"Father Etienne! Father Etienne!"
The prior looked up from the palimpsest that he was diligently cleaning, and caught a blur of motion passing by his window. The voice was Remy's, a boy whose family worked the fields around the priory. Remy should have been with Brother Christian in the forests that bordered the fields, and Remy was always an earnest child. He grabbed his stout walking stick, ready for anything.
Remy beat at the heavy door with tiny fists, and what he lacked in strength he made up for with exuberance. The door threatened to rattle off its hinges. "Wait, Remy," Etienne called out. "I need to slide the latch."
The moment that the door swung free, Remy ceased his poundings, and stood in silence before the girth of the prior. The boy stared upwards with eyes filled with love, respect, and fear. Etienne knew just the right way to deliver the Gospel to his people, to inspire within them the need to love and trust God absolutely. The boy would stand there for days, without speaking, eating, or perhaps even blinking, if Etienne wished it. Instead, he nodded.
Words poured forth like water from a hole in a pot. "Father, on the road...a man, on a wagon, with a boy! They're coming father, they're coming!"
Was the excitement borne of fear or curiosity? Etienne could not tell, and he sensed that he didn't have the time to calm the boy down sufficiently to obtain an answer. Instead, he smiled, patted the boy lovingly on the head, and placed his palm on Remy's shoulders.
Remy knew his role immediately. He would help the priest walk, and act as a witness to whatever would transpire. He smiled, content that he wasn't going to be sent back to the fields, especially when something this important was happening.
Etienne knew this. He could read it in the boy's laughing eyes. The crops had not been good these past three years, and the only visitors were dour representatives of the local lords who inquired about exact figures concerning bushels and pecks. Etienne had guessed that the crops were not faring well everywhere in the region, and, well, his first act as prior was the rebuilding of the priory after an especially brutal winter when the building burned to the ground, killing all within it. Not a single survivor, and not a single scrap of grain.
Now there were visitors, and they were of a kind that drove the boy's curiosity and courage. As he stood in the doorway, still well beyond the reach of the sun's rays, he could hear the steady clop of hooves on the road. He judged the beast to be for traveling, and not work, based on the sound of its cadence. The moment he saw the beast, he knew he was correct.
"Umberto," he called to the horse, and in a moment it stomped to a halt ten feet from the door. He knew this creature, and he knew its master. It was enough to grip the boy's shoulder tightly for strength.
The horse stood panting and fidgeting. I had been worked savagely from the look of it, the driver too free with the use of the crop. This driver was not at the usual position. Instead, he was already in the back of the wagon, tending to a pile of clothes that seemed to shudder and wheeze.
Etienne approached the wagon tentatively. Remy, a terribly precocious child, spoke out, "Magi?" The priest shushed the boy, but not before the driver turned.
"Etienne! Come quickly! It is Alain, my student! He's dreadfully ill!"
"I know his name, Johannes." He took a step closer, and stared into the back of the wagon. If Alain was in there, he was smothered by the heaps of clothes.
"Please, Etienne! Do something! You know me, I have no head for chiurgy or medicine. Use your healing arts, and save the boy."
Etienne was thankful that the fool was prattling to him in Latin. He returned in the same tongue, "First, I am Father. Learn your manners, Johannes. Second, I do not do arts.' Third, I told you never to return here. And yet you have."
"Would you rather the boy die?"
"To save him from the dark fate, perhaps. Perhaps I would." He pursed his lips and frowned. "If I had any sense or Christian goodness, I'd send this child off to get the chrism so that I could administer extreme unction, and send this soul off to heaven."
"Etienne, you don't mean that." The wizard's bushy brows flared wildly up and down.
"No, Johannes, I do not."
While they spoke, a small crowd formed around the wagon. Most were women who stepped outside to see what the commotion was. A few were the field hands who were drawn by the sight of the unfamiliar wagon and its strange driver. Etienne could hear muttering at the edge of the crowds. They may have been simply country folk, but they knew magi.
"I'm going to have to bring you inside," Etienne breathed at last. Johannes smiled broadly at the news, and the few peasants who had read the expression took on an entirely different demeanor.
Before they could speak, Etienne called over a few of the older boys. These pious youths would act without questioning, which is precisely what he needed. He directed them to take the bundle of clothes inside, and lay the sick boy on the table. All but one grunted and did as requested. All but Phillipe.
Remy's brother, Phillipe was perhaps too smart for his own good. Unlike most of the people who served the priory, Phillipe wasn't content to slave to fill the granaries of the church, to dedicate his life to unquestioning servitude. He went to mass because his father's hand was swift and savage, but as he stared down Etienne, he told the priest precisely what he thought of God and His Gospel.
In this place, Phillipe's father was nowhere to be seen. Things could go very badly for the magi. Johannes, of course, didn't notice any of this. Instead, he saw a strong youth, standing around, doing nothing, and promptly threw the reins at him. "Here, boy," he called out. "Take care of Umberto here." He stalked off toward the open door without looking back.
