The door opened up into a warm room, brightly lit, with clean walls and sparkling floors. Low murmurs from the patrons inside washed over the room. The clang of cutlery could be heard from the busy kitchen. Savory smells wafted through the air, blending into a fine aroma. The restaurant was finely furnished, with soft chairs and polished tables, and the servers were quick with a smile and a welcome.
Outside, the rain poured down.
Father Isaac Matthews wiped the sudden fog from his glasses as he stepped inside, dripping water on the freshly cleaned floors. Noting the dirty look that one of the servers shot him, he attempted to brush the stray droplets off his black robes, but only succeeded in soaking the water further into his clothing. With a soft sigh he allowed himself to be ushered to an empty table. The chatter of the other patrons soothed him slightly, but he could hear sharp whispers above the hubbub that he felt certain to be directed towards himself. Wrapped up in self-consciousness, he was unaware of the man in front of him until a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Welcome!” the stranger said in a cheerful voice. Though young, he was dressed better than the other servers, and Isaac could not help but wonder what that might indicate. He was not a tall man, nor a strikingly handsome one, but there was an energy in his face and movements that could not help but improve the priest’s cheerless mood. “What can I get for you today?” He looked the priest up and down. “A change of clothes, perhaps?” he suggested with a smile.
Isaac blushed furiously. “I had been led to believe that California was... sunnier... than what appears to be the case,” the priest said, feeling the need to explain himself. A few chuckles rose from the neighboring tables.
“Not here in San Francisco, Padre,” the server corrected, not unkindly. “You’re new to the city, aren’t you?” Isaac nodded. The other man continued, “It can be rough here for people who aren’t used to it. You’d best take care of yourself, alright?”
“I have faith that God will provide for me,” Isaac said, humbly lowering his eyes.
“Maybe you should ask God to provide you with an umbrella next time!” someone said from behind him. The server started to chuckle with the rest, but caught himself when he noticed the priest’s discomfort.
“He has provided me with a warm place to rest my feet,” Isaac replied softly. “And excellent company,” he added, causing the waiter to laugh.
“And more besides. I’ll fetch you my umbrella. Don’t try and argue!” the server said abruptly, cutting off any protest from the priest. “You need it far more than I do.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Take it as an apology for our behavior. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I... I can only thank you, then,” Isaac stammered. The server straightened and broke into a large grin.
“Good! Now, what else can I get for you?”
Isaac ordered a hot meal and passed his money to the server. As the other man hustled off towards the kitchen, the priest leaned back in his chair. The whispers had faded, and he allowed himself to relax. A few minutes later the server returned with a steaming mug, a dime in change, and a grey umbrella.
“It’s not divine, but it ought to serve you well enough,” the waiter said, presenting it to him with a flourish. Isaac smiled and thanked him again. He took a sip from his cup, allowing the liquid to fill him up with warmth inside, and amused himself by spinning the dime across the table. It was only after a few minutes of his game that he was struck by a sudden thought, and frantically waved to his server.
“Is something wrong?” the waiter asked, distressed, as he dashed over. “Did you need something else?”
“Well... I... I gave you exact change for the drink,” Isaac said, offering the dime. “You shouldn’t have given me anything back.”
The two men stared at each other for a moment. The waiter suddenly burst out laughing again.
“Well, an honest man!” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. He offered his hand to Isaac, adding, “Now that’s a rare treat. Listen, if you ever need anything, feel free to come by. I insist.”
Isaac shyly took his hand and shook it, slightly confused as to what had just happened. “My name is Father Isaac Matthews,” he said, feeling compelled to introduce himself to the friendly young man.
“Lionel Hamilton,” came the warm reply.
“Ah... you have an unusual name, Mr. Hamilton.”
Lionel chuckled. “Seems a bit too classy for me, doesn’t it? But what can I say, my mother gave it to me. She was a real lady. Listen, I better get back to work. I meant what I said, just ask for me if you need anything,” he said, then turned and headed back towards the kitchen.
“I will!” Isaac said. “But what about the dime?” he called out to the retreating figure.
“Keep it,” Lionel called back over his shoulder. “You can put it in the offering plate for me.”
****
Isaac smiled at the memories brought back by the change jingling in his pocket. Folding up his umbrella, he pushed open the restaurant door. It being after the lunch hour, only a single customer in an elaborate blue uniform sat at the well polished tables. The man appeared to be commanding the attention of most the serving staff, so Isaac picked out a table and seated himself. Within a few minutes Lionel broke off from the crowd of waiters and joined him.
“Every Friday, rain or shine,” the sever said as he approached. “Glad to see you remembered your umbrella this time.”
“It did make the walk more enjoyable,” Isaac said, accepting his friend’s teasing with a grin. He gestured over to the other customer, adding, “I see Mr. Norton has once again been lured into your establishment.”
“Padre!” Lionel exclaimed, waggling his finger with some mock disapproval. “Show a little decorum for His Imperial Majesty.”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable lying to the man,” the priest said, frowning slightly.
“It’s not lying, it’s just... humoring him a little,” Lionel responded, gesturing with his hands to emphasize the point. “And he did announce it in the newspapers. Surely your soul wouldn’t be unduly tarnished by a little thing like that.”
“‘Peace if possible, truth at all costs.’”
Lionel gave an exasperated look. “I can’t fault you for being honest, but don’t you think you’re taking things a little too far?”
“I just can’t seem to lie without choking up. I always think it can only lead to ill consequences. And you know I’m terrible at it anyway,” Isaac said. “Indulge me?”
“Oh, very well,” Lionel said, waving his hand with exaggerated sufferance. “Enough of this anyway. Do you want your usual?”
“You know me ever too well,” Isaac chuckled. He passed exact change to the waiter, who took it without counting it and slid a dime across the table as change.
“Lionel...” Isaac said disapprovingly, but the waiter showed no sign of being deterred.
“I tell you every time, it’s for the offering plate at church. Surely you can’t deny the Mission its proper tithe,” Lionel protested.
Isaac frowned at the other man for a while, but caved in and took the dime, as he always did. He blushed as his pocket jingled, betraying the pile of spare change that had gathered from his visit to the restaurant.
“I know you’re absentminded sometimes,” Lionel said with an incredulous smile, “but you are planning to put them in the offering plate one of these days, yes? You must have a small fortune in dimes by now.”
The priest pulled the handful of change out of his pocket, setting it on the table with a heavy clink. One by one, he set the dimes into little stacks, counting them as he did. Lionel let out a low whistle.
“Padre, you’re going to get robbed going around like that.”
“Two dollars and eighty cents,” Isaac said, looking pained. “Every day I’m so busy with the services that I completely forget about it.”
“Don’t worry about it. If you keep forgetting the change will tear through your pockets and end up on the church floor. Then you can just pick it up and put it in the plate.”
“You could come to service and remind me,” Isaac said softly. He’d meant it without recrimination, but he couldn’t keep a note of pleading from his voice.
“One of these days,” Lionel replied, gently. “And now I’d better get back to work, or I’ll face the wrath of my father.”
The waiter left, leaving Isaac alone with his thoughts. Absentmindedly, he began to stack the dimes into a little tower. As he carefully set the coins on top of each other, he turned his attention to the uniformed man at the other table. The self-proclaimed Emperor seemed to be talking about his correspondence with Queen Victoria and an important meeting with the Japanese Secretary of the Navy. Isaac rolled his eyes and scanned the rest of the building. Through the window he could see people trudging through the rain-soaked streets. Someone was staring in from across the street, someone who seemed familiar to him...
“Maria?” Isaac wondered aloud, pulling himself to his feet. He jostled the table, upsetting the stack of dimes and scattering them across the floor. Not stopping to pick them up, the priest opened the restaurant door, hastening over to the young woman who stood outside. The rainwater had soaked through her clothing, causing it to cling to her dark skin. He reached for his umbrella only to find he had left it behind in the restaurant, so he took the woman by the hand and quickly pulled the young woman underneath an overhang.
“Maria!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing? You’re drenched! It’s dangerous out here in the city. Are you lost? Surely Father Salinas wouldn’t have sent you outside the Mission.” An unpleasant thought struck him. “I haven’t forgotten some errand for Father Salinas, have I?”
The young woman shook her head, droplets of water dripping from her soaking hair. “It is nothing, Father Matthews,” she said in a dispassionate voice that caused Isaac no end of concern. Maria had always been a mystery to him, a small, quiet Indian whom he had never seen laugh or cry.
“Maria, I have never seen you leave the Mission before,” Isaac said, clasping her ice cold hands in his own. “How did you manage to find me?”
“I followed you,” she told him, as if it was nothing more unusual than combing her hair in the morning.
“Have you been waiting in the street all this time? In the rain?” Isaac said, astonished. “You did not leave the Mission to follow me through a strange city for nothing. Tell me what is wrong.” Seeing her hesitate, he took one of his hands and placed it on her shoulder, drawing her closer to look her straight in the eye. “Please,” he said quietly.
Maria lowered her eyes, silently debating with herself, before finally responding. “It is my brother, Father Matthews. I am worried about him.”
“As we all are,” Isaac replied, trying to sound stern without much success. “I have often warned him of the dangers his soul faces if he does not give up his heathen ways. He does not want to listen to me,” he added sorrowfully.
“Yesterday, he was angrier. He spoke against the Mission and the priests, and threatened unholy things. Today, he has gone missing. I fear he will do something foolish.”
“He is missing? Have you spoken to Father Salinas about this?” Isaac questioned, but trailed off as Maria turned deathly pale. He paused for a minute, desperate to help but uncertain on how to proceed. “Would you like me to speak to Father Salinas on your behalf?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Please, Father.”
“Of course, Maria,” he told her calmly, although on the inside he didn’t feel much better than she looked. Father Salinas had always intimidated him. “Now, I had better take you home.” He could see Lionel peering out curiously from the restaurant door, holding an umbrella, with a puzzled look on his face. Isaac gestured towards Maria, hoping his friend would understand. Dashing back to quickly retrieve his umbrella, the priest took her hand and walked the young woman down the street, back towards the Mission grounds.
****
Masque of the Red Death: Victims of Change (Complete)
Masque of the Red Death: Victims of Change (Complete)
Last edited by Isabella on Wed Jun 27, 2007 11:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The head priest of the Mission swept through the hall, a stern, grey-haired Spaniard with pure black eyes as cold as ice. His priestly vestments trailed behind him, fluttering behind him like a cape. His steely gaze raked the building, scattering the other priests in his wake. Isaac anxiously followed behind him.
“So, she has finally admitted it. As much as a woman can admit to anything,” Father Salinas muttered.
“You are an imposing man, Father. She is frightened of you.”
“So were you, when you first arrived. That did not stop you from voicing your opinions to me. No,” Father Salinas said unforgivingly, “cowardice is no excuse, although it is what I have come to expect.”
“You are too harsh, Father.” Isaac did not wish to add that he was still frightened of Father Salinas. Anxious to change the subject, he quickly continued, “You speak as if you already knew what she had to say.”
“It does not come as any surprise to me. Manuel has always taken it upon himself to cause trouble. Ever since his parents died he has been uncontrollable. He stirs up the other Indians and tries to spread his heathen lies, undoing what little good we have done here.” The older priest gestured sharply in aggravation. “We are only fortunate that there are so few of them. In earlier times he might have caused an insurrection.”
Isaac winced at the harsh sentiments. “So what should we do?” he asked.
“You will do nothing. I will deal with this.”
Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by the look on the other man’s face.
“I will deal with this alone,” Father Salinas repeated curtly. Isaac stood fixated, staring numbly as the other priest stalked away.
******
“And that was it?” Lionel asked with some surprise. “He just said he’d ‘deal with it’ and walked off? Nothing more?”
Isaac shrugged. “He must have some plan. Father Salinas always does.”
“Uh-huh,” Lionel said, folding his arms over his chest. “Has anything been done this past week? Have the authorities been told? Has he sent anyone to look for this guy? Has he even talked to the girl who brought up this whole mess?”
“Well... not that I have seen,” Isaac admitted. “I did try to talk to Maria, but she won’t tell me anything more. But he did seem determined to leave me out of this. I simply may not have been aware of the actions he took.”
“And doesn’t that strike you as a little suspicious?” Lionel said emphatically. “He makes sure you aren’t involved and does everything in secret? I know you trust the church, Isaac, but really, that man is as sympathetic as a stone wall. I’d say he just decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to look for the guy and left him to-“
”Lionel!” Isaac interrupted, shocking himself with his volume. All of the waiters were staring at them now, and the priest could only be thankful it was after lunch hour and there were no other customers. The priest bit his lip and sunk down in his chair, more out of embarrassment than any real anger. Lionel had slumped over on the table, giving his friend a morose look, and Isaac could tell the waiter was pained by the outburst.
The pair sat in silence for a while. Lionel finally spoke, without looking up, “Look, I’m just saying that men are fallible. Even priests.”
“You have often shared your opinions of the clergy,” Isaac said softly.
“I know you are a good man, Isaac,” Lionel responded.
The silence returned. Isaac turned his eyes away, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. He reached into his pocket, only to remember he had left his change behind the week before. Bereft of anything to occupy his hands, he spread his fingers out on the table, idly tracing patterns in the rings left from his water glass. Outside, then sun broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across the restaurant.
“I mean it,” Lionel said, catching Isaac by surprise. “I know I can always count on you.”
Isaac didn’t look up, but felt a smile creep across his face.
“And hey! I’ve been sending my tithe to the church every week!” Lionel continued eagerly. “It’s not my fault you keep forgetting about it. See?”
“I’m sorry about leaving those behind! I had to help Maria. She worries me greatly, and... well... you said yourself that it’s dangerous for people who don’t know their way around,” Isaac said. “It really would be easier if you’d just come yourself to remind me,” he added.
“Sorry, Padre, but I can’t keep doing everything for you,” the waiter teased. “Speaking of which, you’re not off the hook for delivering these.” He pulled a large handful of change from his pocket, counted it out with exaggerated care, and then dumped it unceremoniously on the table, watching with mischievous glee as the silver coins bounced everywhere. Surveying the scattered mess of coins, he took one more from his pocket and placed it daintily upon the pile. “And now, I believe I will get us more coffee.”
“Couldn’t you have put them in a bag or something?” Isaac yelled as the waiter hurried off. He could hear Lionel laughing as he ducked into the kitchen.
Grumbling, but smiling on the inside, Isaac scooped what coins he could into his pocket, then set about picking up all the stray dimes from the floor. Lionel hustled back with the promised coffee, then quickly began to help his friend. When all the coins had been collected, Isaac settled back in his chair, calmed by the reassuring weight and jingle that he had missed over the last week.
“Maybe you’re right,” Isaac admitted. “After all, there was only one man without sin.”
“I just think you should give things a look, Isaac. I can see this thing is bothering you. I’m not saying Father Salinas is up to anything, but it couldn’t hurt to help. Maybe you could turn up something that he missed.”
Isaac frowned. “You want me to go behind Father Salinas’ back?”
