The Lead Crown: Ch 1b, Martyrdumb (Pt 5)
Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 1-5, Martyr Dumb
Friar Arlowe realized he was dreaming the moment it registered that he was standing in a large, empty field. After the church had moved him to Mehnzil he spent nearly a decade viewing nothing but rooftops and cobblestone; the Holy City stretched out as far as the eye could see. During his return trip to Lehsunia, the raccoon dog had been transported in an enclosed carriage, unable to see the landscape as it passed. But the banishment of the open lands from his life did not end there.
Upon returning to Graddin, Friar Arlowe had immediately been placed within the Grand Cathedral. Two years later, he was sent to Newport. During that trip, the monk was part of a caravan that used old fashioned coaches and wagons, meaning he received a chance to see the countryside... but even then they had slept within their carriages and he'd had no chance to touch his feet upon the grass. No, he realized, standing in the plains with no building in sight couldn't have been anything but a dream.
Even though it was a dream, Friar Arlowe found that silence was a blessing. He took the time to revel in the warm sun on his face as a cool breeze blew its way through his fur. His last memories of aches, pains, and fever were gone... at least, until he awoke. All around him was the green beauty of the natural world... the Lord's canvas. Nearby flowers granted more color to the grass and he could almost taste their sweetness... yet, strangely, that was not what the raccoon dog smelled.
A powerful, putrid stink of rotting meat assailed his nose all at once. He felt his stomach grow queasy at the overpowering odor and the otherwise beautiful landscape slowly began to take on an eerily menacing element to it. Shadows began to creep out from every shape and the pure blue sky was quick to fill with clouds. The pleasant silence was shattered by what sounded like a heartbeat or... "War drums." he murmured to himself.
No sooner were the words out of his muzzle than he saw them: long lines of soldiers... hundreds-- no.. thousands-- tens of thousands... all lining up on the crags that surrounded the valley. What had once been a beautiful vale was suddenly a desolate wasteland... and Friar Arlowe stood in the very middle of what appeared to be a future battleground.
"The fever is breaking." a voice echoed from somewhere far off, carried by a breeze that brought with it more of the fetid stench, "You did well."
"I've..." a second, softer, shaky voice spoke up, "I've never... cut someone... before..." the words were spoken, almost in slow motion as the armies that had gathered moved seemingly at double-speed and, suddenly, a war was being fought around Friar Arlowe. He heard the sounds of battle as if it was from far away, echoing to him from a great distance... yet the disembodied voices were so very clear.
"We had to remove the bad flesh." the first voice spoke, "It is the only chance his body will have to heal." The discussion continued from there, but it was ultimately drowned out by the war waging around the monk, and, throughout it all, the only thing he could do was stand helplessly as blood stained the ground red.
The armies kept coming, rushing from all sides in a seemingly endless tidal wave of violence. Although they bore battle standards the symbols on them meant nothing to Friar Arlowe... he saw only the inevitable death and waste of life. The battle waged on in a never-ending blood bath... but end it did... though not because there was a victor. As the monk watched, perched in the very middle of the melee, the ground began to part, breaking open as deep chasms split the land, dumping everyone into oblivion... and he awakened with a gasp.
The rupturing of the earth transitioned quickly into the sound of a crackling campfire. The monk let out a deep breath, which came out as a white mist against the blackened sky. It was cold out, that much he knew, but he was wrapped in several blankets. His leg hurt, but not worse than it had at any other time he'd been conscious... actually, perhaps a little less. His nose crinkled in disgust when the scent from his dreams returned to him and, only then did he realize that a bloody knife was situated on a rock not far from where he lay.
The raccoon dog stifled a grunt as he went to sat up, but found that his head suddenly started spinning, and it dropped back to the several pillows that had been propping it up. He took several moments to let the vertigo and nausea pass, and simply remained laying as he was while his eyesight finally settled down to something close to normal. He focused on the two figures sitting beside a campfire, their backs to him.
"I hope he'll be alright." the blurry shape on the left spoke with Cruffington's voice, "I mean... what if--"
"No 'what if's, Cruff." the hazy form on the right interrupted, and placed what Arlowe assumed to be a paw on the left's what was probably a shoulder, "You heard the wild wolf... he said we got all of the tainted flesh... your dad should be fine."
"My... dad..." the words were spoken through a constricted throat, and the emotion behind them struck Friar Arlowe even in his semi-conscious condition. He wasn't able to hide anymore... both he and Cruffington knew what they were to one another. How much longer, he wondered, until he would have to finally sit down and explain things to his son. Would he be able to? How could he make him understand.
"Between the medicines I brought and the herbs the tribal has, I'm sure the Friar'll be fine... I mean... he IS a holy man, right?" Vic noted, "Isn't God supposed'ta keep track of him and make sure he's alright?"
"It doesn't work that way, exactly." Cruff breathed a sigh, "God's plan isn't always so clear as to say something like that."
"Well..." the Vic-blob removed its arm-blur from the Cruffington-blotch, "if you're a loyal servant or whatever and you get in trouble you'd think that your employer would lift a finger to help... at least... that's all I'm saying."
"Now you're just joking with me." the Cruff-nebula punched the Vic-cloud in the shoulder-haze. Friar Arlowe smiled as he drifted off to sleep-- it didn't all make sense, but he took comfort in knowing that his son had someone meaingful with whom he could talk. The monk often wished that he could say the same.