Fortunately, the other boys saw this and thought it was funny. They giggled, and went about the task of carrying Alain into the priory. His thunder stolen, Phillipe sullenly carried the horse toward the barn.
"Is everything all right, Father?" Remy asked.
Etienne tched, "Of course, boy. Help your brother." The boy ran off, and Etienne was forced to shift all his weight on the cane. Pains began to shoot up his arm as he shambled into the house after the rest.
He thanked the boys, sent them back to work, and had Johannes secure the windows and doors. Etienne could still see the hurt expression on the peasant's faces as he had let THEM into the priory. He touched his chest, and began rubbing it gently. Perhaps he could quietly lull the hypocrisy out of heart.
When all was secure and a lamp was lit and hung, Etienne peeled away the layers of clothes, revealing the wretched lad bundled within. Johannes began to sputter, "He said he was cold, but with such perspiration and temperature, I thought he was hot, but I put blankets on him..."
"You did well, Johannes. This is fever. When did he begin to get sick?"
"Two days before. He's normally such a shiftless lad, and I mistook his lethargy for laziness, and gave him a sound beating, and, oh! Etienne! I'm so sorry! Will he live?"
"Two days with such fever? I've seen hearty men recover, but seldom with the same strength, and sometimes with diminished capacities. One was but a shade of his former self, as if the better part of him went on to its final rewards. Perhaps it is better that he die."
"No, Etienne. We must work together, yes. We must cure him."
The priest turned to look at the magus with a critical eye. Under such a harsh gaze, Johannes withered, and retreated into a shadow, still fretting.
"Why is this boy so important to you, Johannes?"
"He is..." Words escaped the magus. He stood in silence, pondering the right words, the right inflections, as if he was trying to use his Ars. Finally, he spoke, "He is my son."
"Son?"
"Yes. A young girl, from a long time ago. She came back to me when he was born, and insisted that I raise him as a magus, as I was, but...well, he's not very smart. Frankly, I don't even know if he's my son."
"So why do you keep him?"
"Oh, he's a good apprentice. He cooks and cleans, and he's someone to talk to. Most of the Covenant is off this season." He began to bumble with those final words, and Etienne looked up from his inspections to give yet another hostile glance.
"As I said, Johannes, these fevers are not unknown to me. However, he is in God's hands now. I will move him to my bed, where he may sleep."
"Pah! God's hands! Help him, Etienne. I don't have time for a capricious despot to make up his mind over whether or not my son needs to be nestled in the eternal bosom. Help him, and I'll convince the Covenant to let the crops grow rich and plentiful."
"You speak blasphemy as if it were a second part of your nature. God will save your son, though I hope the lack of gratitude from the father will not sway the Almighty's decision. Bite your tongue, Magus, before I cast you out into the night."
"Such threats are hollow. First, the sun will not set for hours yet, and second, I know you well, Etienne, and I know your false bravado even better.
"Now, is there anything I can do for the boy?"
Etienne did not respond. Instead, he stumbled over to the door, and called out for two boys who had decided to stop home before returning to the fields. He whistled, and the boys trotted over.
"Yes, father."
"Take the boy here and put him on the wagon. He's going home."
"What?" Johannes called out in horror. "What? Would you condemn my son to death?"
Etienne once again remained silent. He waved his hands, and the boys stepped past him, and grabbed at the edges of the blankets. Johannes grabbed at one of them, but the boy shrugged him off easily. Glancing about wildly through eyes welling with tears, the magus saw the ponderous form of Etienne, and fell to his knees before the priest.
"Please, Etienne, please. Don't let him die. Don't let him die. If there was even any love between us, please don't let my impious mouth condemn my son." He wept wretchedly, then found the courage to look upwards. Etienne was as impassive as ever.
"Oh, for the love of Christ, Etienne!"
A sudden fury washed over the prior, and he raised his solid cane high above his head. For the first time in a year, the priest stood without aid. The boys ceased their preparations and stared in mute horror. With a sickening thud, Father Etienne, who spoke of Christ's love, and protection from damnation, brought the oak down on the back of his friend. Johannes howled, though whether it was from temporal pain or emotional anguish, the boys could not tell.
Etienne collapsed backwards, and slithered down the wall. Johannes remained in a crumpled heap, his mouth uttering a pitiful noise as a babe dropped by a careless mother might make. The boys glanced at each other, set the boy down on the bed, and crept out as quickly as they could.
It was hours before Johannes had the strength to haul himself to his feet. There was a fuzzy numbness in his toes, but he shrugged it off when he caught a glimpse of Etienne in a chair, sitting next to his boy. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and ambled over.
"Is he. . .?" he whispered.
"He still lives, and while he breathes, we hope."
"I...I'm sorry, Etienne. Father Etienne."
"Respect now. Piety now. Perhaps I should try this fatherhood. It seems to do the most amazing things to people."