“Well, you’d have to if he won’t let you help,” Isaac mused. “Look, it’s not lying, it’s just omitting the truth a little.” The waiter sighed mournfully. “You won’t do it. I can tell by that dour look you’re giving me.”
“I’ll talk to Father Salinas again when I return to the Mission,” Isaac acquiesced, inwardly grimacing at the thought. “Which should be now, as it is getting late. Will that suffice?”
“It’ll have to,” the waiter responded. He took a deep sip of his coffee, savoring it in his mouth before swallowing it, then added, “Maybe Father Salinas and the Indian are in cahoots.”
“Maybe you’ve had a bit too much coffee,” Isaac replied, smiling gently.
“Oh, let me speculate,” Lionel said, eagerly leaning forward in his chair. “At the very least I’ll likely come up with a better story than your much vaunted truth. I could type it up as a novel and make some money.”
“Father Salinas would never trust an Indian with anything important,” Isaac countered.
“Hmm, well, I’d have to change him a bit for the story. It is fiction, after all.”
“Oh, Lionel...”
“What? You don’t think I could be a writer?” the waiter questioned, wide-eyed. “Have a little faith in me.”
“You may very well be a spectacular writer, but I know you wouldn’t abandon your father’s business for it,” the priest answered.
“Too true. Oh well. Take care, Isaac.”
The preacher rose from his seat and pushed open the door, walking past the dinner crowd as he left the restaurant. The sun shined down on him, having burned off the last of the morning clouds. In the warm weather of the evening, Isaac could not help but drag his feet. He was not looking forward to his return to the Mission. He stopped on the road and watched the sun set, lighting the sky in the golden flames of God’s glory.
“So, she has finally admitted it. As much as a woman can admit to anything,” Father Salinas muttered.
“You are an imposing man, Father. She is frightened of you.”
“So were you, when you first arrived. That did not stop you from voicing your opinions to me. No,” Father Salinas said unforgivingly, “cowardice is no excuse, although it is what I have come to expect.”
“You are too harsh, Father.” Isaac did not wish to add that he was still frightened of Father Salinas. Anxious to change the subject, he quickly continued, “You speak as if you already knew what she had to say.”
“It does not come as any surprise to me. Manuel has always taken it upon himself to cause trouble. Ever since his parents died he has been uncontrollable. He stirs up the other Indians and tries to spread his heathen lies, undoing what little good we have done here.” The older priest gestured sharply in aggravation. “We are only fortunate that there are so few of them. In earlier times he might have caused an insurrection.”
Isaac winced at the harsh sentiments. “So what should we do?” he asked.
“You will do nothing. I will deal with this.”
Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by the look on the other man’s face.
“I will deal with this alone,” Father Salinas repeated curtly. Isaac stood fixated, staring numbly as the other priest stalked away.
******
“And that was it?” Lionel asked with some surprise. “He just said he’d ‘deal with it’ and walked off? Nothing more?”
Isaac shrugged. “He must have some plan. Father Salinas always does.”
“Uh-huh,” Lionel said, folding his arms over his chest. “Has anything been done this past week? Have the authorities been told? Has he sent anyone to look for this guy? Has he even talked to the girl who brought up this whole mess?”
“Well... not that I have seen,” Isaac admitted. “I did try to talk to Maria, but she won’t tell me anything more. But he did seem determined to leave me out of this. I simply may not have been aware of the actions he took.”
“And doesn’t that strike you as a little suspicious?” Lionel said emphatically. “He makes sure you aren’t involved and does everything in secret? I know you trust the church, Isaac, but really, that man is as sympathetic as a stone wall. I’d say he just decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to look for the guy and left him to-“
”Lionel!” Isaac interrupted, shocking himself with his volume. All of the waiters were staring at them now, and the priest could only be thankful it was after lunch hour and there were no other customers. The priest bit his lip and sunk down in his chair, more out of embarrassment than any real anger. Lionel had slumped over on the table, giving his friend a morose look, and Isaac could tell the waiter was pained by the outburst.
The pair sat in silence for a while. Lionel finally spoke, without looking up, “Look, I’m just saying that men are fallible. Even priests.”
“You have often shared your opinions of the clergy,” Isaac said softly.
“I know you are a good man, Isaac,” Lionel responded.
The silence returned. Isaac turned his eyes away, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. He reached into his pocket, only to remember he had left his change behind the week before. Bereft of anything to occupy his hands, he spread his fingers out on the table, idly tracing patterns in the rings left from his water glass. Outside, then sun broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across the restaurant.
“I mean it,” Lionel said, catching Isaac by surprise. “I know I can always count on you.”
Isaac didn’t look up, but felt a smile creep across his face.
“And hey! I’ve been sending my tithe to the church every week!” Lionel continued eagerly. “It’s not my fault you keep forgetting about it. See?”
“I’m sorry about leaving those behind! I had to help Maria. She worries me greatly, and... well... you said yourself that it’s dangerous for people who don’t know their way around,” Isaac said. “It really would be easier if you’d just come yourself to remind me,” he added.
“Sorry, Padre, but I can’t keep doing everything for you,” the waiter teased. “Speaking of which, you’re not off the hook for delivering these.” He pulled a large handful of change from his pocket, counted it out with exaggerated care, and then dumped it unceremoniously on the table, watching with mischievous glee as the silver coins bounced everywhere. Surveying the scattered mess of coins, he took one more from his pocket and placed it daintily upon the pile. “And now, I believe I will get us more coffee.”
“Couldn’t you have put them in a bag or something?” Isaac yelled as the waiter hurried off. He could hear Lionel laughing as he ducked into the kitchen.
Grumbling, but smiling on the inside, Isaac scooped what coins he could into his pocket, then set about picking up all the stray dimes from the floor. Lionel hustled back with the promised coffee, then quickly began to help his friend. When all the coins had been collected, Isaac settled back in his chair, calmed by the reassuring weight and jingle that he had missed over the last week.
“Maybe you’re right,” Isaac admitted. “After all, there was only one man without sin.”
“I just think you should give things a look, Isaac. I can see this thing is bothering you. I’m not saying Father Salinas is up to anything, but it couldn’t hurt to help. Maybe you could turn up something that he missed.”
Isaac frowned. “You want me to go behind Father Salinas’ back?”
“Well, you’d have to if he won’t let you help,” Isaac mused. “Look, it’s not lying, it’s just omitting the truth a little.” The waiter sighed mournfully. “You won’t do it. I can tell by that dour look you’re giving me.”
“I’ll talk to Father Salinas again when I return to the Mission,” Isaac acquiesced, inwardly grimacing at the thought. “Which should be now, as it is getting late. Will that suffice?”
“It’ll have to,” the waiter responded. He took a deep sip of his coffee, savoring it in his mouth before swallowing it, then added, “Maybe Father Salinas and the Indian are in cahoots.”
“Maybe you’ve had a bit too much coffee,” Isaac replied, smiling gently.
“Oh, let me speculate,” Lionel said, eagerly leaning forward in his chair. “At the very least I’ll likely come up with a better story than your much vaunted truth. I could type it up as a novel and make some money.”
“Father Salinas would never trust an Indian with anything important,” Isaac countered.
“Hmm, well, I’d have to change him a bit for the story. It is fiction, after all.”
“Oh, Lionel...”
“What? You don’t think I could be a writer?” the waiter questioned, wide-eyed. “Have a little faith in me.”
“You may very well be a spectacular writer, but I know you wouldn’t abandon your father’s business for it,” the priest answered.
“Too true. Oh well. Take care, Isaac.”
The preacher rose from his seat and pushed open the door, walking past the dinner crowd as he left the restaurant. The sun shined down on him, having burned off the last of the morning clouds. In the warm weather of the evening, Isaac could not help but drag his feet. He was not looking forward to his return to the Mission. He stopped on the road and watched the sun set, lighting the sky in the golden flames of God’s glory.
****
“If this continues, I will look for him myself!”
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“It has been over a week!”
Two weeks, now, Isaac thought to himself. He was ashamed of himself for having given in to Father Salinas so quickly, but he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. None of the Mission Indians had any idea where Manuel had gone, or at least none were willing to tell him. The story in the city was much the same; none of the people he had asked knew anything. It was almost as if Manuel had vanished into the wilderness.
Perhaps he has, at that. Manuel had always resisted the priests’ attempts to educate him. Isaac had thought that the heathen traditions of the Indians had died out when they had been converted. Now he thought otherwise. Perhaps Manuel had reverted to the ways of his ancestors, living in the wild like some savage beast.
Isaac sighed. It seemed like too much trouble to go through to find someone who clearly did not wish to be found. But he had a duty to the people of his parish, and couldn’t just cast it away over some minor difficulties. And there was the matter of Maria, who had not spoken since the day her brother had vanished, no matter how Isaac had tried to console her. Even now her words preyed on his mind.
Isaac removed his glasses and massaged his brow. He was certain that Lionel would be disappointed by his lack of action. It seemed as though he was finding less and less solace in his familiar haunts. Nonetheless, right now he was willing to take what he could get. The priest stood, stretching his weary limbs, and set off down the hall. He had just reached the entrance to the Mission when Father Salinas stepped in front of him.
Isaac felt his mouth go dry as the black gaze bore into him. He had always felt a sinking sense of dread when talking to Father Salinas, a phenomenon which had been echoed by many of the other priests. This time, however, there was something terrible in the other man’s expression, something that escalated Isaac’s fear into full-blown terror. He wanted desperately to turn his eyes away, but was transfixed by the steely glare.
“Stop anyone from leaving the Mission. Find who is not here and tell me immediately,” Father Salinas commanded.
“What? But-“
”Do it.” The older man whirled and left, leaving Isaac frightened and confused.
The Mission residents were just as confused as he was. Despite his best efforts, he barely managed to avoid a full blown panic. Rumor and hearsay had already run out of his control. Isaac eventually had to ask the other priests to keep things in line, as no one seemed willing to listen to Isaac himself. Dumbfounded as to why Father Salinas would assign him a task he was so obviously unsuited for, the priest hurried down the Mission path to give his report.
He stopped when he found Father Salinas standing by the path. He was accompanied by two other priests, both staring down at something on the ground. It was covered by a strange reddish-brown sheet; Isaac guessed that one of the Mission Indians must have made it. Leaning closer, the priest noticed with puzzlement several white splotches that marred the color.
“Who is missing?” Father Salinas asked, without looking up.
“Father Miguel and Maria, Father Salinas,” Isaac said, brushing a fly away with an irritated glance. There seemed to be a lot of them flying around. “And Manuel, of course. No one knows where Maria is, but Father Gonzales said Father Miguel had gone into the city and had likely decided to have lunch there.”
“That is one theory,” Father Salinas said, turning to look at the younger priest. As he moved, Isaac caught a glimpse of something peeking out from under the sheet behind him; a human hand, lying limp on the ground.
“Christ have mercy on us!” Isaac cried out, stumbling backwards. “What devilry is this? What is going on, Father Salinas?”
The older priest ignored the question, instead commanding the other priests, “Take the remains back to the Mission. Make sure everyone stays inside.”
“What has happened here?” Isaac insisted loudly.
Father Salinas fixed him with a harsh glare. “See for yourself,” he replied coldly, gesturing the two other priests away from the body.
Isaac walked over to the shrouded remains. Keeping an eye on Father Salinas, he reached down to remove the obscuring cloth. The linen felt damp in his hands, and as he pulled the sheet away he suddenly realized where the strange color had come from.
He only caught a small glimpse before he turned away, but it was enough. Fighting not to faint, Isaac sank to the ground, gasping for breath. The heat was suddenly unbearable, and the coppery smell he had not noticed before now permeated his nostrils. He barely managed to make the sign of the cross. Looking painfully at the unsympathetic face of Father Salinas, Isaac coughed, “Why… did you show me this?”
“So that you know as much as I do about what happened,” Father Salinas replied impassively.
“Are t...those…?”
“Claw marks? Almost certainly. There are demons about, Father Matthews, and there is no time left for your questions. Get to your feet. We must get everyone inside the Mission until the help I called for arrives.”
“W…what do we tell the others about Father Miguel?” Isaac stammered, staggering to his feet. “What do we tell them about Maria?”
“As little as possible!” Father Salinas snapped, starting back towards the Mission.
“We are going to lie to them?”
“You,” Father Salinas said, whirling to face Isaac, “are going to keep a look out and make sure everyone stays inside the Mission. I am going to tell them whatever it takes ensure the same thing. The chapel walls are thick enough to keep them safe, but only if they don’t panic. And if I tell them the truth, they will panic. Now move!”
“If this continues, I will look for him myself!”
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“It has been over a week!”
Two weeks, now, Isaac thought to himself. He was ashamed of himself for having given in to Father Salinas so quickly, but he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. None of the Mission Indians had any idea where Manuel had gone, or at least none were willing to tell him. The story in the city was much the same; none of the people he had asked knew anything. It was almost as if Manuel had vanished into the wilderness.
Perhaps he has, at that. Manuel had always resisted the priests’ attempts to educate him. Isaac had thought that the heathen traditions of the Indians had died out when they had been converted. Now he thought otherwise. Perhaps Manuel had reverted to the ways of his ancestors, living in the wild like some savage beast.
Isaac sighed. It seemed like too much trouble to go through to find someone who clearly did not wish to be found. But he had a duty to the people of his parish, and couldn’t just cast it away over some minor difficulties. And there was the matter of Maria, who had not spoken since the day her brother had vanished, no matter how Isaac had tried to console her. Even now her words preyed on his mind.
Isaac removed his glasses and massaged his brow. He was certain that Lionel would be disappointed by his lack of action. It seemed as though he was finding less and less solace in his familiar haunts. Nonetheless, right now he was willing to take what he could get. The priest stood, stretching his weary limbs, and set off down the hall. He had just reached the entrance to the Mission when Father Salinas stepped in front of him.
Isaac felt his mouth go dry as the black gaze bore into him. He had always felt a sinking sense of dread when talking to Father Salinas, a phenomenon which had been echoed by many of the other priests. This time, however, there was something terrible in the other man’s expression, something that escalated Isaac’s fear into full-blown terror. He wanted desperately to turn his eyes away, but was transfixed by the steely glare.
“Stop anyone from leaving the Mission. Find who is not here and tell me immediately,” Father Salinas commanded.
“What? But-“
”Do it.” The older man whirled and left, leaving Isaac frightened and confused.
The Mission residents were just as confused as he was. Despite his best efforts, he barely managed to avoid a full blown panic. Rumor and hearsay had already run out of his control. Isaac eventually had to ask the other priests to keep things in line, as no one seemed willing to listen to Isaac himself. Dumbfounded as to why Father Salinas would assign him a task he was so obviously unsuited for, the priest hurried down the Mission path to give his report.
He stopped when he found Father Salinas standing by the path. He was accompanied by two other priests, both staring down at something on the ground. It was covered by a strange reddish-brown sheet; Isaac guessed that one of the Mission Indians must have made it. Leaning closer, the priest noticed with puzzlement several white splotches that marred the color.
“Who is missing?” Father Salinas asked, without looking up.
