Fire Star (20 page)

B
rother Vincent!”

The voice came calling out from some way behind him. Turning, he saw the stumpy figure of Brother Bernard Augustus hurrying along the flattened grass track. They were halfway between the monastery chapel and the folly at the northern tip of the island. A knot of uncertainty rolled into the center of Vincent’s chest. He had never been followed out here before.

Red-faced from the hurry, Bernard came puffing up, resembling a small, very overweight puppy. Wisps of ginger hair from his freckled head were falling forward, sticking to his brow. A brittle wintry rain was in the air and the grass underfoot was slippery and muddied, but he had neither changed his sandals nor raised his cowl.
Brother Vincent bit his tongue in silent reproach. Direct exposure to the harshest elements was one form of penitence he had not yet considered. He shook his head, chiding himself for such scorn. Even now, after all these years on the island, the monastic principles did not always sit comfortably with him.

“Brother Bernard. What brings you chasing me here?”

Bernard patted his brow with a handkerchief. He puffed his chest and blew a round breath of air. It solidified into a larger ball of mist. “What a glory it is to be out in the wilds, even in the bleakness of a February morning.”

Vincent bowed. That he could not argue with. Isolation was a route to inner peace, but his mind, just then, was anything but still. What did this winded brother want?

Bernard opened his chunky hands. His smile was almost as wide as his reach. “I’m sure you remember that ornithology is an amateur pastime of mine. I was merely wondering where that was nesting?” He pointed
beyond. Brother Vincent turned to see a large black bird skitter down from the sky and land just a yard or two away. It strutted a few steps and pecked the earth, then threw back its head and screeched at the men.

“Fascinating, don’t you think?” Bernard said, wiping the handkerchief hard across his mouth.

“It’s a crow,” said Vincent. His heart was thumping but his voice was even. Beneath the folds of his habit, his bare knees seemed to have welded together. He blinked as a snowflake landed on his eyelid. “Why would it be of particular interest?”

“Ah!” Bernard rubbed his hands together as though he was attempting to spark a fire. “At the risk of sounding overly precocious, I must correct you, Brother Vincent. I believe that is a raven, not a crow. It has a fan-shaped tail and a beak more rounded than its smaller cousin. Its presence here is most beguiling.”

Vincent dragged his gaze away from the bird. “Why is that?”

Bernard’s eyebrows hopped and he smiled again. “Because we’ve never had a single raven here before.”
He brushed past to stand a little closer to the bird. It dipped its beak and stared back fearlessly. With an elegant ruffle of its flint-black feathers it put its wings into the wind and was carried away north. Bernard twisted, cupping his eyes. “Magnificent,” he breathed. “I first saw it on the roof of the chapel. That was just over a week ago. This morning, I observed it again through my binoculars. It was circling the folly, of all places. I know you like to spend time out there. I was wondering if you had seen it, brother, and could possibly tell me if there is a pair?”

Brother Vincent drove his hands into his wide, loose sleeves and continued his measured walk along the path. “You must forgive me. While my heart contains joy for all God’s creatures, during prayer my eyes are trained only within. I know nothing of this bird. Peace be with you. Good day.”

“Brother, wait.” In a matter of clumping strides, Bernard was back at the other man’s side. “If you have no objection, I would like to join you at the folly today and hopefully answer my question myself.”

In the distance a soft wave landed, spilling its hollow yawn into the caverns cored out of the island by the motions of the sea. Brother Vincent paused and rolled his shoulders. “The folly is not a place of comfort, brother. I …”

“I have provisions,” Bernard interjected, cheerily. He patted a knapsack strapped across his shoulder. “Cheese, bread, and a flagon of water.”

Vincent looked to one side.

“Forgive me, I have been too presumptuous,” Bernard said, clasping his hands together and bowing. Snowflakes fell across the yoke of his shoulders, patterning his brown, slightly threadbare cowl. “I have no wish to disturb your meditations. I will walk the coast path and observe the bird from there.”

“No,” said Vincent, recovering quickly. “The island retreats are there for all. It would be a pleasure to share bread with you at the folly. Excuse me if I seemed anything less than grateful for your offer. Come, let me guide you. I know a route less likely to wet the toes.”

Brother Bernard nodded graciously and fell into step.

For a few strides they walked on in silence, then it was the taller monk who spoke again. “May I ask a question about this bird? You seem excited yet puzzled by the presence of it?”

“Indeed,” said Bernard, his heavy feet slapping against the grass, spraying his companion’s ankles with water. “Members of the
Corvidae
tend to cluster. Why one should choose to cross eight miles of water and settle here is a mystery, brother.”

“Perhaps something attracted it,” Vincent said quietly.

“Other than your excellent recipe for chocolate, I cannot think what. Though I did read an article the other day which the ignorant or misguided might argue was the cause. It was to do with, of all things, spiritual awareness.”

Brother Vincent felt a shudder topple off his shoulders and leave an ice-cold trail down his arms. “To know God is something we strive for every day. Why be so dismissive, brother?”

“The subject matter was monkeys!” said Bernard.

The leader came to a sudden halt. “Monkeys?”

“On a group of South Sea islands.”

