Shields locked on either side, and the archers fanned out in two forward-slanting wings from side to side of the roadway. The Bou el-Mogdad was burning like a pillar of fire now, delaying the men the Gisandu carried and making it impossible for her deck engines to shoot. They came staggering out of the smoke anyway, and first was a man in a tattered red robe the color of dried blood. His hands were held out before him like claws, and his eyes were windows into negation. ?Noooooooo!?
The endless wail was as much shriek as word, and less a protest than a single long scream of what he was, or what the thing that wore the man like a glove was. Ignatius raised his sword and brought up his shield, but behind the visor of his helm he shouted for joy as his gaze met those wells of night without end. ?Yes!? he cried.?Eternally, yes!?
Behind him Edain barked:?Let the gray geese fly. Wholly togetherShoot!?
The bows snapped, and men went down in the ragged mob of Bekwa and Sword troopers and corsairs who rushed forward as the arrows sleeted into them, but there were too many, far too many. Three punched into the High Seeker, but his body simply flexed and came on. ?Nooooooo!? ?You shall not pass, Hollow Man!? Ignatius cried.
And then Knight-brother Ignatius snatched at his sword. It wasn?t there, nor was his armor and gear. Instead he wore the simple Benedictine robe and cowl; after an instant he was conscious that he sat on a bench. Before him was a cloister, slender white stone columns supporting arches on three sides of a garden and fountain where water played before an image of the Virgin. The shadows within the walk hid tall doors; behind them was a hint of bookcases full of leather-bound volumes. Within the court the sun ran dappled on the water that lifted and fell in its basin, shifting in spots of brightness through the leaves of tall beeches; a few flower beds stood in troughs between walkways of worn brick, shimmering in gold and silver and hyacinth blue.
The day was mild and dry and warm, with scents of rock and wet and warm dust, and somewhere a hint of incense. It was very quiet; the sound of the plashing fountain, a few cu-currrus from doves that stalked past, perhaps very faintly a hint of chanted plainsong in the distance. He smiled. It wasn?t Mt. Angel, but it was as if…
As if it is the distilled essence of everything I loved about the abbey, he thought. Peace, beauty, wisdom. God.
Beside him another monk sat; the man threw back his cowl and smiled. Ignatius? eyes went a little wide. It was Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski, but as he?d first seen him as a postulant, the square hard face amused at his earnestness but in a way that was kindly, not mocking. ?Am I… is this…? ?No, you are not, my son,? the abbot answered. ?Then, you-?
Dmwoski laughed; it had been a rare thing on Mt. Angel, but it lit the warrior-cleric?s sternness like a candle through the glass shutter of a lantern. ?Not yet, as your life thread is drawn; there I am currently fighting the sin of despair, and grappling with a sea of troubles. Time is different here. Or rather, we?re not entirely in time as men understand it.? ?I always thought you would be a saint,? Ignatius blurted.
Dmwoski frowned.?All human souls are, potentially. I… have been allowed to progress.? ?And this is-?
Another chuckle:?And yes, this is where you think it is. Or as much of this… one of the many mansions… as you can currently understand. Think of it as a metaphor, but a true one.? ?Such peace,? Ignatius breathed, wondering.
He drew the air into his lungs, and then glanced behind him. A long table reached into dimness; someone was turning the pages of a text, and the bright colors drew him even through the glass and across the distance. ?Yet…? he said.?It does not feel in the least static.? ?Never. More like an endless high adventure; or rather, what an adventure should be. We cannot fully know Him, yet we can know ever more of Him; and in that is the completion of our natures. Come, walk with me, my son.?
They rose and folded their hands in the sleeves of their robes. A bell rang somewhere as they paced through the cloister and out the gateway, a great bronze throb that seemed to scatter brightness through the air. ?Why am I here, then, Father?? ?Partly as a reward. I flatter myself that I was a good judge of men, and choosing you for the mission to the east was perhaps the best decision I ever made. And you met one who is a far, far better judge; one who laid a charge upon you. Both of us are very pleased with you.?
Outside they walked on a country lane. Land rolled around them, green field and wood and orchard. It was like and unlike the land of little farms around his birthplace, like the summers of his remembered boyhood when the chores were done and he lay watching the clouds and dreaming vast formless dreams until his mother called him in for dinner. Far distant mountains climbed steep and blue, their peaks floating like ghosts of white. He thought the silver towers of a city rose in their foothills, tall and slender and crowned with banners. ?And partly you are here to give you heart for what is to come. Much depends on you.? ?Then…? He looked around.?Victory is not assured? Even though we have reached our goal??
Dmwoski shook an admonishing finger.? This is our common goal, my son. And no victory is ever assured until the very last. We are made in His image; and so we have freedom, which must necessarily include the freedom to fail. Adam and Eve walked with Him in unimaginable closeness when time itself was young, and they failed their test. Yet even their failure was redeemed, for mercy is infinite and grace fills all creation.? ?But… forgive me, Father, but if you are here, don?t you know whether we succeeded or failed?? ?No. That I am here is… sealed in Eternity, as it were. But how I arrived at this is still-from your point of view-contingent, because it is in Time, not in the eternal Now. Did I die defending the altar at the last, against a tide of triumphant darkness? Did I die of old age, in bed, with you among the watchers, contented and tired and longing for this with hope and confidence? That, my son, is up to you .? ?And where are my companions?? ?They also are being told as much Truth as they can bear, in the words that will mean most to them.? ?As am I?? Ignatius ventured.
Dmwoski laughed again.?There is one God, maker of Heaven and Earth,? he said.?Start with that, my son, for it is absolutely true. But you must build your own faith. That is something only you and God can do together.?
A bird flew from the hedgerow by them, caroling and trailing colorful feathers. Their sandaled feet scuffed through the thick white dust of the road; insects chirped. Beyond the hawthorn barrier apricots glowed like little golden suns in their world of green leaves.
Ignatius shook his head in rueful acknowledgment.?You still reward work accomplished with yet more work, Father!?
They laughed together. He stooped and picked up an acorn: ?I remember, Father, how once you lectured my class of novices and used a seed like this as a simile for the soul. How every stage of the tree?s long life was implicit in it, yet never guaranteed before it came to pass?? ?I?m glad you remember. I taught you as best I could… and what I taught you is true. Very true, I find. But not… complete.? ?How could it be?? Ignatius said.?Didn?t you tell me also that Truth is a ladder of many rungs, and that from each we gain a new perspective??
The abbot rested a hand on his shoulder; it was a light touch, but the younger monk felt a sudden shock at the depth of the contact. As if he was a ghost, a figment, and the contact had revealed him as unreal, a dream within a dream that strove to wake itself from illusion. ?I tried my best,? Dmwoski said.?I sinned as all men do, and sought forgiveness, and sinned again despite my wishes. Yet perhaps the most important thing I accomplished in my life was my part in forming you, my son.? ?That… is a humbling thought.?
Dmwoski snorted.?It should be! I merely had to be the best possible version of myself. For every day of your life, you must strive to be the chosen Knight of the Immaculata!? ?Yes,? Ignatius said, and was elsewhere.