“Father Miguel and Maria, Father Salinas,” Isaac said, brushing a fly away with an irritated glance. There seemed to be a lot of them flying around. “And Manuel, of course. No one knows where Maria is, but Father Gonzales said Father Miguel had gone into the city and had likely decided to have lunch there.”
“That is one theory,” Father Salinas said, turning to look at the younger priest. As he moved, Isaac caught a glimpse of something peeking out from under the sheet behind him; a human hand, lying limp on the ground.
“Christ have mercy on us!” Isaac cried out, stumbling backwards. “What devilry is this? What is going on, Father Salinas?”
The older priest ignored the question, instead commanding the other priests, “Take the remains back to the Mission. Make sure everyone stays inside.”
“What has happened here?” Isaac insisted loudly.
Father Salinas fixed him with a harsh glare. “See for yourself,” he replied coldly, gesturing the two other priests away from the body.
Isaac walked over to the shrouded remains. Keeping an eye on Father Salinas, he reached down to remove the obscuring cloth. The linen felt damp in his hands, and as he pulled the sheet away he suddenly realized where the strange color had come from.
He only caught a small glimpse before he turned away, but it was enough. Fighting not to faint, Isaac sank to the ground, gasping for breath. The heat was suddenly unbearable, and the coppery smell he had not noticed before now permeated his nostrils. He barely managed to make the sign of the cross. Looking painfully at the unsympathetic face of Father Salinas, Isaac coughed, “Why… did you show me this?”
“So that you know as much as I do about what happened,” Father Salinas replied impassively.
“Are t...those…?”
“Claw marks? Almost certainly. There are demons about, Father Matthews, and there is no time left for your questions. Get to your feet. We must get everyone inside the Mission until the help I called for arrives.”
“W…what do we tell the others about Father Miguel?” Isaac stammered, staggering to his feet. “What do we tell them about Maria?”
“As little as possible!” Father Salinas snapped, starting back towards the Mission.
“We are going to lie to them?”
“You,” Father Salinas said, whirling to face Isaac, “are going to keep a look out and make sure everyone stays inside the Mission. I am going to tell them whatever it takes ensure the same thing. The chapel walls are thick enough to keep them safe, but only if they don’t panic. And if I tell them the truth, they will panic. Now move!”
****
“Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.” Grant eternal rest unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
I could use some light as well, Isaac thought to himself, idly jingling the change in his pockets to calm his nerves. The tiny lantern by his arm barely cast enough light to see his feet by. He’d personally thought the moon alone would serve just as well, for all the good the tiny flame was doing him. Isaac had terrible night vision, and the ever-present San Francisco fog wasn’t helping. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep a look out when he couldn’t even see the ground.
Isaac turned as he heard footsteps coming up the old bell-tower stairs. An older priest climbed his way to the top, walking over to join Isaac at his post. “All is well?” the newcomer asked.
“Yes, Father Garza,” Isaac confirmed. “How are the others?”
“Confused, like us all. Father Salinas is holding a funeral mass inside. I think it’s half to keep us occupied.”
Isaac didn’t respond. Father Salinas had kept everyone he could in the dark, even the city police. The older priest claimed they would only be a liability. Judging from Father Miguel’s fate the assessment seemed valid enough, but Isaac would have appreciated the help nonetheless. Sighing, he wiped the smudges from his glasses with his sleeve, then set them back on the bridge of his nose. As the world snapped into focus, Isaac wondered why Father Salinas had once again set him to a task he was clearly unsuited for. Was the Father trying to get him out of the way for some reason? Isaac doubted that anyone could even try to leave the chapel without being noticed. An extra pair of eyes seemed unnecessary, especially when he could barely make out what was moving below.
Wait. Isaac leaned over and squinted. There was something moving below. Gesturing quietly to Father Garza, Isaac leaned over and whispered, “There is something moving out there, but I can’t see it clearly. Can you?”
The other man obligingly looked down, but turned back to Isaac and shrugged. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered back.
“I am certain of it! It looks big,” Isaac insisted. “Some kind of... agh! Curse this light! It’s just making my job harder.” He fumbled with the lantern for a few seconds, trying to hood it, before Father Garza grabbed his hand.
“What are you doing?” the other priest asked. “Leave it alone! Even if there was something down there, doing that won’t help.”
Isaac grudgingly set the lamp back down. “It doesn’t matter now. I can’t see it anymore.”
“Good!”
Father Garza glared at Isaac until he was satisfied the lamp would be left alone, then turned back to looking at the ground. A few moments of awkward silence passed. Suddenly, Father Garza wrinkled his brow, squinting down at the ground.
“There is something down there,” he whispered.
“Can you see what it is?” Isaac asked, hurrying over to where the other man stood.
“It’s... Maria,” Father Garza said, looking as startled as he sounded.
“Are you sure?”
“As much as I can be.”
“Thank God she’s alive,” Isaac said, crossing his chest, closing his eyes and breathing a deep sigh of relief.
“For now. What should we do?”
“You stay here and keep watch. I’ll go and get her inside,” Isaac said hurriedly. Not waiting for a response, he started running down the staircase.
“Wait!” he heard Father Garza hiss. “The lamp! The lamp!”
Isaac realized his mistake as he nearly tripped down the remaining steps. Still, there was too much at stake to risk running back up for the lantern. Feeling slightly sacrilegious, the priest cracked open the chapel door just wide enough to see inside. Making sure no one was looking his way, he eased one of the service candles from its holder. Quickly sneaking his hand through the gap with his ill-gotten light source, he unlocked the Mission doors and dashed outside.
The lamp was useless anyway, Isaac thought to himself, silently giving thanks that it wasn’t windy. He couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that whatever he had seen was bigger than Maria was.
His view from the ground was only slightly better than his view from the tower. Isaac could just barely make out a human figure walking in the darkness. Maria, if it was Maria, held no lantern of any kind, and the priest was boggled as to how she could find her way around in such poor light.
“Maria?” he cautiously called. He was close enough to see that it was her. She was staring up at the moon, a strange expression on her face.
“Maria?” he tried again. It seemed to snap her out of her reverie. She blinked twice, then turned to look at him.
“Father Matthews?” she said questioningly. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and then said urgently, “You must leave. It is dangerous outside!”
“I know, and that is why we are going back inside. Come on!” He took her by the arm, but stopped when he noticed her looking at something. Following her line of sight, he let go of her arm and peered into the gloom. There was someone coming up the path; he could see the lantern bobbing with each step its master took.
“Leave it,” Maria said with a quiet urgency. “It is too risky to stay out here.”
“Maria, I can’t leave them in danger.”
“You must!” she pleaded, grabbing his arm. He looked at her and saw the fear in her dark eyes.
“Go inside, Maria. I will be back shortly,” he said, trying to soothe her. His words only seemed to worsen her agitation. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he gave her a gentle but firm push towards the Mission before heading down the path towards the light. To his extreme aggravation, Maria followed him.
“In the name of God, Maria!” Isaac finally said. “If you are so insistent that it is dangerous out here, why are you so reluctant to go where it is safe? Get back to the Mission!”
“N...not without you, Father Matthews.”
“Maria, please!”
“Isaac?” a voice interrupted them. The priest looked up to see a familiar figure running towards him, still wearing his waiter’s vest and apron.
“Oh no,” Isaac groaned in disbelief. “Lionel! Why are you here?”
“You didn’t come by this afternoon,” Lionel said, worry plainly etched on his features. “I just got off shift and thought I’d come by. Just to make sure you were alright. You’ve always been asking me to come by the church one of these days-”
“You found him, now go,” Maria urged, tugging on Isaac’s arm. Lionel looked pained.
“Did I come at a bad time?” the waiter asked.
“I wish you had come under better circumstances, but that’s not your fault,” Isaac replied. “There is no time to explain now, but it’s not safe out here. We need to get inside quickly!” With that, he took Maria’s hand and started to run. He was gratified to see Lionel follow him without question.
The priest gave a start as he saw Lionel pull a Colt Revolver from out of his pockets. “Lionel!” he panted. “Why do you have that?”
“Helps keep the customers in line. Makes ‘em tip better, too,” Lionel said with a grin. “Don’t give me that look. I’m kidding. Kidding!”
“Too late,” Maria whispered.
Isaac looked forward and skidded to a halt. Something huge was in front of him, blocking the door into the Mission chapel. As the priest backed away the massive beast rose up on its hind legs, towering over him like a modern-day Goliath. The pitiful light of his candle revealed thick, coarse brown fur shot through with white, and powerful limbs tipped with six inch claws. Of the shadowed face he could see nothing, save for two glowing bright eyes.
There was an explosion of pain in his side and Isaac felt himself flying, briefly, before smashing into the Mission doors with a terrible crunch. Something slid down his face, and the world suddenly became a blur. He could see his candle guttering on the ground in front of him, starting to light the grass aflame. Lionel was calling his name. Maria was screaming. The doors behind him creaked open under his weight, and he remembered belatedly that no one had locked the doors behind him when he had left the Mission. The chapel lay open, everyone inside at God’s mercy.
Isaac gasped and tried to struggle to his feet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He could hear the sharp retort of Lionel’s pistol once, twice, three times, then a deafening roar, a sudden cry, and the wet sound of tearing flesh. The waiter tumbled over to near where Isaac lay, and then was still. Wheezing, Isaac pulled himself upright until he could see his friend. Lionel stared blankly at the night sky, his body limp, his face white, his lips painted scarlet with blood.
Isaac collapsed against the Mission doors, tears streaming down his face. He clasped his hands together, silently praying, unable to give voice to more than sobs.
O God, Who knowest us to be set in the midst of such great perils...
He could see the beast now in the light of the rising flames; a giant bear, twice the size of any such creature he’d seen before. Its eyes burned bright orange, and its long muzzle glinted with razor sharp teeth. The ursine monster was stalking towards him, its murderous purpose evident in its malevolent features.
...that, by reason of the weakness of our nature, we cannot stand upright...
He could hear the panicked voices of the priests inside the Chapel, the stern voice of Father Salinas rising above them in command. The flames crackled as they ripped across the fields with ever increasing speed. Maria was still screaming. The heavy footfalls of the beast were coming closer and closer.
...grant us such health of mind and body, that those evils which we suffer for our sins we may overcome through Thine assistance.
Isaac closed his eyes. The heat from the fire was blasting him like an open furnace. He could smell the creature’s rancid breath on his face.
Through Christ our Lord...
And then there was silence.
Isaac peeked an eye open. The massive beast was standing before him, whining slightly. With one massive foreleg the creature tentatively pawed at him, but seemed unwilling, or unable, to touch him. With a snort, the bear pulled its claws away. It started a bit to the left, and then to the right, as if looking for some way around the priest, but Isaac was blocking the Mission doors from its entry. With one final whine, the bear turned away, galloping into the darkness with impossible speed.
The skies opened up, and it started to rain.
In the light of the dying fire, Isaac crawled over to his friend and pulled him into his arms. The wounds weren’t as deep as he had first thought they were, and the color had returned to the waiter’s face. Lionel’s chest rose and fell without difficulty, and his expression was without pain.
Something was seeping through his robes. Curiously, Isaac reached down. His hand came away bright red, stained by the massive pool of crimson at his feet.
****
“Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.” Grant eternal rest unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
I could use some light as well, Isaac thought to himself, idly jingling the change in his pockets to calm his nerves. The tiny lantern by his arm barely cast enough light to see his feet by. He’d personally thought the moon alone would serve just as well, for all the good the tiny flame was doing him. Isaac had terrible night vision, and the ever-present San Francisco fog wasn’t helping. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep a look out when he couldn’t even see the ground.
Isaac turned as he heard footsteps coming up the old bell-tower stairs. An older priest climbed his way to the top, walking over to join Isaac at his post. “All is well?” the newcomer asked.
“Yes, Father Garza,” Isaac confirmed. “How are the others?”
“Confused, like us all. Father Salinas is holding a funeral mass inside. I think it’s half to keep us occupied.”
Isaac didn’t respond. Father Salinas had kept everyone he could in the dark, even the city police. The older priest claimed they would only be a liability. Judging from Father Miguel’s fate the assessment seemed valid enough, but Isaac would have appreciated the help nonetheless. Sighing, he wiped the smudges from his glasses with his sleeve, then set them back on the bridge of his nose. As the world snapped into focus, Isaac wondered why Father Salinas had once again set him to a task he was clearly unsuited for. Was the Father trying to get him out of the way for some reason? Isaac doubted that anyone could even try to leave the chapel without being noticed. An extra pair of eyes seemed unnecessary, especially when he could barely make out what was moving below.
Wait. Isaac leaned over and squinted. There was something moving below. Gesturing quietly to Father Garza, Isaac leaned over and whispered, “There is something moving out there, but I can’t see it clearly. Can you?”
The other man obligingly looked down, but turned back to Isaac and shrugged. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered back.
“I am certain of it! It looks big,” Isaac insisted. “Some kind of... agh! Curse this light! It’s just making my job harder.” He fumbled with the lantern for a few seconds, trying to hood it, before Father Garza grabbed his hand.
“What are you doing?” the other priest asked. “Leave it alone! Even if there was something down there, doing that won’t help.”
Isaac grudgingly set the lamp back down. “It doesn’t matter now. I can’t see it anymore.”
“Good!”
Father Garza glared at Isaac until he was satisfied the lamp would be left alone, then turned back to looking at the ground. A few moments of awkward silence passed. Suddenly, Father Garza wrinkled his brow, squinting down at the ground.
“There is something down there,” he whispered.
“Can you see what it is?” Isaac asked, hurrying over to where the other man stood.
“It’s... Maria,” Father Garza said, looking as startled as he sounded.
“Are you sure?”
“As much as I can be.”
“Thank God she’s alive,” Isaac said, crossing his chest, closing his eyes and breathing a deep sigh of relief.
“For now. What should we do?”
“You stay here and keep watch. I’ll go and get her inside,” Isaac said hurriedly. Not waiting for a response, he started running down the staircase.
“Wait!” he heard Father Garza hiss. “The lamp! The lamp!”
Isaac realized his mistake as he nearly tripped down the remaining steps. Still, there was too much at stake to risk running back up for the lantern. Feeling slightly sacrilegious, the priest cracked open the chapel door just wide enough to see inside. Making sure no one was looking his way, he eased one of the service candles from its holder. Quickly sneaking his hand through the gap with his ill-gotten light source, he unlocked the Mission doors and dashed outside.
The lamp was useless anyway, Isaac thought to himself, silently giving thanks that it wasn’t windy. He couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that whatever he had seen was bigger than Maria was.
His view from the ground was only slightly better than his view from the tower. Isaac could just barely make out a human figure walking in the darkness. Maria, if it was Maria, held no lantern of any kind, and the priest was boggled as to how she could find her way around in such poor light.
“Maria?” he cautiously called. He was close enough to see that it was her. She was staring up at the moon, a strange expression on her face.
“Maria?” he tried again. It seemed to snap her out of her reverie. She blinked twice, then turned to look at him.
“Father Matthews?” she said questioningly. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and then said urgently, “You must leave. It is dangerous outside!”