"Father. . ."
"Johannes, please. For the past twenty years, you have called me Etienne. Up until this second, I could imagine no happier a moment than you referring me by the title that God himself has invested within me. Now it rolls off your tongue like rancid lard. Go back to Etienne, before I have to beat your again."
"Yes, Etienne, I am sorry. It was just that when we were young, and you made your choice, well, you never said that it bothered you."
"It did."
"But you never told me. Had I known, I would have never--"
"It was a matter of pride, to be sure. Johannes. . ."
"Yes, Etienne?"
"Nothing. I am sorry for striking you. For so many nights, I wore ruts at the foot of my bed, praying, praying for your conversion. For years, I whispered silent prayers for your salvation, for the moment when you, my best friend would see the errors, the sins that rest in your soul. And then one morning, my heart grew cold, indifferent. I knew our friendship was at an end, but you didn't stop coming, didn't stop insulting me and the choices I had made in my life. My anger grew, and in the place of the Love that was once in my soul I let Wrath and Pride take seed.
"Then this morning, you came, with a son you never told me of. At first, my lips mouthed, "Bastard," and my heart felt pity for this unbaptized wretch. I saw the scars, Johannes. You treated him like a dog, and like an animal he would die. All because of his father, who would never admit the errors of his heart.
"And then," Etienne choked, "there you were. On your knees before me. You begged for the love of Christ. My prayers were answered, and I reached into that part of me where I hid your Love, and found that Wrath and Pride. I hurt you, Johannes, as you hurt me. You came to Christ, and I beat you for it, because it was not by my rules.
"What a fantastic hypocrite I am." Etienne at last wheezed himself into silence.
Johannes stared lovingly down at his son. "At least he sleeps. His mother's name was Cecile. Do you remember her, Etienne? The one with the black curls, and. . .oh. . .never mind."
Etienne smiled. "Yes, I remember her. I kissed her, as I recall. Her lips were so soft. Magister beat me soundly for that particular transgression, and it was soon after that I was sent away, to follow the call."
"You haven't forgotten the Ars?"
"No. But a man cannot serve two masters, Johannes. This is well plowed ground between us. You could barely handle one master, as it turns out. I could not love God, serve him, and perform the Ars. To be devoted to God means to release all such powers to him. You never understood why I couldn't just keep doing it. You can't understand now. If I am to go before my people on Sunday, and tell them that they must put their faith in God, that all is transpiring as He planned, I cannot then turn rocks into chicken eggs, and make the crops sprout from dust. Soon they would worship me, or the Ars, or perhaps nothing at all. Devotion is just that: devotion. Would the Ars help me? I suppose, but as the days bleed into years, who would take my place? What would happen to those who relied on my skills? They would die.
"Please, Johannes. You must have faith."
"Faith. I had no faith before this day, save in you. I couldn't understand your slavish devotion to a god that offered you nothing except veiled promises, especially when the Ars flowed through you. Yet you believed, and your belief was stronger than the Ars, for it dammed its flow altogether. I remembered thinking of how potent the Ars was within you, and what a waste it was for you to throw it all away. Then I thought of hoe powerful the faith must be within you, and it scared me. I had to mock you, Etienne. There was nothing left for me to say.
"Now you ask me to have faith. It is like asking one of these peasants on his deathbed to perform spontaneous magic. I have not the art for prayer, the tongue for prayer, and the time."
Both sat in the glow of the lamp, staring down at the boy. "I'm tired, Etienne. Let me sleep a while, and when I wake, I'll give you respite."
Etienne only nodded. Johannes slid to the floor, and soon was purring softly.
When he was sure that his friend was asleep, Etienne drew the page from the voluminous robes where he had hurriedly stashed it. In the dim light, he checked over the words, bared the proper part of the boy's still body, and made a slight incision with a blade he also kept hidden. He bent forward, and whispered sweet words to the wound. Soon the black humors bubbled to the surface. Etienne moved quickly, clamping his pudgy lips on the slit, and drawing in the fluid sharply. He sat there, softly sucking, until his mouth swelled with pus and bile. At once, he turned and spit the foul substance on the floor.
This done, he returned to the minor wound. Only soft red flowed though now. Etienne smiled, and bade the wound close. This it did quickly. He covered the boy, and sat back in his chair.
Johannes was now curled at his feet like a dog. Etienne regarded Johannes with new hope. He indulged himself in one more cruelty, and placed his feet on the sleeping form. Johannes didn't seem to mind this in the least. Just like old times.
Once, Etienne wanted to be a magi, the best ever. This he did, in his own way. Next, he wanted to be a priest, the holiest ever, in his own way. This he did. He ticked off his vocations carefully. "Time to answer that calling, Johannes."
He had made up his mind while lying against the wall, listening to his friend gasp in pain. If he was going to be a hypocrite, then he might as well be the biggest ever.
It was only natural.