It was still dark the next time Friar Arlowe awoke, but at least the time between had been blissfully dreamless. The awakening was much more active, however, as a ceramic bowl was pressed to his lips as a firm-but-gentle paw eased his head up and forward. "Drink, Fehnal." even if Friar Arlowe hadn't recognized Aodhan's voice he would have had no trouble identifying him by the nickname he had used.
Fehnal... the name of a medicinal plant used by the Tribals to bring comfort to their women during their bleeding days and ease the pain that accompanied it. Aodhan had taken to using it as the Friar's familiar name because, he had said, the plant's seed pod looked like a hooded monk pressing his paws together in supplication. He had no more time to consider the memory as the warm, syrupy fluid in the bowl touched his lips; Arlowe did as he was bade and drank deeply of the concoction.
It was sweet, and reminded him immediately of the flavor of the flowers in his fevered dreams of the empty grasslands. "Good... good..." the wolf acknowledged, slowly leveling out the bowl and stroking the top of the monk's head as if he were a little cub. "Rest again, Fehnal..." Aodhan offered, "You will rest, and then you will feel better." the wolf patted his shoulder gently, "The spirits watch over you... they favor you, my friend..." and, with that, Aodhan moved to join another shadowy figure who was huddling by the fire.
"He's getting better?" Sister Aurelie's soft voice questioned, concern evident in the tone and the inflection of the cat's words.
"He is, yes." the wolf acknowledged, reaching to take the Sister's paw in his own.
"Thank you for helping him."
Aodhan chuckled quietly, "He is a good friend, and it is not my way to turn my back on someone for whom I care about."
There was a long, very evident pause before Sister Aurelie responded, "I'm sorry, Aodhan." the cat swallowed audibly, voice cracking on the next words, "I know you wanted me to go with you when you-"
"Shh..." the wolf interrupted the Sister's words with that simple sound... plus a single finger on the cat's muzzle, "U wayopeya" he noted softly.
"What..." Sister Aurelie paused, "That's... that's tribal, isn't it?"
"Yes." Aodhan aknowledged, "It means literally 'come west'... but its meaning is much more important."
"What does it mean?" the cat clasped both paws around the wolf's.
"It means look forward." he explained, slowly sliding another log into the fire, "To go the way of the sun... ahead, and not back."
"I'm afraid of what the future is bringing." Sister Aurelie responded, voice shaking in an emotional vibrato, "I'm..." another pause, "...scared."
"You told me once that we have nothing to fear..." the wolf turned back to the cat, gently caressing the Sister's muzzle with a single finger, "...God will see us through." he smiled comfortingly, "Were those not your words?"
"I..." Sister Aurelie paused, letting out a breath, and the cat's head slowly found its way to Aodhan's shoulder, "...if he sent you... then I suppose he IS seeing me through." The wolf chuckled softly, laying his head against Sister Aurelie's, and Friar Arlowe smiled, happy to know that they were each able to take such comfort in one another's presence. Seeing at least that much in the world was well, the monk slowly drifted back off to sleep, carried by the gentle sound of contented breaths and a crackling campfire... his dreams were good ones.
The sky was just starting to hint at dawn when Friar Arlowe next awoke. The sounds of birds in the trees were far more noisesome than those of the city, and it took a moment for the monk to put together his memories into a coherent timeline-- he had been taken from Newport... taken from the church. He grunted as he tried to rise.
"Careful, Friar... be careful." Brother Rhys was at his side in a moment, carefully helping the raccoon dog to sit up, "Your body has used a lot of energy ridding itself of the corruption in your blood."
"I was..." the monk croaked, "...ill... fevered..."
"Indeed." the young rat priest acknowledged, and slowly poured some water into a familiar-looking ceramic bowl; it was the one Aodhan had--
"Aodhan?" the raccoon dog started, looking around.
"Sleeping." Brother Rhys confirmed, "We have been taking turns keeping watch." He glanced to where a collection of winter blankets were gathered in various body-shaped piles near the campfire, "I will awaken them soon so we can continue onward."
"I..." the monk paused, drinking greedily of the water until the bowl was empty, "I... awoke several times last night... I suppose..." he watched as Brother Rhys refilled the bowl, "I suppose every time the watchers changed."
"Aodhan mentioned that he thought you had awoken two nights ago when he gave you a tea..." the rat nodded thoughtfully.
"Two nights ago?" the raccoon dog started, "It wasn't..." he paused a moment before continuing, "a few hours ago?"
"No, Friar Arlowe..." Brother Rhys shook his head, "We are five days from Newport... you've been recovering since we escaped with you."
"I have been..." he froze, "The church!"
"They had declared that you were to be put to death." the rat explained.
The severity of the situation struck the raccoon dog like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, "...what have you done?"
Brother Rhys' ears focused in on him, "We saved you from death, Friar."
"You have condemned me to far worse." the raccoon dog whispered.
"I--"
Friar Arlowe sat up more fitfully, "I will be branded a heretic... you will all be identified as unfaithful and... and excommunicated..." his voice gained strength as his heart started racing, and his words began to rouse the rest of the party.
"We've denied them the ability to--"
"You have given the church everything it desired." the monk interrupted the rat, "They have now found a way to remove me without having to face retribution for demanding my death... their words will carry truth as they will say I have fled from their judgment... and all of you..." he glanced around at the many eyes on him, "You've condemned yourselves to my fate as well." For the first time since he had been arrested, the monk felt despair.