“I know, and that is why we are going back inside. Come on!” He took her by the arm, but stopped when he noticed her looking at something. Following her line of sight, he let go of her arm and peered into the gloom. There was someone coming up the path; he could see the lantern bobbing with each step its master took.
“Leave it,” Maria said with a quiet urgency. “It is too risky to stay out here.”
“Maria, I can’t leave them in danger.”
“You must!” she pleaded, grabbing his arm. He looked at her and saw the fear in her dark eyes.
“Go inside, Maria. I will be back shortly,” he said, trying to soothe her. His words only seemed to worsen her agitation. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he gave her a gentle but firm push towards the Mission before heading down the path towards the light. To his extreme aggravation, Maria followed him.
“In the name of God, Maria!” Isaac finally said. “If you are so insistent that it is dangerous out here, why are you so reluctant to go where it is safe? Get back to the Mission!”
“N...not without you, Father Matthews.”
“Maria, please!”
“Isaac?” a voice interrupted them. The priest looked up to see a familiar figure running towards him, still wearing his waiter’s vest and apron.
“Oh no,” Isaac groaned in disbelief. “Lionel! Why are you here?”
“You didn’t come by this afternoon,” Lionel said, worry plainly etched on his features. “I just got off shift and thought I’d come by. Just to make sure you were alright. You’ve always been asking me to come by the church one of these days-”
“You found him, now go,” Maria urged, tugging on Isaac’s arm. Lionel looked pained.
“Did I come at a bad time?” the waiter asked.
“I wish you had come under better circumstances, but that’s not your fault,” Isaac replied. “There is no time to explain now, but it’s not safe out here. We need to get inside quickly!” With that, he took Maria’s hand and started to run. He was gratified to see Lionel follow him without question.
The priest gave a start as he saw Lionel pull a Colt Revolver from out of his pockets. “Lionel!” he panted. “Why do you have that?”
“Helps keep the customers in line. Makes ‘em tip better, too,” Lionel said with a grin. “Don’t give me that look. I’m kidding. Kidding!”
“Too late,” Maria whispered.
Isaac looked forward and skidded to a halt. Something huge was in front of him, blocking the door into the Mission chapel. As the priest backed away the massive beast rose up on its hind legs, towering over him like a modern-day Goliath. The pitiful light of his candle revealed thick, coarse brown fur shot through with white, and powerful limbs tipped with six inch claws. Of the shadowed face he could see nothing, save for two glowing bright eyes.
There was an explosion of pain in his side and Isaac felt himself flying, briefly, before smashing into the Mission doors with a terrible crunch. Something slid down his face, and the world suddenly became a blur. He could see his candle guttering on the ground in front of him, starting to light the grass aflame. Lionel was calling his name. Maria was screaming. The doors behind him creaked open under his weight, and he remembered belatedly that no one had locked the doors behind him when he had left the Mission. The chapel lay open, everyone inside at God’s mercy.
Isaac gasped and tried to struggle to his feet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He could hear the sharp retort of Lionel’s pistol once, twice, three times, then a deafening roar, a sudden cry, and the wet sound of tearing flesh. The waiter tumbled over to near where Isaac lay, and then was still. Wheezing, Isaac pulled himself upright until he could see his friend. Lionel stared blankly at the night sky, his body limp, his face white, his lips painted scarlet with blood.
Isaac collapsed against the Mission doors, tears streaming down his face. He clasped his hands together, silently praying, unable to give voice to more than sobs.
O God, Who knowest us to be set in the midst of such great perils...
He could see the beast now in the light of the rising flames; a giant bear, twice the size of any such creature he’d seen before. Its eyes burned bright orange, and its long muzzle glinted with razor sharp teeth. The ursine monster was stalking towards him, its murderous purpose evident in its malevolent features.
...that, by reason of the weakness of our nature, we cannot stand upright...
He could hear the panicked voices of the priests inside the Chapel, the stern voice of Father Salinas rising above them in command. The flames crackled as they ripped across the fields with ever increasing speed. Maria was still screaming. The heavy footfalls of the beast were coming closer and closer.
...grant us such health of mind and body, that those evils which we suffer for our sins we may overcome through Thine assistance.
Isaac closed his eyes. The heat from the fire was blasting him like an open furnace. He could smell the creature’s rancid breath on his face.
Through Christ our Lord...
And then there was silence.
Isaac peeked an eye open. The massive beast was standing before him, whining slightly. With one massive foreleg the creature tentatively pawed at him, but seemed unwilling, or unable, to touch him. With a snort, the bear pulled its claws away. It started a bit to the left, and then to the right, as if looking for some way around the priest, but Isaac was blocking the Mission doors from its entry. With one final whine, the bear turned away, galloping into the darkness with impossible speed.
The skies opened up, and it started to rain.
In the light of the dying fire, Isaac crawled over to his friend and pulled him into his arms. The wounds weren’t as deep as he had first thought they were, and the color had returned to the waiter’s face. Lionel’s chest rose and fell without difficulty, and his expression was without pain.
Something was seeping through his robes. Curiously, Isaac reached down. His hand came away bright red, stained by the massive pool of crimson at his feet.
****
“Isaac?”
The priest stirred in his chair. He had fallen asleep sitting upright, and every muscle in his body now felt the effects of it. Stretching, Isaac pulled himself upright in his seat, wincing at a sharp pain in his ribs, and looked over to where the voice had come from. Lionel was sitting on the edge of the convalescent cot, examining his bandage-covered chest.
“Where am I?” the waiter asked.
Isaac smiled. “The Mission. Father Salinas wouldn’t let anyone leave, and for good reason. I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he said, changing the subject.
Lionel smiled back. His cheerful energy had returned to his movements, and the brightness had returned to his eyes. “What happened to your glasses?” he suddenly asked.
“Oh,” Isaac replied, gently touching the bridge of his nose where his spectacles had once rested. “I’m not sure. They went missing when that thing hit me.”
“Grizzly.”
“Did it seem so? I wasn’t badly injured,” Isaac reassured.
“Grizzly bear, Padre,” Lionel corrected, grinning. “You don’t see them much down here anymore. It’s no wonder my bullets just bounced right off its hide, you need a rifle to even touch one. Things can kill a buffalo in a single hit. Which brings me to the question of how we’re still alive,” he added, frowning.
“I don’t know. I... thought you were dead,” Isaac said, his voice catching slightly. “The cuts on your chest were not very deep. It must have just glanced you.”
“Well,” Lionel mused, “is that Indian girl alright? Maybe she saw what happened.”
“She was fine last night, at least, she was uninjured. Father Salinas took her aside and was saying something to her when we carried you upstairs. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Poor girl.”
“Lionel...”
“And you’re really alright?” Lionel asked, his expression one of concern.
“Just some cracked ribs, physically,” Isaac grimaced. “Though I fear I will die anyway. Father Salinas requested my presence immediately after you awoke. I suspect he only waited that long so that I could say my final goodbyes. He’s furious at me.”
“From what I’ve heard of him, he’s generally furious at everyone.”
“Then he’s worse than furious. I put the Mission in danger and nearly set the place on fire,” Isaac muttered guiltily. “I will be surprised if he doesn’t burn me at the stake.”
Lionel put his hands behind his head, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight that flooded through the window. “Well, it doesn’t sound like anyone died. And adobe doesn’t burn well, Padre! Sounds to me like he’s overreacting.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Isaac said, rolling his eyes. “And the only reason that it didn’t happen was due to an act of God.”
“Hey, means He’s looking out for you,” Lionel rejoined. “Besides, if you hadn’t been out there, I would have been eaten by a bear. Give yourself a bit of credit.”
“You’re too kind to me, Lionel,” Isaac said, smiling warmly.
“I just like not being eaten by bears,” the waiter responded, grinning widely. “Let that thought keep you warm when the good Father has his freezing cold stare stuck on you.”
“You’re definitely better,” Isaac said. He groaned as he stood up, stretching his sore limbs again, wincing as his ribs smarted. With a final glance back at his friend, the priest walked slowly down the Mission halls, holding his injured side with his hand, squinting to see where he was going.
He encountered Father Garza in the hall, worriedly pacing back and forth. He forced a smile when he saw Isaac. “If you’re looking for Father Salinas, he’s by the chapel entryway.”
“News has traveled that quickly?” Isaac asked, an exaggerated grimace on his face.
“Even Father Salinas couldn’t keep a lid on everything. Be careful. He’s in quite a mood today,” Father Garza warned.
“That’s not exactly unexpected. How fares Maria?” Isaac asked.
Father Garza arched an eyebrow, as if surprised by the question. “Poorly. She hasn’t left her room or spoken a word since last night.”
“If there is anything left of me when Father Salinas is done with me, I’ll go speak to her,” Isaac promised.
Isaac turned towards the chapel, dread growing in his stomach with every step he took. He could see the figure of Father Salinas speaking to someone outside through the doors. Curiosity prompted him to move closer to get a better look, despite his fear. Two strange men were standing outside the chapel doors. The older priest glared at Isaac as he approached, but evidently found his current business too important to interrupt.
“This is not acceptable,” Father Salinas was saying.
“The bishop thinks otherwise,” the first stranger replied, holding several papers aloft with careless aplomb. He was a short, dark skinned Indian, slightly older than Isaac, with oddly decorated shirt and shoes, although his pants were Western and plain. His neck was covered by a cloth bandana, and his hair was long and unbound, like that of a woman. A large satchel hung from his shoulders, a flask from his hip. As Father Salinas coldly examined the papers, the Indian took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Behind the Indian stood a Chinaman, dressed in a white shirt and black waistcoat, pants and shoes. His long hair was tightly braided, and he was idly digging at the ground with the barrel of a rifle.
“Fine,” Father Salinas said abruptly. “Get moving. Don’t come back here until it’s dead. I won’t have you in the Mission.”
“Father!” Isaac interrupted, aghast, “We cannot leave them without a place to stay when that-”
“Be silent,” Father Salinas commanded. “I am not pleased with you, Father Matthews. Do not test me further.”
Isaac gulped. He took a step backwards into the shadows, nearly bumping into someone behind him. He looked back to see Maria hiding in the corner, staring at the strange pair outside as he had been doing. She looked up at him. He could see dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“It would help if you told us anything useful,” the Indian said, blowing smoke at Father Salinas’ eyes. The old priest turned his head slightly.
“I already told everything I knew to the Bishop,” Father Salinas replied. “No one here would be any use to speak to further.” He snapped a glance back at Isaac, who immediately shut his mouth.
“As you wish,” the Indian replied. For a moment, he seemed to stare past Father Salinas and towards Isaac. Then he nodded to the Chinaman, who shouldered his rifle, and the two walked down the path away from the Mission.
“Who do you think they were?” Maria whispered, voicing Isaac’s thoughts aloud.
“It sounded as if Father Salinas sent them after that beast,” Isaac whispered back. He immediately regretted it when he saw Maria hug herself, gripping her arms until her knuckles turned white. “I am sorry for mentioning it,” he said, greatly pained.
“Father Matthews,” a stern voice called from the entryway. “If you are done?”
Isaac stiffened. Pulling his hand away from Maria’s shoulder, he trudged over to Father Salinas, a silent gallows march playing in his head. The older priest roughly seized him by the arm with a strength contrary to his thin frame, and dragged him into the chapel.
“Tell me what happened!” Father Salinas whispered harshly, roughly flinging Isaac onto one of the church pews.
“I don’t know!” Isaac cried, clutching his injured ribs. “I didn’t see anything! Surely you could ask Father Garza, or... or...” He trailed off.
“Father Garza was on the bell-tower staircase, running to help you,” Father Salinas said nastily. “As for that woman, I am tired of her cageyness. You have always placed a great grandness on the truth. Tell it to me!”
“I don’t know what it is!” Isaac protested. “There was a huge bear that attacked us. It was coming towards me and... it just left! I don’t know why.”
Father Salinas paced between the pews, clearly agitated. Isaac trailed him with his eyes, too frightened to move from the pew.
“Was it scared off by the flames?” Isaac asked himself quietly. “Was it just a wild animal?”
Father Salinas paused, his back to Isaac. “Just a wild animal? It killed Father Miguel simply out of bestial instinct, and then left the body, uneaten, to rot?
Isaac sat upright. Father Salinas turned his head towards him, a vicious gleam in his eye.
“That was a warning.”
****
The priest stirred in his chair. He had fallen asleep sitting upright, and every muscle in his body now felt the effects of it. Stretching, Isaac pulled himself upright in his seat, wincing at a sharp pain in his ribs, and looked over to where the voice had come from. Lionel was sitting on the edge of the convalescent cot, examining his bandage-covered chest.
“Where am I?” the waiter asked.
Isaac smiled. “The Mission. Father Salinas wouldn’t let anyone leave, and for good reason. I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he said, changing the subject.
Lionel smiled back. His cheerful energy had returned to his movements, and the brightness had returned to his eyes. “What happened to your glasses?” he suddenly asked.
“Oh,” Isaac replied, gently touching the bridge of his nose where his spectacles had once rested. “I’m not sure. They went missing when that thing hit me.”
“Grizzly.”
“Did it seem so? I wasn’t badly injured,” Isaac reassured.
“Grizzly bear, Padre,” Lionel corrected, grinning. “You don’t see them much down here anymore. It’s no wonder my bullets just bounced right off its hide, you need a rifle to even touch one. Things can kill a buffalo in a single hit. Which brings me to the question of how we’re still alive,” he added, frowning.
“I don’t know. I... thought you were dead,” Isaac said, his voice catching slightly. “The cuts on your chest were not very deep. It must have just glanced you.”
“Well,” Lionel mused, “is that Indian girl alright? Maybe she saw what happened.”
“She was fine last night, at least, she was uninjured. Father Salinas took her aside and was saying something to her when we carried you upstairs. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Poor girl.”
“Lionel...”
“And you’re really alright?” Lionel asked, his expression one of concern.
“Just some cracked ribs, physically,” Isaac grimaced. “Though I fear I will die anyway. Father Salinas requested my presence immediately after you awoke. I suspect he only waited that long so that I could say my final goodbyes. He’s furious at me.”
“From what I’ve heard of him, he’s generally furious at everyone.”
“Then he’s worse than furious. I put the Mission in danger and nearly set the place on fire,” Isaac muttered guiltily. “I will be surprised if he doesn’t burn me at the stake.”
Lionel put his hands behind his head, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight that flooded through the window. “Well, it doesn’t sound like anyone died. And adobe doesn’t burn well, Padre! Sounds to me like he’s overreacting.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Isaac said, rolling his eyes. “And the only reason that it didn’t happen was due to an act of God.”
“Hey, means He’s looking out for you,” Lionel rejoined. “Besides, if you hadn’t been out there, I would have been eaten by a bear. Give yourself a bit of credit.”
“You’re too kind to me, Lionel,” Isaac said, smiling warmly.
“I just like not being eaten by bears,” the waiter responded, grinning widely. “Let that thought keep you warm when the good Father has his freezing cold stare stuck on you.”
“You’re definitely better,” Isaac said. He groaned as he stood up, stretching his sore limbs again, wincing as his ribs smarted. With a final glance back at his friend, the priest walked slowly down the Mission halls, holding his injured side with his hand, squinting to see where he was going.
