Legends of Luternia (10 page)

The fourth day of the voyage introduced Ulrik, Edgar, and Barty to the Apex Celebration. The Hurricane’s Handmaiden had reached the half-way point and the crew celebrated with their traditional rites. The crew, led by Euphrates in a costume of feathers topped with an oversized paper hat in the shape of a lizard, escorted the Firsties, as Ulrik, Edgar, and Barty were known, to center of the uppermost deck.

Euphrates intoned: “Come before the Emperor of the Sky, O earthbound creatures.” he called.

“Hail, O Wind Bag, full of air,” responded the crew.

“Who comes before me with the dust of earth clinging to their clothes?”

The crew pushed the three before Euphrates. “These are they, O Gaseous One.”

“Cleanse them, cleanse them of the foul dirt.” Each crewmember, Christian included, took a large silken handkerchief, held it between outstretched hands, and waved it violently over the three, rushing around them, shouting, “Purify, purify, purify.”

“Have they been cleansed?”

“They are clean,” announced the crew.

“Let them speak for themselves.” Ulrik, Edgar, and Barty were left by the crew to stand before Euphrates. They weren’t sure what to do until Christian whispered into Barty’s ear.

“I am clean, no longer a dust-bug, O Big Airy One,” said Barty who then nudged Ulrik, who took the hint.

“I am clean, no longer a dust-bug, O Big Airy One,” announced Ulrik.

They both coached Edgar quickly in the ritual response until the big man said, “Edgar clean! No dirt, Big Air Bag!” He grinned as all the others laughed with him.

“Then, they are brothers. Present them with the symbol of our brotherhood.” With an excessive amount of bowing and counter-bowing each received a large square of silken sail carefully embroidered with each of their names. A crewman stood before each of them and tied the pieces of sail around their necks with honor and respect.

“Now, show them the air!” commanded Euphrates. Members of the crew grabbed them, hoisted them to their shoulders and marched toward the edge of the deck’s railing. Looking over his shoulder, Ulrik saw that Christian was with Barty doing his best to keep the raucous crew from being too rough. Edgar laughed uneasily as several struggled to hoist him upon their shoulders. Only then did Ulrik see that one of the crew holding him was the wiry pirate. Once, then twice, the crew pretended they were about to throw the passengers over the railing. When Ulrik neared the railing the third time, he felt the pirate’s grip suddenly tighten around him. Before he could cry out, he was wrenched from the others and thrown over the railing, falling from the Hurricane’s Handmaiden. Looking up, he saw another tear himself loose from the crew and launch himself over the railing, crying, “Uley!”

Dust. Grit. Can’t breathe. Can’t see. Swim, Ulrik, swim! The water’s too heavy. I can’t move my arms, can’t kick—I’m drowning. Oh God, Oh Father, help. Save me, I’m sinking and my mouth is full of dirt. I scream but no sound, no breath. Dear God, is this it?

“Ulrik?” Gently as a mother’s kiss the words nudged him awake. “Ulrik? Thanks be to God, you can hear me. Ulrik, I’m Abbot Peter. You’re safe now. Bruised but not broken. You need to rest for now.”

Then he remembered. The pirate threw him from the sky-ship. And more. Edgar! Edgar came too. “Edgar?” he croaked, not recognizing the sound coming from his throat.

“You’re friend’s going to be fine. He’s the reason we found you. Rest now. The deaconess is here to take care of you. I’ll check in on you a bit later. Pax et Bonum.”

The deaconess placed a cool cloth on his forehead and then began to sing very softly and lovingly:

I am Jesus’ little lamb,

Ever glad at heart I am;

For my shepherd gently guides me,

Knows my needs and well provides me,

Loves me every day the same,

Even calls me by my name.

The soothing rhythm of the song lulled Ulrik to sleep. He slept a long time and when he awoke he tried to talk, but only a harsh, raspy noise came out of his throat. “Here, drink this,” offered the deaconess. “You swallowed a lot of sand.”

Sand. Then he remembered being thrown from the Handmaiden, falling and falling, drowning in the sand, and then nothing.

“Where?” he croaked after taking a drink.

“You’re in the infirmary at the Abbey of Santa Sophia in the Desert of Hope,” said Abbot Peter as he reentered the room. His round and friendly face grew from the cowl of his brown, homespun robe. “You’re a very blessed young man. Very few ever survive a fall from the sky-ships. The hand of Providence guided you to one of the few mounds of soft sand. A bit further on and you would have been broken on the rocks—both you and your friend.”