Vincent shook his head in puzzlement, throwing off his cowl. The cold wind immediately punished his ears. He flipped up the cover and continued walking.

“It was a scientific study,” Bernard said, “which set out to determine if the monkeys were able to solve a simple problem. Sweet potatoes were left on a sandy beach for them. The monkeys found them and sensed they were good to eat, but were put off because they were covered in sand. Then one day, a wise old monkey, on the remotest island of the chain, washed her potato in the sea and ate it. Monkeys nearby quickly learned to follow suit, until most of them were cleansing their food in that way. Then something extraordinary appeared to happen. When the number of monkeys exhibiting such behavior reached one hundred, monkeys on islands miles away suddenly began washing their potatoes as well, even though they’d had no contact with the original troop! The author of the piece proposed a preposterous explanation —”

Vincent cut in and said without a pause, “That the skill had been attained by enough members of the group to form a critical mass, so that awareness of the skill was then transferred to every monkey through their group consciousness.”

“Precisely!” Brother Bernard exclaimed. “You astound me, brother. How did you guess?”

They were at the base of the folly. Brother Vincent unlatched the door and bade his fellow monk follow him in. There was nothing on this level but a winding staircase and dampness leaking from the circular walls.

As his foot found the first worn hollow in the stone, Brother Vincent said, “There is a theory called the Law of Attraction, which proposes that whatever we think about, we bring to us; whatever we desire, we create.”

Brother Bernard Augustus lifted his habit and trod his way carefully up the stairs. “A law, Brother Vincent? Surely the only law of creativity is that which the Lord himself commands? Would it not be the greatest of profanities for you or I to think we could — shh! What was that?”

As he’d climbed through the hatch to the next floor of the folly, something had scuttled across the wooden boards.

Brother Bernard closed his hands in prayer. “Are there rats here? Forgive me, I do not like rodents.”

“Only one,” said Vincent. He dropped down on one knee and opened his hand. A small lithe figure jumped onto his palm, ran the length of his arm and vanished behind his neck. “This is my companion,” he said. “Quite tame.” When he turned, there was a gray squirrel sitting on his shoulder.

Brother Bernard stared in astonishment. As in the case of the single raven, he had never seen a squirrel on the island before.

And certainly not one that smiled.

O
n the first floor of the folly was a lectern as old as the abbey itself. It faced a broken window which looked out onto the open sea. Gulls, and sometimes fishing boats, crossed by, but for the most part there was only water and sky. It was here that Brother Bernard leaned a forearm. The desk was often used for standing prayer and he found himself muttering a biblical passage, hoping it might explain this apparition now chirring softly into Brother Vincent’s ear.

“I do not understand this,” he said, somewhat flushed. Out came his sweat-soaked handkerchief again. “How can squirrels and ravens arrive on the island when they have never been present before?” He watched Brother Vincent feed a peanut to the squirrel. It shelled
it in seconds and chirped for another. “Perhaps the tourists?” he added, gesturing hopefully. There were many every year. But not through the winter. He pulled his hands tight together again, troubled.

“You should rest,” Vincent said. “The walk here saps the strength from the knees.” He drew up the only chair in the room and sat Brother Bernard with his back to the window and the rustling sea. Bernard slipped his knapsack of provisions to the floor, noticing something by the foot of the lectern. A scrunched-up piece of paper. He reached for it, only to find his arm gripped at the wrist.

“Allow me,” Brother Vincent said. A weak light bounced off his glassy blue eyes. He picked up the paper and squeezed it in his fist.

Brother Bernard sank back, bristling nervously. Glancing around, he could see other balls of paper. Evidence that Vincent had been lying, at the abbey. Oh, why had Abbot Hugo given him this task? There was nothing spiritual about distrust.

“You seem anxious. Is something on your mind, Brother Bernard?”

The chair creaked as Bernard shifted his weight. He prayed quickly for guidance, and made a bold decision. “Brother, the abbot is concerned for your welfare. He fears you are fighting demons in your mind and has asked me to watch over you. I am not altogether at ease with his request. I don’t know what to do.”

Brother Vincent walked to the window and guided the squirrel onto the ledge. “You must do what the Lord dictates,” he said, “and follow the path of righteousness. I see questions in your eyes, worry in your movements. What is it you wish to know?”

Brother Bernard ran a hand across his gleaming crown. “These … papers. What are they? There: It’s out!”

“Mistakes,” said Vincent. “Unforeseen errors. Passages I’m not quite comfortable with.”

“Passages?”

“For the past few months, I’ve been writing a story. Here, at the lectern.” He patted it as though it were a faithful friend.

“A work of fiction?”

“I thought so, once.” There was a tremor in Vincent’s
voice. He ran his little finger down the squirrel’s back. It darted up his arm again, back onto his shoulder. “Let me guess,” he said, stepping forward. “Abbot Hugo has told you I tried to take my life. He would like to know why, in case I try again. If I tell you the circumstances, will you swear to me you will not speak of my story till after I am gone?”

“You’re leaving the Order?”

“Shortly, yes.”

Bernard let his arms fall loosely at his side. “So many surprises.”