He encountered Father Garza in the hall, worriedly pacing back and forth. He forced a smile when he saw Isaac. “If you’re looking for Father Salinas, he’s by the chapel entryway.”
“News has traveled that quickly?” Isaac asked, an exaggerated grimace on his face.
“Even Father Salinas couldn’t keep a lid on everything. Be careful. He’s in quite a mood today,” Father Garza warned.
“That’s not exactly unexpected. How fares Maria?” Isaac asked.
Father Garza arched an eyebrow, as if surprised by the question. “Poorly. She hasn’t left her room or spoken a word since last night.”
“If there is anything left of me when Father Salinas is done with me, I’ll go speak to her,” Isaac promised.
Isaac turned towards the chapel, dread growing in his stomach with every step he took. He could see the figure of Father Salinas speaking to someone outside through the doors. Curiosity prompted him to move closer to get a better look, despite his fear. Two strange men were standing outside the chapel doors. The older priest glared at Isaac as he approached, but evidently found his current business too important to interrupt.
“This is not acceptable,” Father Salinas was saying.
“The bishop thinks otherwise,” the first stranger replied, holding several papers aloft with careless aplomb. He was a short, dark skinned Indian, slightly older than Isaac, with oddly decorated shirt and shoes, although his pants were Western and plain. His neck was covered by a cloth bandana, and his hair was long and unbound, like that of a woman. A large satchel hung from his shoulders, a flask from his hip. As Father Salinas coldly examined the papers, the Indian took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Behind the Indian stood a Chinaman, dressed in a white shirt and black waistcoat, pants and shoes. His long hair was tightly braided, and he was idly digging at the ground with the barrel of a rifle.
“Fine,” Father Salinas said abruptly. “Get moving. Don’t come back here until it’s dead. I won’t have you in the Mission.”
“Father!” Isaac interrupted, aghast, “We cannot leave them without a place to stay when that-”
“Be silent,” Father Salinas commanded. “I am not pleased with you, Father Matthews. Do not test me further.”
Isaac gulped. He took a step backwards into the shadows, nearly bumping into someone behind him. He looked back to see Maria hiding in the corner, staring at the strange pair outside as he had been doing. She looked up at him. He could see dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“It would help if you told us anything useful,” the Indian said, blowing smoke at Father Salinas’ eyes. The old priest turned his head slightly.
“I already told everything I knew to the Bishop,” Father Salinas replied. “No one here would be any use to speak to further.” He snapped a glance back at Isaac, who immediately shut his mouth.
“As you wish,” the Indian replied. For a moment, he seemed to stare past Father Salinas and towards Isaac. Then he nodded to the Chinaman, who shouldered his rifle, and the two walked down the path away from the Mission.
“Who do you think they were?” Maria whispered, voicing Isaac’s thoughts aloud.
“It sounded as if Father Salinas sent them after that beast,” Isaac whispered back. He immediately regretted it when he saw Maria hug herself, gripping her arms until her knuckles turned white. “I am sorry for mentioning it,” he said, greatly pained.
“Father Matthews,” a stern voice called from the entryway. “If you are done?”
Isaac stiffened. Pulling his hand away from Maria’s shoulder, he trudged over to Father Salinas, a silent gallows march playing in his head. The older priest roughly seized him by the arm with a strength contrary to his thin frame, and dragged him into the chapel.
“Tell me what happened!” Father Salinas whispered harshly, roughly flinging Isaac onto one of the church pews.
“I don’t know!” Isaac cried, clutching his injured ribs. “I didn’t see anything! Surely you could ask Father Garza, or... or...” He trailed off.
“Father Garza was on the bell-tower staircase, running to help you,” Father Salinas said nastily. “As for that woman, I am tired of her cageyness. You have always placed a great grandness on the truth. Tell it to me!”
“I don’t know what it is!” Isaac protested. “There was a huge bear that attacked us. It was coming towards me and... it just left! I don’t know why.”
Father Salinas paced between the pews, clearly agitated. Isaac trailed him with his eyes, too frightened to move from the pew.
“Was it scared off by the flames?” Isaac asked himself quietly. “Was it just a wild animal?”
Father Salinas paused, his back to Isaac. “Just a wild animal? It killed Father Miguel simply out of bestial instinct, and then left the body, uneaten, to rot?
Isaac sat upright. Father Salinas turned his head towards him, a vicious gleam in his eye.
“That was a warning.”
****
It was an unusually hot morning, even for California, with the sun scorching down on the Mission below. The residents sought sanctuary in shady alcoves, hiding from the oppressive heat. Isaac stood in the full brunt of the heat, mopping the sweat from his brow and the stains from the chapel floors. Unpleasant rusty spots littered the entryway stone; Isaac had taken over cleaning from a grateful Indian. Despite his fervent efforts, the color seemed determined to stick. He paused in his labors as he heard steps coming down the hall, echoing through the stagnant air.
“Isaac, you keep working in this heat and you’ll end up martyred,” Lionel called out, dancing down the passage with a makeshift tray in his hand. “I don’t think they have a saint of doing meaningless chores while injured yet, do you know?”
“You seem well,” Isaac said, squinting to make out the waiter’s figure in the dim confines of the church.
“You don’t. Get in the shade.” A strong arm reached out a grabbed Isaac by the shoulder, pulling into blissful coolness. The priest sighed as the heat radiated from his body.
“I am sorry, Lionel, I just needed something to do,” Isaac said, leaning back against the Mission wall. “I don’t know how Father Salinas managed to do it, but no one is coming to services, and we aren’t allowed to leave. I’m going crazy in here.”
Lionel shrugged in sympathy. “Hey, I’m bored too. I just had the good sense to work in the shade. Voila!” He waved his makeshift tray under Isaac’s nose. “Breakfast.”
Isaac peered down at the bowls and wooden spoons sitting on the tray. “Cold porridge?” he questioned.
“No, no. Porridge is what humble priests make. This is gateau de gaudes sans le sucre.” Lionel corrected, flourishing with his free hand.
“It looks like porridge.”
“That’s because you are not a gourmet. Eat up.” The waiter grinned, offering the tray to the priest.
Isaac picked up a bowl and sampled the dish. It tasted like porridge too, although anything seemed exquisite to his empty stomach. The sticky grains stuck to his throat as he wolfed it down with a greed that surprised him. Coughing slightly, Isaac reached for the glass of lukewarm water Lionel had thoughtfully provided, draining the contents in one gulp.
“My compliments to the chef,” Isaac said.
Lionel beamed, then cocked his head to one side, peering over Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but you seemed to have picked up a second shadow,” the waiter whispered furtively, leaning closer. Despite his friend’s warning, Isaac turned his head. He could make out a small figure watching him from around the corner.
“Maria?” Isaac guessed. No one corrected him, so he assumed he had guessed right. “Maria, are we so frightening? Come talk to us. You can have some of Lionel’s porridge.”
“Gateau de gaudes,” the waiter corrected.
Maria’s figure became more focused as she walked closer. She wore something close to her normal expression of indifference, but with a harried look in her eyes, which to Isaac didn’t seem much better than the look of distress she had several days before. But she approached without seeming like she wanted to run, which Isaac took as an accomplishment. She carefully took Lionel’s proffered bowl and cautiously tasted the contents.
“It is very good porridge, sir,” she said.
“Gateau de gaudes,” Lionel insisted. Isaac began to chuckle. Lionel folded his arms on his chest, but couldn’t keep the straight face for long and joined in the laughter.
Maria looked at the pair, untouched by the good humor, anxiously twisting her fingers together. “I am sorry!” she said suddenly, her voice twisted in grief. The two men looked at each other, surprised by the woman’s sudden change in behavior.
“Who...?” Isaac began to ask.
“Why...?” Lionel started to say at the same time.
“I told him to leave you behind,” Maria said, by way of explanation. “I... I am so sorry.”
“Er,” Lionel said, after a brief pause, “it’s not as if you could have known that would happen, and no one was seriously hurt, so I accept your apology.”
“No!” Maria protested. “You must not!”
“Look, I’m fine, honest,” Lionel said, clearly confused. “The scratches are almost gone now.”
The young woman reached up and took the wooden cross that hung around her neck, her eyes becoming empty. Her skin paled, her cheeks were sunken, and it seemed as though only some outside force kept her standing. Lionel shifted uncomfortably, his glances shifting between Maria and Isaac. Isaac stood fixed to the ground, stupidly, the burning heat seeping through his mind. He reached to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his questing fingers found only empty space.
“Maria, where-?” the priest started to ask, but then thought better of it. “Maria,” he tried again, looking her in the eyes, “do you not remember that the Lord forgives all sin?” The young woman’s eyes flickered and looked away, the bright sunlight streaming through the windows casting her face in shadow. Isaac continued, “It does not matter what wrong you have done, so long as you have true repentance in your heart. God has forgiven you. Lionel has forgiven you. I have forgiven you. You must forgive yourself.”
“I cannot,” she whispered.
“You cannot condemn where God has forgiven,” he replied tenderly. He reached down and took her hands.
“There’s someone at the door,” Lionel quietly mumbled. The others looked up. Isaac could see figures through the Mission window, silhouetted by the midday sun.
“Salinas!” a deep voice called out. Isaac recognized it as the voice of the strange Indian. “Come out here so we can finish this.”
The trio looked at each other uncertainly. There was no sign of the man in question, although the disturbance had attracted the curiosity of some of the other inhabitants. Isaac took a step towards the chapel door, then hesitated, and stopped. Lionel shrugged. Maria just looked at him, a strange expression on her face.
“We do not have all day, Salinas,” the Indian yelled. The priest heard a soft thump on the ground outside.
Seeing that Father Salinas had still not arrived, Isaac pulled open the Mission doors, feeling the full blast of the noon heat as the light burst in. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light. The Indian and Chinaman looked much as they did when he had first seen them, although tired and disheveled. Lying by the Chinaman’s feet was another Indian, his clothes shredded and tattered. Even with his poor vision, Isaac could see the myriad of bullet holes that undoubtedly ended the man’s life. He heard a stifled sob from Maria. With a sinking feeling that he knew what he would find, the priest took a step closer, then another, until he could see the dead man clearly. He instantly recognized him.
“What have you done?” Isaac cried out in anguish. The priest felt a stab of horror as he looked at Manuel’s face, locked in an bestial snarl of rage.
“Ask Salinas, if he cares to show his face,” the Indian said carelessly. “We did as we were ordered to.”
“This is murder,” Isaac said, staring blankly down at the corpse. He wanted to raise his voice, to start screaming at these two strange men, but he couldn’t muster the anger to do so. Even presented with this scene of horror, Isaac felt only a deep numbness settling over him, and a dull ache in his heart.
“Murder?” the Indian laughed bitterly. “Perhaps Salinas neglected to mention that he,” and with this he kicked Manuel’s body, “is the monster that you have all been hiding from, safe inside your little Mission!” The commotion had attracted many of the Mission residents, and the Indian turned to them. “Did Salinas tell you what your friend had become? Did he tell you that we had been sent specifically to kill him? Did he even bother to tell you anything? Or did he leave you in ignorance, unwilling to trust his own clerics, or listen to a view point other than his own?”
“That is quite enough.” Father Salinas stepped up behind Isaac from behind the cathedral doors. The other priests scattered out of the way once they noticed him.
Isaac turned to the older priest in desperation. “Father Salinas, please, put a stop to this madness! I saw the monster, and it was a bear, not a man,” he said, glaring at the Indian in a silent challenge. “The idea that Manuel attacked us is ludicrous!”
“He is remarkably smaller than a Grizzly bear,” Lionel murmured under his breath. The waiter tried to look casual, but couldn’t quite pull his troubled glance away from the scene outside.
Father Salinas looked cooly at the two hunters, then at Isaac, before responding. “It is the truth,” he said simply. “Witchcraft grants many powers, including that of changing shape. Manuel was dealing with demons.”
Isaac could feel the shock of the statement rippling through the other priests, and this time he did feel a twinge of anger. “So you knew all along? And you told no one? How did you even know this? Did you even bother to look for him, to help him? All of those times you told us you would deal with Manuel, and you meant to kill him!”
“That was the bishop’s decision, not mine,” Father Salinas said, his voice lacking the cutting edge it usually held. His eyes hardened again as he looked at the Indian. “Your business is finished here.”
“No,” the Indian replied, clearly agitated, “I don’t think it is.”
“What you think hardly matters,” the older priest snapped. “Get out of my sight.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his cold glare on the other priests. “Take the body and burn it,” he ordered, before stalking back through the cathedral doors and slamming them behind him.
“You were right, Lionel,” Isaac breathed, unable to look his friend in the eye. His heart seized slightly as he looked back at Maria. She stood there with no expression, her eyes as dead as Manuel’s now were.
“I... failed him,” Isaac whispered. “You asked me to help him, and I failed.” He moved to comfort her, but stopped, unable to provide something he was wholly without. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
Maria looked up at him, and Isaac took a step backwards. Her face had twisted in barely contained rage, and her whole body shook with the effort of keeping it in. “He deserved it!” she snarled angrily, before her expression suddenly changed to one of horror. Turning from him, she fled in tears.
****
“Isaac, you keep working in this heat and you’ll end up martyred,” Lionel called out, dancing down the passage with a makeshift tray in his hand. “I don’t think they have a saint of doing meaningless chores while injured yet, do you know?”
“You seem well,” Isaac said, squinting to make out the waiter’s figure in the dim confines of the church.
“You don’t. Get in the shade.” A strong arm reached out a grabbed Isaac by the shoulder, pulling into blissful coolness. The priest sighed as the heat radiated from his body.
“I am sorry, Lionel, I just needed something to do,” Isaac said, leaning back against the Mission wall. “I don’t know how Father Salinas managed to do it, but no one is coming to services, and we aren’t allowed to leave. I’m going crazy in here.”
Lionel shrugged in sympathy. “Hey, I’m bored too. I just had the good sense to work in the shade. Voila!” He waved his makeshift tray under Isaac’s nose. “Breakfast.”
Isaac peered down at the bowls and wooden spoons sitting on the tray. “Cold porridge?” he questioned.
“No, no. Porridge is what humble priests make. This is gateau de gaudes sans le sucre.” Lionel corrected, flourishing with his free hand.
“It looks like porridge.”
“That’s because you are not a gourmet. Eat up.” The waiter grinned, offering the tray to the priest.
Isaac picked up a bowl and sampled the dish. It tasted like porridge too, although anything seemed exquisite to his empty stomach. The sticky grains stuck to his throat as he wolfed it down with a greed that surprised him. Coughing slightly, Isaac reached for the glass of lukewarm water Lionel had thoughtfully provided, draining the contents in one gulp.
“My compliments to the chef,” Isaac said.
Lionel beamed, then cocked his head to one side, peering over Isaac’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but you seemed to have picked up a second shadow,” the waiter whispered furtively, leaning closer. Despite his friend’s warning, Isaac turned his head. He could make out a small figure watching him from around the corner.
