. Hot biscuits and the steaming gravy. For Aiden, this was a delicacy and beyond comparison to the monasteries usual fare. The last time he'd seen food like this was at the pub in Whitby.
He was nearly finished when the chieftain walked in. He put a gentle hand on the top of the small girls head. "Kylee," he began.
She looked up at him with bright blue eyes as an adoring expression washed over her face.
"Go to your mother."
The child scampered out of the room without hesitation or question.
"You have a fine daughter," Aiden said. "Aye," the chieftain replied. "Like all of my children, she is a gift from God."
He turned his attention back to Aiden, who was just emptying the bowl, scraping up the last of the gravy with a biscuit. The chieftain sat in the nearest chair. "I know a good man when I see one," he began.
"I would be grateful if you would stay with us. We could use a holy man here. Help us to celebrate the births of our children and to mourn our dead."
Winter would soon arrive and Aiden knew his survival would be questionable, at best. "And frankly," he continued. "If you are truly skilled with that steel, then you might provide my warriors with a lesson or two." Considering everything the chieftain had already done for him, Aiden felt the need to give the chieftain's request all the consideration it deserved. In the end, he decided he could be of great service to the people of the MacGyver clan and graciously accepted the chieftain's offer. But in Aiden's mind, this was a temporary arrangement.