“Edgar?” asked Ulrik.

“He was buried in sand up to his waist. When we found him he was waving this,” said the abbot as he held out a silken handkerchief. Ulrik recognized it as one that had been given to them on the Handmaiden.

“Is he OK?” said Ulrik, trying to sit up in bed.

“Yes, he’s going to heal. Edgar will be all right. The sand and wind burned his skin quite badly. Fortunately for his sake, we’re experienced with such injuries. He’ll have some scarring, but will be fine. But for the moment, you shouldn’t talk any more. You swallowed a lot of sand and your throat needs to heal. If you feel strong enough to get out of bed, I’ll take you to him.”

Ulrik struggled to get out of bed and needed the deaconess to take one elbow and the abbot the other. With the help of the deaconess and the abbot, he was led down a spotless corridor to another of the infirmary’s rooms. The bandages so swathed Edgar that he was scarcely visible. Yellow stains from the burns seeped through and stained the bandages. Edgar breathed rhythmically and slowly in a deep sleep.

“We’ve given him a tincture to help him sleep. Brother Salvador is very good at concocting the proper tonic that is good for what ails you,” commented Abbot Peter. “Special prayers were offered for both of you this morning. Prayers which were, I might add, quickly answered.” Seeing that Ulrik was tiring, the abbot suggested they take him back to his room.

Ulrik gladly reentered his bed and would have fallen asleep immediately except for a question that wouldn’t leave his mind, “How did the abbot know my name? Edgar must have told him. Yes, that’s it.” The question answered for the moment, he slept soundly.

Ulrik was alone when he woke, his body still aching. The room contained only his bed, a chair next to it, and a nightstand. An open book lay on the chair. A large cross hung on the wall opposite the bed. There was something familiar about it. “I know that cross.” His hand went to his neck and pulled out his mother’s cross and examined it. The one in his hand was a miniature of the one on the wall. He tried to make sense of the place and the people but his mind was as confused as his body was hurt. He fingered his mother’s cross while gazing at the one on the wall, taking comfort from each.

He didn’t hear the deaconess and Brother Salvador, of whom the abbot had spoken earlier, enter. Brother Salvador immediately went to Ulrik, pulled back the sheets and began his examination. Ulrik winced as he poked and probed. Ulrik groaned as the man’s strong yet gentle hands felt for breaks, sprains, and torn ligaments. At command, Ulrik opened his mouth wide so that the brother could peer into his mouth and down his throat. Up close, Ulrik saw the heavy scars Brother Salvador carried. The left side of his face looked like dried parchment, while the right side bore a splotched and reddish hue. His examination complete, the brother carefully replaced the sheet, pulled up the chair, sat down, and looked into Ulrik’s eyes and said, “Boy, nothing is broken or too damaged. Your skin is very tender. Stay out the sun for two weeks. I’ll send some unguent to speed up the healing. You should be dead, but by God’s grace and mercy, you’re not. Don’t ask me why, God’s wisdom isn’t my department. Let me know if you need anything.” He rose and abruptly left.

“He’s always like that,” Deaconess Rose informed him. “He may seem rough but he cares. It’s just that he would rather be with his herbs and medicines than with people.” She leaned over him and whispered, “I think he’s self-conscious about his face—it happened in an accident, don’t you know.” Ulrik wished to hear more but the abbot interrupted them.

“Since you’ve been given a clean bill of health, you’ll need to move to your regular room,” informed the abbot.

“Regular room?” asked Ulrik.

“Good heavens, my son, this is the infirmary. How did you ever . . .” the abbot scratched his head in bewilderment. “Come on, I’ll take you there. We’ll take the long way through the buildings to keep you out of the sun. Brother Salvador doesn’t like his orders ignored. Not even his abbot can get away with that.”

He led Ulrik through the maze of rooms and hallways that made up the abbey’s interior, the abbot setting a slow pace. Questions flooded Ulrik’s mind, so many he had no idea which to first ask.

“Sir . . .” he began.

“Most folks call me Abbot Peter,” suggested the abbot.

“Abbot Peter . . . how . . .” Ulrik sensed the older man’s ears opening to his question. “How did you know my name?”