“Maria?” Isaac guessed. No one corrected him, so he assumed he had guessed right. “Maria, are we so frightening? Come talk to us. You can have some of Lionel’s porridge.”
“Gateau de gaudes,” the waiter corrected.
Maria’s figure became more focused as she walked closer. She wore something close to her normal expression of indifference, but with a harried look in her eyes, which to Isaac didn’t seem much better than the look of distress she had several days before. But she approached without seeming like she wanted to run, which Isaac took as an accomplishment. She carefully took Lionel’s proffered bowl and cautiously tasted the contents.
“It is very good porridge, sir,” she said.
“Gateau de gaudes,” Lionel insisted. Isaac began to chuckle. Lionel folded his arms on his chest, but couldn’t keep the straight face for long and joined in the laughter.
Maria looked at the pair, untouched by the good humor, anxiously twisting her fingers together. “I am sorry!” she said suddenly, her voice twisted in grief. The two men looked at each other, surprised by the woman’s sudden change in behavior.
“Who...?” Isaac began to ask.
“Why...?” Lionel started to say at the same time.
“I told him to leave you behind,” Maria said, by way of explanation. “I... I am so sorry.”
“Er,” Lionel said, after a brief pause, “it’s not as if you could have known that would happen, and no one was seriously hurt, so I accept your apology.”
“No!” Maria protested. “You must not!”
“Look, I’m fine, honest,” Lionel said, clearly confused. “The scratches are almost gone now.”
The young woman reached up and took the wooden cross that hung around her neck, her eyes becoming empty. Her skin paled, her cheeks were sunken, and it seemed as though only some outside force kept her standing. Lionel shifted uncomfortably, his glances shifting between Maria and Isaac. Isaac stood fixed to the ground, stupidly, the burning heat seeping through his mind. He reached to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his questing fingers found only empty space.
“Maria, where-?” the priest started to ask, but then thought better of it. “Maria,” he tried again, looking her in the eyes, “do you not remember that the Lord forgives all sin?” The young woman’s eyes flickered and looked away, the bright sunlight streaming through the windows casting her face in shadow. Isaac continued, “It does not matter what wrong you have done, so long as you have true repentance in your heart. God has forgiven you. Lionel has forgiven you. I have forgiven you. You must forgive yourself.”
“I cannot,” she whispered.
“You cannot condemn where God has forgiven,” he replied tenderly. He reached down and took her hands.
“There’s someone at the door,” Lionel quietly mumbled. The others looked up. Isaac could see figures through the Mission window, silhouetted by the midday sun.
“Salinas!” a deep voice called out. Isaac recognized it as the voice of the strange Indian. “Come out here so we can finish this.”
The trio looked at each other uncertainly. There was no sign of the man in question, although the disturbance had attracted the curiosity of some of the other inhabitants. Isaac took a step towards the chapel door, then hesitated, and stopped. Lionel shrugged. Maria just looked at him, a strange expression on her face.
“We do not have all day, Salinas,” the Indian yelled. The priest heard a soft thump on the ground outside.
Seeing that Father Salinas had still not arrived, Isaac pulled open the Mission doors, feeling the full blast of the noon heat as the light burst in. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light. The Indian and Chinaman looked much as they did when he had first seen them, although tired and disheveled. Lying by the Chinaman’s feet was another Indian, his clothes shredded and tattered. Even with his poor vision, Isaac could see the myriad of bullet holes that undoubtedly ended the man’s life. He heard a stifled sob from Maria. With a sinking feeling that he knew what he would find, the priest took a step closer, then another, until he could see the dead man clearly. He instantly recognized him.
“What have you done?” Isaac cried out in anguish. The priest felt a stab of horror as he looked at Manuel’s face, locked in an bestial snarl of rage.
“Ask Salinas, if he cares to show his face,” the Indian said carelessly. “We did as we were ordered to.”
“This is murder,” Isaac said, staring blankly down at the corpse. He wanted to raise his voice, to start screaming at these two strange men, but he couldn’t muster the anger to do so. Even presented with this scene of horror, Isaac felt only a deep numbness settling over him, and a dull ache in his heart.
“Murder?” the Indian laughed bitterly. “Perhaps Salinas neglected to mention that he,” and with this he kicked Manuel’s body, “is the monster that you have all been hiding from, safe inside your little Mission!” The commotion had attracted many of the Mission residents, and the Indian turned to them. “Did Salinas tell you what your friend had become? Did he tell you that we had been sent specifically to kill him? Did he even bother to tell you anything? Or did he leave you in ignorance, unwilling to trust his own clerics, or listen to a view point other than his own?”
“That is quite enough.” Father Salinas stepped up behind Isaac from behind the cathedral doors. The other priests scattered out of the way once they noticed him.
Isaac turned to the older priest in desperation. “Father Salinas, please, put a stop to this madness! I saw the monster, and it was a bear, not a man,” he said, glaring at the Indian in a silent challenge. “The idea that Manuel attacked us is ludicrous!”
“He is remarkably smaller than a Grizzly bear,” Lionel murmured under his breath. The waiter tried to look casual, but couldn’t quite pull his troubled glance away from the scene outside.
Father Salinas looked cooly at the two hunters, then at Isaac, before responding. “It is the truth,” he said simply. “Witchcraft grants many powers, including that of changing shape. Manuel was dealing with demons.”
Isaac could feel the shock of the statement rippling through the other priests, and this time he did feel a twinge of anger. “So you knew all along? And you told no one? How did you even know this? Did you even bother to look for him, to help him? All of those times you told us you would deal with Manuel, and you meant to kill him!”
“That was the bishop’s decision, not mine,” Father Salinas said, his voice lacking the cutting edge it usually held. His eyes hardened again as he looked at the Indian. “Your business is finished here.”
“No,” the Indian replied, clearly agitated, “I don’t think it is.”
“What you think hardly matters,” the older priest snapped. “Get out of my sight.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his cold glare on the other priests. “Take the body and burn it,” he ordered, before stalking back through the cathedral doors and slamming them behind him.
“You were right, Lionel,” Isaac breathed, unable to look his friend in the eye. His heart seized slightly as he looked back at Maria. She stood there with no expression, her eyes as dead as Manuel’s now were.
“I... failed him,” Isaac whispered. “You asked me to help him, and I failed.” He moved to comfort her, but stopped, unable to provide something he was wholly without. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
Maria looked up at him, and Isaac took a step backwards. Her face had twisted in barely contained rage, and her whole body shook with the effort of keeping it in. “He deserved it!” she snarled angrily, before her expression suddenly changed to one of horror. Turning from him, she fled in tears.
****
Isaac looked down at the two figures sitting before him. They were remarkably well groomed for men who had ostensibly been spending their nights outside. The Chinaman now wore a vest of a deep red color. He sat with his feet folded beneath him, carefully cleaning and polishing the heavy rifle he had laid across his lap. The Indian was slightly more disheveled, although far neater than the poor that Isaac visited on the San Francisco streets. He alternately took swigs from the flask at his side and smoked, burning through cigarettes at an amazing rate. Neither man seemed to be paying much attention to the priest.
“Father Salinas does not seem pleased by your continued presence,” Isaac stated. The Chinaman chuckled.
“Salinas is rarely pleased about anything,” The Indian said, blowing smoke through his lips. “That response is unusually civil for him.”
“You are familiar with Father Salinas, then?” Isaac asked, before he fully realized what he was implying.
“Unfortunately,” the Indian replied, without any trace of humor.
Frowning, Isaac said, “Some of the other priests are also wondering why you have not left yet.”
“So eager to have us off your land?” the Indian asked, a sarcastic note cutting into his deep voice.
“Yes,” Isaac said bluntly. When neither responded, he added, “It cannot be comfortable to sleep outside.”
“I’m comfortable.” The Indian lit another cigarette, letting the end smoulder for a bit before taking a drag. Looking up to see Isaac still there, he lay back on ground and closed his eyes. “Go away, priest. We have no business together.”
“We want information,” the Chinaman spoke for the first time. His speech was accented, but not as heavily as Isaac had expected.
“Father Salinas said he had told you all he knew,” Isaac said, slightly troubled.
The Indian snorted. “Salinas knows far more than he lets on, and far less than he thinks.”
Isaac hesitated. He felt that he should be indignant at the accusation, that he had a duty to his superior to defend him, but the words died even as they formed. He had seen first hand the webs of deception that Father Salinas had woven without a second thought, and the truth that had cut far deeper because of them.
“What do you want to know?” the priest asked.
The Indian half-opened one eye, like a cat that was sleepy but still slightly curious. “You priests would like to pretend that everything is over now that we have killed your problem, but it’s not as simple as that,” he said. “We need information to make sure that nothing more is going to come of this. His sister might have the information we need, but she hasn’t been very cooperative when we have talked to her.”
Isaac felt a sudden burst of anger. “Leave her out of this! Haven’t you done enough to her?”
“There’s nothing to get angry about, priest” the Indian reprimanded, sitting upright. His voice was as hard as steel. “She should feel glad that the monster is dead.”
“He was her brother!” Isaac yelled heatedly.
“She did not seem very likely to be helpful, in any case,” the Chinaman cut in, clearly perturbed by the others’ behavior.
“I cannot imagine what you want with her. And she won’t talk to you. Father Salinas made it very clear he did not want anyone to speak to you, and she has always been very intimidated by Father Salinas,” Isaac sighed, calming down. “She is not likely to risk his disapproval.”
“Someone’s disapproval, anyway. Although I wonder if she is so frightened of Salinas learning that she knew more than she told,” the Indian said, giving Isaac a look. Isaac returned a blank stare. The Indian rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”
“He could reassure her,” the Chinaman suggested.
“Hmpf. Maybe we might get something done after all,” the Indian replied. To Isaac, he said, “If you are willing to stop hovering over the girl like a mother hen, we can ask a few questions, get out of your hair, and you can leave this whole sordid mess behind you.”
“No,” the priest said firmly.
“Then perhaps you could help us, if what you said about the bear was true,” the Chinaman persuaded.
Isaac folded his arms across his chest, looking dubious. “What do you want to know?” he asked again.
The Chinaman stood and pulled out a small bag. He opened it to reveal a small amount of deep brown earth. “There are two large patches of this earth near your Mission. It is stained with blood, we are sure. One of the patches we know where it came from. A Father Miguel, we believe? We need to know about the other. ”
Isaac took a pinch from the bag. It had a strange consistency, thick and ashy, with clumps of earth sticking together and crumbling between his fingers. There was a keen, sharp smell that cut into his senses. His mouth suddenly tasted of copper.
Oh, he thought, this is...
He could feel the flames on his face, the tearing of flesh. The screams ringing in his ears. The pale white face, staring up into the moonlit sky.
“It attacked us,” Isaac gasped, flinging the dirt from him with all his might. The two men exchanged glances.
“You are the person Manuel attacked?” the Indian asked, unsurprised.
“Father Salinas had ordered everyone inside the Mission. I went outside to get Maria and... that creature...” Isaac trailed off. “It wasn’t her fault,” he said firmly, noting the expression on the Indian’s face.
“How did you survive?” the Chinaman asked.
Isaac winced involuntarily. “I... I don’t know. It just left.”
The Indian seemed to ponder this for a second, but shook his head. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a small silver disk, decorated with turquoise. Unfamiliar black patterns were etched into the talisman; Isaac did not recognize them as any of the designs that the Mission Indians sometimes used. The Indian wordlessly offered the disk to the priest.
Isaac reached out and picked it up. It felt pleasant to the touch, the coolness of the metal radiating out into his hot skin. The priest squinted to get a better look at the patterns. There was a strange tingling feeling in the back of his mind, not unpleasant, but that urged him to look deeper. With a silent prayer on his lips, he concentrated on the talisman. There was something inside it, a powerful energy, that hummed against his hands.
‘What is this?” Isaac asked, his eyes full of wonder. “There is some divine blessing on this.”
The Indian looked at him, the cigarette slowly burning down between his lips. He finally took it from his mouth and flicked it aside, grinding it out with his heel. “Does Salinas know about this?” he asked, avoiding Isaac’s question.
“About what?” Isaac asked, confused.
“That your god answers your prayers, priest.”
Isaac shook his head, not understanding. “God answers everyone’s prayers.”
The Chinaman gave a smile. “I would guess that the priest does not.”
“I don’t understand,” Isaac said. “What is this about?”
“The talisman’s power is not what is relevant, although it is interesting that you can see it,” the Indian said. “What was relevant is that it is made of silver. This close to the full moon, it is painful to touch for all of the spirit-men.”
“Spirit-men?” Isaac asked.
“Sit down if you want me to explain. It hurts my neck to look up at you,” the Indian replied. As an afterthought, he added, “My name is Muata. It may aid you to know it.”
“I am Hua Huojin,” the Chinaman said as he reseated himself.
“Faah...” Isaac tried, wrapping his mouth around the strange syllables.
“Uh, you can call me James,” the Chinaman suggested.
“I am Father Isaac Matthews,” Isaac introduced himself, settling himself on the warm ground. He leaned back on his hands and looked at Muata to continue.
“The spirit-men are both human and animal, two in one body,” Muata explained. “Most of the time they walk as men, no different from any other. Sometimes when they choose, sometimes when they don’t, the animal spirit takes control. What attacked you that night was the spirit of brother bear, acting through the body of Manuel.”
“But, Manuel was nothing like that,” Isaac objected. “Or so I thought. Could he have hidden such a thing for so long?”
“No. He became a spirit-man, priest,” Muata said, his eyes as black as pits. “Brother bear is angry. His people are dead. His lands are gone. Where he once held respect, he is now no more than a beast. Manuel understood. The Miwok are dying as well. Your Mission now holds no more than six, all devoted to the priests who treat them like slaves. Including his sister.” The Indian shot a dark look at Isaac. “He made a deal with brother bear for the only thing that both of them had left: revenge.”
“I wish I could have helped him,” Isaac said sadly. “But he is gone now. I don’t understand why any of this matters.”
The Indian looked at him, his face stern. “Priest, the Miwok are my people as well. Do you truly believe that I would hunt and murder my own kindred for killing one of your priests?”
“I hadn’t thought of it on those terms,” Isaac admitted. “We were defenseless. I do not believe you would have left us to die.”
“That’s because you are an idiot,” came the sharp reply. “My people once looked upon the spirit-men as a blessing, but we soon discovered otherwise. They were more beast than beasts ever were, with the worst traits of man and animal. They gorged themselves on vengeance and became twisted with hate. Most of them lost their mind, seeking the destruction of all humans. The worst of them sought to spread their condition to others.”
“Spread it? They recruited others?” Isaac asked.
Muata shook his head. “No. The teeth and claws of the spirit-men holds a strange venom. It poisons the soul as it heals the body, and makes humans weak to the spirit world. If a man becomes too weak, a spirit can possess him unwillingly. Then he will be a spirit-man too.” The Indian ran his fingers down the surface of the talisman, his expression distant. “That is why I hunt them, priest. I will not allow our people to become worse than those who they hate. We may die, but we will die with dignity.”
“You were lucky you did not become a spirit-beast,” Huojin added. “You were lucky you survived. I thought that the earth was mixed with blood, but I was mistaken. No man can bleed that much and live.”