“There are more,” said Vincent. He dropped the ball of paper into Bernard’s lap. “Look at it. Please.”

Bernard smoothed it out. It was three-quarters filled with the same green ink that he had seen on Vincent’s sketches of the heavens. “What will I learn from this?” he asked. He glanced at the page and saw the word “dragon.” Immediately, his warm heart cooled.

“Many years ago I knew a woman,” Vincent said. “I was in love with her. She with me, or so I thought. One
day I discovered she had mothered a child that could not have been mine. I was devastated and threw myself into a river. I was rescued and taken to a hospital. When I recovered, I chose to find spiritual sanctuary, here. In the past few months, I have.”

“But this …?” Bernard passed a hand across the page.

“That is my catharsis,” Vincent said. “My explanation for the birth. It exonerates her virtue and keeps our love alive.”

Bernard blinked in confusion. He looked again at the word “dragon.” “Liz,” he muttered, finding a name.

“Elizabeth. That was she.”

“And this explains her … infidelity?”

“There
was
no infidelity,” Vincent insisted. “No other man involved.”

“Then who was the father?”

Vincent looked away.

Bernard slowly folded the paper. “Brother, you have been my companion for ten years now. In all that time
you have never once stepped off this island. How can you know what you cannot know, or convince yourself of a truth just imagined?”

Vincent pushed his tongue between his tightening lips. He stepped backward and turned to the wall. There was a grating sound of stone against stone. When he turned back to the light again, there was something in his hands. It was long and curved with a sharply pointed tip.

“What is that?” Bernard said, fear rising in his throat. The myths about this island seemed suddenly very real.

Vincent held the artifact as though it were a pen. “This is a dragon’s claw,” he breathed.

B
rother Bernard shook his head wildly and threw his weight against the base of the chair. A leg squealed, gouging a scratch on the floor. “No, you mock me. There is no such creature. How can you speak of such things in this place?”

Vincent looked at the fallen knapsack. “Give me your water.”

“What?”

“Your flagon.”

Bernard shook his head. “I —”

Vincent dropped down and tore at the buckles. “Watch,” he said, uncorking the flagon and tipping it until the water lapped the neck. He dabbed the point of the dragon claw into it, then spread the crumpled paper
on the floor and proceeded to write the letter
G
on its reverse. “A gentle squeeze brings forth a kind of ichor. The colder the water, the better the flow.”

Ichor? The blood of the gods? Lord, preserve us! Bernard turned away with a hand to his head. Now he understood why the abbot was concerned. Brother Vincent had clearly turned quietly mad.

“I found it after years of meditation,” said Vincent. “Day after day I pleaded for an answer. One night it appeared. There, in the center of this floor, lit by the light of a distant star.”

“Brother, you must pray with me,” Bernard be-seeched him. He fell to his knees and began to beg for mercy and understanding.

“But this
is
my prayer,” Vincent insisted. He knelt opposite Bernard and shook him into silence. “With this, I have touched the heart of the universe. I have uncovered that which cannot be seen. I have brought forth life where there was only clay. I have looked through the eyes of God.”

“NO!” Bernard shouted. “This is blasphemy!
Delusion. Your mind has taken leave of its senses. What proof do you have that what you say is real?”

Chirr!
went the squirrel.

Brother Vincent smiled, for there was the answer. “His name is Snigger. You will find him in the early body of my texts. I brought him here, through space and time. The raven …” He looked absently towards the window. “The raven is a messenger of love from the north.”

“I must leave here,” Bernard said, turning left and right in search of the hatch. “Please return with me, brother. Let the abbot … let the Church redeem your soul!”

Brother Vincent laughed. “On the fourteenth day of this month, the world will change. A new dimension will open to us all. A chance for all souls to find redemption.”

Bernard shook his head.

“I can prove it,” said Vincent, with steel in his voice. “Ten minutes, brother. Ten minutes that will change your grasp on reality.”

Beneath the weight of his habit and the scapula
which covered it, Bernard felt the quickening thump of his heart.

Vincent crossed the floor and lifted the hatch. “Follow me,” he said, descending swiftly.

In a matter of strides, he was through the door and heading toward the cliffs.

“Where are we going?” Bernard shouted, struggling with the pace and the breath-snatching whistle of the coastal wind.

Vincent walked on and did not turn. Suddenly, he was gone from view, stumbling down a man-made path which slanted through a wet dune and onto a narrow beach covered with rubble from the cliffs above. The sea, as if taunted and enraged by his presence, crashed against the rocks and threw spray into his face. Still he walked on, crossing the stones with a jaunty balance, resembling a puppet suspended on strings.

He was sitting on a ledge at the mouth of a cavern when Bernard finally caught up.

“Well?” cried Bernard, struggling against the snarl of the sea.

“Closer,” Vincent shouted, beckoning to him.

Bernard lifted his habit and looked for a step. But long before his leg was off the ground, his heart was firmly in his mouth. From within the cavern he could hear a sound. A low, guttural, rumbling cry. An animal of some kind. A large, wild creature. He crossed himself and urinated down his leg. The voice was like nothing he had heard on God’s earth.

Grrrrr-ockle,
it went.