After what felt like hours, he spoke, in a low, gravelly voice. “You are the wine thief.”
I collapsed to the floor, my tongue leaping to life: “Yes! Oh yes! Yes! It’s true! I stole the wine!”
Hot tears erupted from my eyes as I wept, my body wracked with sobs. I was vaguely aware of Father Ver rising and walking around the desk.
“You will stop crying,” he said, standing before me.
Instantly, I stopped. It was like he’d reached in and flicked some unseen switch that commanded my tears. I reached out and hugged his ankles, groveling as I pressed my cheeks against his sandal-clad feet. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “Forgive me.”
“You will stand,” he said.
Though my body felt hollow, gutted by guilt and shame, my muscles moved to obey his words and I rose.
Father Ver frowned. “There’s a weakness in you,” he said. “Unfounded hope is the source. Your grandfather paid you a visit two years ago.”
“Y-yes,” I said, sniffling.
“He filled your head with tales of vanished kingdoms, pygmy tribes, and lost treasures. Seductive visions for a boy your age. You’ve turned your eyes from the path of righteousness and now dream of life outside this monastery.”
I wiped snot onto my sleeve and said, “My g-grandfather is going to t-take me with him next time.”
“We both know this isn’t true,” said Father Ver.
I swallowed hard.
“If your grandfather wanted you, he could have taken you on his last visit. You aren’t our property, boy. We’d welcome one less mouth to feed. The truth is plain; Judicious Merchant loves the jungle more than he loves you.”
I wiped my cheeks and whispered, “He… he said the jungle is too dangerous for a child.”
“Do the pygmies not have children? In any case, your grandfather is a free man, still in possession of remnants of your family fortune. He need not live in a jungle like a savage. He could have raised you in comfort on some modest country estate. His actions show what he truly loves in this world. It isn’t you.”
I dropped to my knees, doubled over, feeling as if I’d been kicked in the gut.
“Your thirst for wine comes from your love of falsehood. In your intoxication, it’s easy to feel as if the dreams you cling to are real. It’s time to let go of your childish embrace of fantasy. Truth will never be found digging among the ruins of failed civilizations. Truth is revealed through prayer and obedience to the church. The great adventure for any man lies not in exploring the ruins of distant jungles, but in navigating the ruins of his own soul. Your soul in particular is a treacherous labyrinth. Your father, mother, and grandfather all live, yet you are an orphan. What a heavy burden, to be so unloved. I understand why your dreams seem more attractive than your piteous reality.”
I dug my nails into my palms, trying to make the pain blot out the words. I sniffled. “H-how can… how can you say such cruel things?”
“It is a measure of your weakness that you mistake truth for cruelty,” said Father Ver. “Within the One True Book, your life has already been written. I know nothing of your future; there is too much contained within the Book for one man to study it all. I have no certainty of your eventual fate, but slaking your blasphemous thirst with sacramental wine is a poor omen. My informed speculation is that one day you’ll die drunk on some distant shore, leaving your bones to rot in an unmarked grave.”
He walked to the door and rang a small bell to summon the monks. He didn’t look at me as he said, “If I were the sole arbiter of your fate, you would be hung. A boy who is a thief will almost certainly grow into a man who is something worse. Alas, the brothers will sanction no punishment more severe than flogging. You will receive ten lashes a day with a braided leather whip for the next seven days.”
My mouth went dry as I thought of the pain I would endure.
“I know you are afraid of what’s to come,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Look at me.”
I turned my face toward him as he untied the knot that held his simple robes at the waist. He shrugged the heavy cloth from his shoulders. He turned, revealing his bare back. He was more muscular than I’d suspected. There was no fat on him; his muscles looked wiry and powerful beneath his white skin. I squinted in the candle light. Quickly, I understood what he was showing me. His back was crisscrossed with scars and countless fresh scabs.
“When the whip touches you, pain flashes through your mind like a light,” he said. “Follow this light. It will lead you to truth. Pleasure leads only to falsehood; pain guides men to what is real. Truth is hard. Truth is harsh. Truth is all that matters. It is stark and beautiful and complete. Embrace your pain, child, and you may yet live a righteous life.”
He pulled his robes back up his shoulders. “Should you not heed my words, pray we do not cross paths again,” he said. “When next we meet, I will not show such mercy.”
He left, and I listened to this feet pad away down the stone hall. I was all alone, his words echoing in my ears. All I could feel was gratitude. Father Ver had given me a precious second chance. I didn’t fear the punishment to come; I was eager for it, ready for the whip to beat away my weakness and bring me to the same state of grace as this holy man.
I didn’t find enlightenment in my floggings. The instant the whip touched me I found only hurt and humiliation and a festering distrust for all things labeled holy. I returned to wine theft within the year. When I finally fled the monastery, it was with a belly full of sacramental wine and the contents of the poor box jingling in my pockets.
Relic had told Infidel to wait for his return, but nothing was holding her at the boat beyond her own weariness. As the heat of the day settled over the bay, she was wide awake. Aurora’s cold compresses had helped reduce her lumps and bruises. She looked like her old self as she finished off the last of the whale jerky. She and Aurora cracked crude jokes as they speculated as to what, exactly, Relic might be. There are nineteen sentient species in the Shining Lands; toss in the more popular half-seeds and there were roughly fifty different types of humanoid that could be hiding under that cloak.
There was no reason to limit the speculation to the earthly realms. Aurora’s belief in a Great Sea Above was hardly the only auxiliary reality one could believe in. The Church of the Book believed there were two further realms of existence. Heaven was populated by true men, glorious creatures who had reached the final perfection after passing through the trials of life. Hell was populated by sinners and worse things. There were demons whose very existence was a lie the universe had been tricked into accepting. Only when the Golden Child read the One True Book would these false creatures be eradicated.
Of course, I take these teachings with a grain of salt. The Vanished Kingdom is proof that men lived long before the Church of the Book. I’m sure that these men believed in the stone idols they worshipped, gods whose names are now completely forgotten. If ancient men had been mistaken about their beliefs, why should modern men be any different?
All my life, I assumed that I’d finally discover the answers to these philosophical questions once I was dead. What a gyp that I have more questions now than ever. Still, when I think of the scaly flesh that surrounds Relic’s eyes, I can’t help but think of how closely he resembles the drawings of demons from the books of my youth.