“I didn’t bleed at all,” Isaac said, mostly to himself. “Lionel was the one who was scratched.”
Muata stared for a moment, then glanced at Huojin. The Chinaman shrugged, and Muata sighed. He unscrewed the top of his flask, eyed the contents, and then took a deep swig of it. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” he asked, exasperated, as he replaced the cap. “We must talk to him.”
“I was just going to see him now,” Isaac said. “I could bring him to meet you when he gets off of his work shift, if he wants to.”
“We will wait outside the restaurant,” Muata said, rising to his feet. The Chinaman followed suit, shouldering his rifle across his back. Isaac frowned, but could think of nothing to stop them from following him.
They walked in silence for most of the way. As he began to weave through the crowded streets of San Francisco, the priest finally spoke. “You’re wasting your time. Lionel was barely touched by that creature, same as myself. If it had hit him soundly, he would have been killed.”
“Under normal circumstances, certainly,” Muata said cryptically. Isaac looked at him, but the Indian did not elaborate.
“How would you even be able to tell if someone was a spirit-man?” Isaac asked, having resigned himself to his unwelcome comrades and needing to indulge his curiosity.
“As I said, this close to the full moon, all spirit-men are deeply pained by the touch of silver,” Muata said. “Most of the time, we are not as lucky. We have to wait for the spirit-man to transform to be sure. That is why we must take care of this now.”
“Surely one possessed against his will could fight off the spirit,” Isaac protested. “With the aid of a priest, if necessary. It is, after all, nothing more than an animal.”
Muata sneered slightly at that, but only said, “Hardly. Any time the man is weakened, the beast will take control. Even if the man is at his full strength, all spirits hold something sacred. When they are exposed to it, they gain enormous strength, more than any mortal can match.”
“What?” Isaac exclaimed. “You’re saying that these creatures could transform at any second?”
“Now you begin to understand,” Muata said. “But I have only ever seen them tied to phases of the moon. Most of the unwilling spirit-men are completely harmless until nightfall-”
Isaac stopped dead. The restaurant was exploded outwards, as if a barrel of gunpowder had blown out the walls. The interior lay in ruins, the wooden tables no more than firewood now. Deep claw marks scored what was left of the furniture. The constabulary and the common folk stood together around the building, looking as helpless as Isaac felt; a few of them covered the sad remains of what had once been customers, expecting nothing more than an early lunch.
“Unless something else weakens them,” Muata continued, his voice grave.
“Oh,” Isaac said numbly. “The silverware.”
****
“Father Salinas does not seem pleased by your continued presence,” Isaac stated. The Chinaman chuckled.
“Salinas is rarely pleased about anything,” The Indian said, blowing smoke through his lips. “That response is unusually civil for him.”
“You are familiar with Father Salinas, then?” Isaac asked, before he fully realized what he was implying.
“Unfortunately,” the Indian replied, without any trace of humor.
Frowning, Isaac said, “Some of the other priests are also wondering why you have not left yet.”
“So eager to have us off your land?” the Indian asked, a sarcastic note cutting into his deep voice.
“Yes,” Isaac said bluntly. When neither responded, he added, “It cannot be comfortable to sleep outside.”
“I’m comfortable.” The Indian lit another cigarette, letting the end smoulder for a bit before taking a drag. Looking up to see Isaac still there, he lay back on ground and closed his eyes. “Go away, priest. We have no business together.”
“We want information,” the Chinaman spoke for the first time. His speech was accented, but not as heavily as Isaac had expected.
“Father Salinas said he had told you all he knew,” Isaac said, slightly troubled.
The Indian snorted. “Salinas knows far more than he lets on, and far less than he thinks.”
Isaac hesitated. He felt that he should be indignant at the accusation, that he had a duty to his superior to defend him, but the words died even as they formed. He had seen first hand the webs of deception that Father Salinas had woven without a second thought, and the truth that had cut far deeper because of them.
“What do you want to know?” the priest asked.
The Indian half-opened one eye, like a cat that was sleepy but still slightly curious. “You priests would like to pretend that everything is over now that we have killed your problem, but it’s not as simple as that,” he said. “We need information to make sure that nothing more is going to come of this. His sister might have the information we need, but she hasn’t been very cooperative when we have talked to her.”
Isaac felt a sudden burst of anger. “Leave her out of this! Haven’t you done enough to her?”
“There’s nothing to get angry about, priest” the Indian reprimanded, sitting upright. His voice was as hard as steel. “She should feel glad that the monster is dead.”
“He was her brother!” Isaac yelled heatedly.
“She did not seem very likely to be helpful, in any case,” the Chinaman cut in, clearly perturbed by the others’ behavior.
“I cannot imagine what you want with her. And she won’t talk to you. Father Salinas made it very clear he did not want anyone to speak to you, and she has always been very intimidated by Father Salinas,” Isaac sighed, calming down. “She is not likely to risk his disapproval.”
“Someone’s disapproval, anyway. Although I wonder if she is so frightened of Salinas learning that she knew more than she told,” the Indian said, giving Isaac a look. Isaac returned a blank stare. The Indian rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”
“He could reassure her,” the Chinaman suggested.
“Hmpf. Maybe we might get something done after all,” the Indian replied. To Isaac, he said, “If you are willing to stop hovering over the girl like a mother hen, we can ask a few questions, get out of your hair, and you can leave this whole sordid mess behind you.”
“No,” the priest said firmly.
“Then perhaps you could help us, if what you said about the bear was true,” the Chinaman persuaded.
Isaac folded his arms across his chest, looking dubious. “What do you want to know?” he asked again.
The Chinaman stood and pulled out a small bag. He opened it to reveal a small amount of deep brown earth. “There are two large patches of this earth near your Mission. It is stained with blood, we are sure. One of the patches we know where it came from. A Father Miguel, we believe? We need to know about the other. ”
Isaac took a pinch from the bag. It had a strange consistency, thick and ashy, with clumps of earth sticking together and crumbling between his fingers. There was a keen, sharp smell that cut into his senses. His mouth suddenly tasted of copper.
Oh, he thought, this is...
He could feel the flames on his face, the tearing of flesh. The screams ringing in his ears. The pale white face, staring up into the moonlit sky.
“It attacked us,” Isaac gasped, flinging the dirt from him with all his might. The two men exchanged glances.
“You are the person Manuel attacked?” the Indian asked, unsurprised.
“Father Salinas had ordered everyone inside the Mission. I went outside to get Maria and... that creature...” Isaac trailed off. “It wasn’t her fault,” he said firmly, noting the expression on the Indian’s face.
“How did you survive?” the Chinaman asked.
Isaac winced involuntarily. “I... I don’t know. It just left.”
The Indian seemed to ponder this for a second, but shook his head. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a small silver disk, decorated with turquoise. Unfamiliar black patterns were etched into the talisman; Isaac did not recognize them as any of the designs that the Mission Indians sometimes used. The Indian wordlessly offered the disk to the priest.
Isaac reached out and picked it up. It felt pleasant to the touch, the coolness of the metal radiating out into his hot skin. The priest squinted to get a better look at the patterns. There was a strange tingling feeling in the back of his mind, not unpleasant, but that urged him to look deeper. With a silent prayer on his lips, he concentrated on the talisman. There was something inside it, a powerful energy, that hummed against his hands.
‘What is this?” Isaac asked, his eyes full of wonder. “There is some divine blessing on this.”
The Indian looked at him, the cigarette slowly burning down between his lips. He finally took it from his mouth and flicked it aside, grinding it out with his heel. “Does Salinas know about this?” he asked, avoiding Isaac’s question.
“About what?” Isaac asked, confused.
“That your god answers your prayers, priest.”
Isaac shook his head, not understanding. “God answers everyone’s prayers.”
The Chinaman gave a smile. “I would guess that the priest does not.”
“I don’t understand,” Isaac said. “What is this about?”
“The talisman’s power is not what is relevant, although it is interesting that you can see it,” the Indian said. “What was relevant is that it is made of silver. This close to the full moon, it is painful to touch for all of the spirit-men.”
“Spirit-men?” Isaac asked.
“Sit down if you want me to explain. It hurts my neck to look up at you,” the Indian replied. As an afterthought, he added, “My name is Muata. It may aid you to know it.”
“I am Hua Huojin,” the Chinaman said as he reseated himself.
“Faah...” Isaac tried, wrapping his mouth around the strange syllables.
“Uh, you can call me James,” the Chinaman suggested.
“I am Father Isaac Matthews,” Isaac introduced himself, settling himself on the warm ground. He leaned back on his hands and looked at Muata to continue.
“The spirit-men are both human and animal, two in one body,” Muata explained. “Most of the time they walk as men, no different from any other. Sometimes when they choose, sometimes when they don’t, the animal spirit takes control. What attacked you that night was the spirit of brother bear, acting through the body of Manuel.”
“But, Manuel was nothing like that,” Isaac objected. “Or so I thought. Could he have hidden such a thing for so long?”
“No. He became a spirit-man, priest,” Muata said, his eyes as black as pits. “Brother bear is angry. His people are dead. His lands are gone. Where he once held respect, he is now no more than a beast. Manuel understood. The Miwok are dying as well. Your Mission now holds no more than six, all devoted to the priests who treat them like slaves. Including his sister.” The Indian shot a dark look at Isaac. “He made a deal with brother bear for the only thing that both of them had left: revenge.”
“I wish I could have helped him,” Isaac said sadly. “But he is gone now. I don’t understand why any of this matters.”
The Indian looked at him, his face stern. “Priest, the Miwok are my people as well. Do you truly believe that I would hunt and murder my own kindred for killing one of your priests?”
“I hadn’t thought of it on those terms,” Isaac admitted. “We were defenseless. I do not believe you would have left us to die.”
“That’s because you are an idiot,” came the sharp reply. “My people once looked upon the spirit-men as a blessing, but we soon discovered otherwise. They were more beast than beasts ever were, with the worst traits of man and animal. They gorged themselves on vengeance and became twisted with hate. Most of them lost their mind, seeking the destruction of all humans. The worst of them sought to spread their condition to others.”
“Spread it? They recruited others?” Isaac asked.
Muata shook his head. “No. The teeth and claws of the spirit-men holds a strange venom. It poisons the soul as it heals the body, and makes humans weak to the spirit world. If a man becomes too weak, a spirit can possess him unwillingly. Then he will be a spirit-man too.” The Indian ran his fingers down the surface of the talisman, his expression distant. “That is why I hunt them, priest. I will not allow our people to become worse than those who they hate. We may die, but we will die with dignity.”
“You were lucky you did not become a spirit-beast,” Huojin added. “You were lucky you survived. I thought that the earth was mixed with blood, but I was mistaken. No man can bleed that much and live.”
“I didn’t bleed at all,” Isaac said, mostly to himself. “Lionel was the one who was scratched.”
Muata stared for a moment, then glanced at Huojin. The Chinaman shrugged, and Muata sighed. He unscrewed the top of his flask, eyed the contents, and then took a deep swig of it. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” he asked, exasperated, as he replaced the cap. “We must talk to him.”
“I was just going to see him now,” Isaac said. “I could bring him to meet you when he gets off of his work shift, if he wants to.”
“We will wait outside the restaurant,” Muata said, rising to his feet. The Chinaman followed suit, shouldering his rifle across his back. Isaac frowned, but could think of nothing to stop them from following him.
They walked in silence for most of the way. As he began to weave through the crowded streets of San Francisco, the priest finally spoke. “You’re wasting your time. Lionel was barely touched by that creature, same as myself. If it had hit him soundly, he would have been killed.”
“Under normal circumstances, certainly,” Muata said cryptically. Isaac looked at him, but the Indian did not elaborate.
“How would you even be able to tell if someone was a spirit-man?” Isaac asked, having resigned himself to his unwelcome comrades and needing to indulge his curiosity.
“As I said, this close to the full moon, all spirit-men are deeply pained by the touch of silver,” Muata said. “Most of the time, we are not as lucky. We have to wait for the spirit-man to transform to be sure. That is why we must take care of this now.”
“Surely one possessed against his will could fight off the spirit,” Isaac protested. “With the aid of a priest, if necessary. It is, after all, nothing more than an animal.”
Muata sneered slightly at that, but only said, “Hardly. Any time the man is weakened, the beast will take control. Even if the man is at his full strength, all spirits hold something sacred. When they are exposed to it, they gain enormous strength, more than any mortal can match.”
“What?” Isaac exclaimed. “You’re saying that these creatures could transform at any second?”
“Now you begin to understand,” Muata said. “But I have only ever seen them tied to phases of the moon. Most of the unwilling spirit-men are completely harmless until nightfall-”
Isaac stopped dead. The restaurant was exploded outwards, as if a barrel of gunpowder had blown out the walls. The interior lay in ruins, the wooden tables no more than firewood now. Deep claw marks scored what was left of the furniture. The constabulary and the common folk stood together around the building, looking as helpless as Isaac felt; a few of them covered the sad remains of what had once been customers, expecting nothing more than an early lunch.
“Unless something else weakens them,” Muata continued, his voice grave.
“Oh,” Isaac said numbly. “The silverware.”
****
The priest sat outside the ruined restaurant, unconsciously flipping one of his dimes over in his fingers. The crowd remained, staring at the wreckage and whispering among themselves, blocking the street with their numbers. Muata had vanished right after they had discovered the scene, and had still not returned hours later. Isaac could see Huojin talking to the man in the blue uniform, who had been lucky enough to have been dining elsewhere. Isaac could only assume that Norton had come here out of his delusional sense of duty.
The polished surface of the dime reflected the light oddly, forming strange patterns of color in the silver. For a second, he thought he could see a huddled figure, clinging miserably to his torn clothing. Holding the coin still for a moment, Isaac smoothed his finger over it and peered into it’s depths. He could almost make out the landscape behind the man.
“Are you still here?” Muata’s voice interrupted, cutting through his thoughts. Isaac quickly gripped the dime in his hand and slipped it into his pocket.
“Where else would I be?” the priest asked, without bothering to look up.
“Go home, priest. There’s nothing for you to do here,” Muata said. “You will only impede what must be done.”
“Must be?” Isaac exclaimed, realization dawning on him. “You’re going after Lionel. You’re going to kill him, just like you killed poor Manuel. Only this time your ‘monster’ is not even responsible. You’re going to murder an innocent man.”
“I am going to do what is necessary,” Muata said sternly.
Isaac frowned. “I’ve heard that excuse before. From Father Salinas,” he retorted, taking a moment of guilty pleasure in the angry expression the response produced.
“Should I let your friend roam free instead?” the Indian suggested. “Perhaps you consider the occasional massacre an even trade? Every second I wait puts more lives in jeopardy.”
Isaac glared up at the other man. “Have you even tried to find another way of dealing with this?” he accused. “You seem to know everything about these beasts are created. Are you going to try to tell me that there is no way to remove the spirit, or did you even bother to try?”
Muata was silent for a long time. Just as Isaac was beginning to think the conversation was over, the Indian responded, “There is a way.”