The abbot looked out from his cowl and smiled, “Oh, I know a great deal about you, about what you’ve been through—your father’s illness, that horrid wizard’s demonic work, the quest, being attacked by the Dream Demons, the help that Johanna and Elijah gave. We’ve been watching out for you for a long time.”

“Watching out for me?”

“Do you think the Mage is the only one who has eyes in unusual places? Ever since the wizard arrived at the castle we’ve been worried over what might happen. Fortunately, we have faithful folk in the right places.” Ulrik’s face twisted into puzzlement. “Tell me, does her bread still fill the soul with hope?” asked Abbot Peter.

“Helga!” exploded Ulrik.

“Yes, Helga. She was one of our community when she was younger. Her bread was famous. I still remember how the aroma filled the abbey. We could hardly get any work out of anyone because they kept hovering near the bakery seeking samples. Does she still bake?”

Ulrik nodded “yes” as the memory crept through him.

Their walk through the hallways took them to a large room occupied by children and adults, all hard at work sorting potatoes. Suddenly, one of them called out, “Abbot Peter!” They rushed to the abbot with outstretched arms and pandemonium broke out as chairs fell over, a table was tipped dumping potatoes over the floor, all to the consternation of their adult caretakers. The abbot returned their hugs, calling each by name while urging them back to their work.

“Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Hemplewhite. I thought you had your charges outside,” said the abbot.

“Going outside was on the schedule, but the wind’s up again.” she said, resetting the furniture, rounding up her charges, and restoring order. Not all of her charges were children, even though they acted childish. Abbot Peter made his rounds from one to another asking each about the day, listening patiently to answers, some of which were barely understandable.

When they continued their walk through the abbey, Ulrik said, “I thought at first they were all children, but some are quite a bit older.”

“Yes, you’re right. One is nearly as old as I am.” The abbot continued, “They are all children in their minds; some will never grow to be full adults, as adults are usually thought of. Each one needs special love and care. They had no one else. No one would give them what they needed and so they end up here, where we can give God’s gift of love to them.

“Ah, here we are,” said the abbot stopping before one of the many doors lining the hallway. He opened it and led the way in, “I believe you’ll like this one. Your mother used it when she stayed with us.”

“My mother?” Ulrik asked.

“Before she married your father she was a regular visitor; then after the wedding her official duties kept her away. I recall her singing in the choir; not the best voice, but she sang with great vigor.”

Ulrik stepped into the room reverently, almost hoping to see her waiting for him. But rather than stepping into the middle of the room, he hung to one side, not wanting to disturb any presence of her that might have remained. Abbot Peter put his hand on the prince’s shoulder, and urged him further into the room. “Rest well, young prince, you’ve much to learn,” he said, leaving the boy alone in the room.

Too much had happened since his flight over the desert ended so abruptly. Now he stood in his mother’s old room. He knew so little about her, like where she came from, or that she once sang here in the choir. The abbot told him he had much to learn—on and on the questions came, until exhaustion collapsed him on the bed.

Dreams came while he slept, but not like those spawned by the Dream Demons. As he dreamed, he fell into the Mage’s chamber, only the wizard wasn’t there. His cloak stood by itself as if the wizard were still in it. The cloak moved toward him. When he tried to peer inside, the hollowness within tried to envelop him. He shot up in bed, awake and drenched in sweat, the sheets wrapped around him like an angry animal. The chamber door flew open and Deaconess Rose darted in, “Are you all right? I heard you scream.”

He stared at her, eyes wide open, without speaking, and dazed.

“It was only a dream. Not to worry now, you’re safe here. Close your eyes and let me sing to you. You’re not too old for that, are you? Rest now and I’ll do the work,” she said. Her soft song lulled him back to sleep, filling his heart with a comforting melody. The deaconess’ song along with knowing he shared a room with his mother’s memories, caressed his soul and soon he was back to sleep.

When he awoke, he saw a book on the nightstand that someone must have left while he was sleeping. He opened it to see his mother’s name written in the frontispiece with the inscription, “To Alice Jane from Pastor Peter. May God bless you on this special day.” As he slowly paged through it he realized this was different from other books he had read. It looked like a children’s book with a large illustration facing a page on which a question and its answer were printed. The quaintness of the picture caught his eye. The cover revealed the title, “An Enchiridion.” Before he could start reading it, Deaconess Rose came in.