“What? What is it?” the priest cried, clambering to his feet. “Why didn’t you use it before?”
“It only works on the willing, and Manuel was not,” Muata said. “But the spirits that enter this world do so out of desire, and anger. If they were to be appeased, it might be convinced to leave its host.”
“Appease it? How does one appease an animal?” Isaac questioned. “With food? How does a spirit eat?”
“You treat it with respect,” Muata said dryly. “My people honored the animals and the land, knowing that we depended on each other for survival. Your people see them as sport, and little else. Brother Bear has been humiliated, his people killed without need. They were once plentiful, but now they are waning. He wants the respect that he was once given.” Muata paused to light a cigarette, then looked directly at Isaac. “Have your friend give his respects to Brother Bear. Have him worship the bear totem, and pledge his service to the spirits. Then, perhaps Brother Bear will leave him.”
“Never,” Isaac said, venom in his voice.
“Is that your choice to make, priest?” the Indian asked.
“I will not allow my friend to bow down to that... that demon,” Isaac said hotly, almost frightening himself with his own anger.
The Indian thoughtfully twirled the cigarette between his fingers. “Good, because I had not intended to try it. If Brother Bear is not appeased, he will grow angry, and attack. And Brother Bear will not be easily pleased.” Muata placed the twisted cigarette back in his mouth. “Now, you realize there is nothing else to be done. Go home.”
“No,” Isaac said. “You might not be able to help him, but God can. The priests can.” He stalked forward, skirting the crowd, and began to walk back to the Mission. He could hear Muata mutter something under his breath, although he couldn’t make out the words. Isaac ignored him, striding away determinedly, but as his foot came down he felt his entire body suddenly seize up. It was as if every muscle in his body had chosen to tense at once; he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even turn his eyes to look around. He felt as though he were choking.
“You are not the only one whom the gods listen to,” Muata murmured in his ear. “Better men than you have tried. The church decided that the risk is not worth it.” He released his clenched hand, and suddenly Isaac could move again. The unexpected freedom caught him off balance, and he toppled forward onto the street. “There is no help for you at the Mission, priest,” Muata continued. “Salinas will do as he is told. There is no help for you at the church. It was the church that gave us our orders.”
“I have to try,” Isaac said miserably. He gasped for air as he slowly pushed himself up.
“You would be better off forgetting it,” Muata warned. “It will bring you nothing but pain.”
“It’s the right thing to do!” Isaac insisted.
Muata shook his head, staring off into the distance. “There is no right and wrong here, priest. There are only the prices you’re willing to pay.”
The priest stared at him as he angrily brushed himself off, but Muata didn’t seem to notice. “We will return to the Mission at night, if you wish to find us,” the Indian added. “During the day, we hunt for your friend. Pray to your god we find him first.”
Isaac didn’t turn to watch the other man depart. He could see Huojin approaching, following his companion, but Isaac was surprised to see the Chinaman stop in front of him. He removed a carefully folded silk sheet from under his arm and offered it to the priest, who took it after a moment. It was heavier than he expected.
“The Emperor asked me to give this to you,” Huojin said, as explanation.
“The Emperor?” the astonished priest asked. “How could he possibly know of me all the way across the ocean?”
“Not that Emperor,” Huojin corrected, earnestly. “Our Emperor.”
Puzzled, Isaac carefully unfolded the cloth as the Chinaman left him. He pulled from it a long length of chain, which glistened silver in the sunlight. Quickly dropping the chain back into the makeshift bag, Isaac looked all around him, but the man in the blue uniform was nowhere to be seen. His determination bolstered by the unexpected gift, Isaac pulled the dime from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hand.
“Please,” he said to the image of Lady Liberty, “help me find him.”
He felt a tug on his hand. Instinctively, he took a step towards it. The colors swirled on the coin’s surface as he followed the invisible pull, letting it lead him out of the city.
****
The San Francisco fog had rolled in when he found Lionel, sitting close to the bay. The waiter clung desperately to his shredded clothing, as if it could provide some relief from the chilling sea-breeze. Isaac unfolded the silk cloth that Huojin had given him, casting the silver chain aside with an audible clank, and wrapped it around his friend’s shivering frame. Lionel glanced up at him, a picture of anguish etched on his features.
“She knew,” he said, accusingly.
Isaac sighed. “Most likely.”
“My father was in there,” Lionel said, wretchedly.
The priest sat himself down next to his friend, gazing out onto the deep blue water. “He could have escaped,” he tried to reassure.
Lionel forced a smile. “Yeah. My father’s dealt with worse from customers,” he tried to joke, but there was no humor in his voice. The waiter took a deep breath, as if gathering all his remaining strength, and then said, “Isaac, I don’t want to risk your life as well.”
“I am not going to leave, if that is what you’re suggesting,” the priest replied.
“Then chain me up,” Lionel begged, eying the silver chains on the ground with fear. “Throw me in prison. Anything! Just don’t let me hurt you, like I did all those people.”
“That wasn’t you,” Isaac said, anger creeping into his voice. He leaned back and took the chain, watching as Lionel unconsciously flinched from it. “I’ll wrap it around the silk, so it won’t touch your skin,” the priest said, setting to work. The result seemed less than satisfactory to Isaac, who had no experience with tying restraints. He hoped it was a convincing enough facade to reassure Lionel.
The waiter, though shielded by the silk cloth, still shifted uncomfortably, as if the metal irritated him on some primal level. It took considerable mental strength for him not to struggle against his bonds; beads of sweat started to drip down his face. He turned to Isaac and said, in a strained voice, “You have to help me.”
“I don’t know how,” Isaac admitted.
“I don’t know, surely you can... do something,” Lionel finished, lamely. “I know I haven’t been the best of men. I know,” he flinched, “I know I haven’t been the most reverent. I’m sorry. But surely even I don’t deserve this?”
“No,” Isaac said. “You don’t. No one does.”
The waiter’s resolve finally cracked. He strained against his bonds, his face locked in agony as the chains dug into his flesh. “Help me,” he sobbed, struggling vainly. “I’ll do anything. Just help me!”
Isaac leaned forward, putting his hands firmly on Lionel’s shoulders. “Do you renounce Satan?” he asked, looking Lionel in the eye.
“Yes,” the other man managed to say.
“And all of his works?”
“Yes!”
Isaac stood up. “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde,” he began to pray. “I exorcise thee, every unclean spirit, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis.” He made the sign of the cross, pausing slightly in his gesture as he noticed Lionel’s struggling increase. “Et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei...” Isaac trailed off in fear as he watched Lionel’s eyes turn molten gold. Belatedly remembering Muata’s warning, Isaac summoned his courage and continued, “quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo.”
Lionel’s entire body shuddered. Smoke began to rise from the cloth beneath the chains. “Run,” the waiter managed to say, before he started to scream.
Isaac ran.
Behind him he could hear the sickening crunch of broken bones, and the silver chains snapping like twigs, but it was the agonized screaming, like the damned wailing in their eternal torment, that caused him to keep running. He ran until the screams no longer echoed in his ears, until exhaustion had worn away all of the grief in his heart.
****
When Lionel awoke, he was surprised to find Isaac standing next to him.
The priest wordlessly extended his had, helping Lionel sit up. Angry red burns seared his skin where the chains had bound him. The waiter bit his hand, trying to clear the foul taste from his mouth.
“There’s blood everywhere...” he rasped.
“It’s alright, Lionel,” Isaac said, weakly. “It was,” he choked, and had to clear his throat to continue, “just some stray animal.” The silver ring he had found on the bloody remains, engraved with the name of a beloved fiancee, cut into his hand as his fingers clenched around it, hiding it from view.
“We have to try again,” Lionel pleaded. “We could... get more chains, or cage me up first...”
Isaac shook his head sadly. “I am sorry. I am just not strong enough.”
“What about... what about those hunters?” Lionel suggested. “Or Maria? Surely they know some way to stop this?”
Isaac looked into his friend’s desperate eyes, then turned away, unable to keep his composure any longer. He glanced down at the ring in his hand, then, quickly slipped it into his pocket. It fell with a heavy clang, to Isaac’s ears, though Lionel did not seem to notice. “I asked them,” he managed, after taking several deep breaths. “There is nothing.”
Lionel slumped forward in abject despair, putting his head in his hands. He trembled in misery for quite some time, but Isaac did not move to comfort him. “I don’t want to die,” the waiter wept. “Even after all I’ve done, I still want to live, more than anything.”
“It’s not your fault,” Isaac murmured. “There is no sin without free will.”
“It’s still... me, Isaac,” Lionel said. “As long as I’m alive, everyone around me is in danger. There’s nowhere for me to go. I don’t know what to do!”
Isaac bowed his head, staring mindlessly down at the ground, which he could barely see in the dying light. “We’ll go to the Mission.”
Lionel looked up, hope dawning in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “The priests will offer sanctuary. They must be able to do something to help.”
Isaac couldn’t bear to reply. He simply nodded.
As the sun slipped below the horizon Lionel quickened his pace, trying to catch up with Isaac, who walked steadfastly ahead. As he approached, the priest averted is eyes.
“Do you really believe what you said to Maria?” Lionel asked. “About forgiveness, no matter what?”
“Yes,” Isaac said, a single tear trickling down his cheek.
“May God forgive me,” he whispered.
****
It had been far too easy.
It had been easy to steel himself for a crime that hadn’t happened yet. Easy to accept a murder that had only happened in his head. It had been easy to to rehearse his empty words when the listener couldn’t talk back, easy to tell himself it was necessary when he hadn’t had to do it. It had been so, so easy to justify when he knew his finger wouldn’t be on the trigger.
Isaac stumbled through the Mission entrance, his vision fogged by hot tears. Shadowed figures were rising up all around him, cloaked by the darkness, speaking words he barely heard. Their hands tore at his sleeves, trying to drag him down into the depths of despair. He roughly shoved them away, escaping into the cathedral.
“I know I can always count on you,” the shadows mocked, as he slammed the doors behind him..
He hadn’t been prepared for the look on his face.
The candles still burned in their holders, and the the moon shone down on him through the stained glass. The light did little to keep the shadows at bay, serving only to increase their presence, now faint and ethereal more than flesh and blood. They haunted his vision, flitting around the corners of his eyes, threatening to surge forward and consume him at any second. Isaac staggered up to the candlelit altar, the flickering flames barely lighting his path.
“...priests will offer sanctuary,” the shadows hissed.
He hadn’t been prepared for the hurt in his eyes.
The golden cross shone a sickly yellow in the pale light. Isaac bowed to it out habit more than conscious effort, disturbing the change in his pockets. The cacophony rang in his ears, and he covered them in anguish. The coins clinked together incessantly, like chains, silver chains, wrapped around his friend, dragging him out to the gallows. His priestly vestments hung heavy around his neck, like executioner robes.
“...an honest man...” the shadows laughed.
He hadn’t been prepared to see the lifeless shell of his friend, never to smile or joke or laugh again.
The noise was driving him insane.
Reaching out into his pockets, he turned them out violently, casting the dimes across the chapel floor. The coins shone brightly in the moonlight, and Isaac put his head in his hands. For, scattered on the floor before him were twenty-nine dimes and a single ring, thirty pieces of silver, silently condemning him with their presence.
With nothing else that could be done, Isaac knelt down amongst the scattered coins and wept.
“Forgive me...”
The polished surface of the dime reflected the light oddly, forming strange patterns of color in the silver. For a second, he thought he could see a huddled figure, clinging miserably to his torn clothing. Holding the coin still for a moment, Isaac smoothed his finger over it and peered into it’s depths. He could almost make out the landscape behind the man.
“Are you still here?” Muata’s voice interrupted, cutting through his thoughts. Isaac quickly gripped the dime in his hand and slipped it into his pocket.
“Where else would I be?” the priest asked, without bothering to look up.
“Go home, priest. There’s nothing for you to do here,” Muata said. “You will only impede what must be done.”
“Must be?” Isaac exclaimed, realization dawning on him. “You’re going after Lionel. You’re going to kill him, just like you killed poor Manuel. Only this time your ‘monster’ is not even responsible. You’re going to murder an innocent man.”
“I am going to do what is necessary,” Muata said sternly.
Isaac frowned. “I’ve heard that excuse before. From Father Salinas,” he retorted, taking a moment of guilty pleasure in the angry expression the response produced.
“Should I let your friend roam free instead?” the Indian suggested. “Perhaps you consider the occasional massacre an even trade? Every second I wait puts more lives in jeopardy.”
Isaac glared up at the other man. “Have you even tried to find another way of dealing with this?” he accused. “You seem to know everything about these beasts are created. Are you going to try to tell me that there is no way to remove the spirit, or did you even bother to try?”
Muata was silent for a long time. Just as Isaac was beginning to think the conversation was over, the Indian responded, “There is a way.”
“What? What is it?” the priest cried, clambering to his feet. “Why didn’t you use it before?”
“It only works on the willing, and Manuel was not,” Muata said. “But the spirits that enter this world do so out of desire, and anger. If they were to be appeased, it might be convinced to leave its host.”
“Appease it? How does one appease an animal?” Isaac questioned. “With food? How does a spirit eat?”
“You treat it with respect,” Muata said dryly. “My people honored the animals and the land, knowing that we depended on each other for survival. Your people see them as sport, and little else. Brother Bear has been humiliated, his people killed without need. They were once plentiful, but now they are waning. He wants the respect that he was once given.” Muata paused to light a cigarette, then looked directly at Isaac. “Have your friend give his respects to Brother Bear. Have him worship the bear totem, and pledge his service to the spirits. Then, perhaps Brother Bear will leave him.”
“Never,” Isaac said, venom in his voice.
“Is that your choice to make, priest?” the Indian asked.
“I will not allow my friend to bow down to that... that demon,” Isaac said hotly, almost frightening himself with his own anger.
The Indian thoughtfully twirled the cigarette between his fingers. “Good, because I had not intended to try it. If Brother Bear is not appeased, he will grow angry, and attack. And Brother Bear will not be easily pleased.” Muata placed the twisted cigarette back in his mouth. “Now, you realize there is nothing else to be done. Go home.”
“No,” Isaac said. “You might not be able to help him, but God can. The priests can.” He stalked forward, skirting the crowd, and began to walk back to the Mission. He could hear Muata mutter something under his breath, although he couldn’t make out the words. Isaac ignored him, striding away determinedly, but as his foot came down he felt his entire body suddenly seize up. It was as if every muscle in his body had chosen to tense at once; he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even turn his eyes to look around. He felt as though he were choking.
“You are not the only one whom the gods listen to,” Muata murmured in his ear. “Better men than you have tried. The church decided that the risk is not worth it.” He released his clenched hand, and suddenly Isaac could move again. The unexpected freedom caught him off balance, and he toppled forward onto the street. “There is no help for you at the Mission, priest,” Muata continued. “Salinas will do as he is told. There is no help for you at the church. It was the church that gave us our orders.”
“I have to try,” Isaac said miserably. He gasped for air as he slowly pushed himself up.
“You would be better off forgetting it,” Muata warned. “It will bring you nothing but pain.”
“It’s the right thing to do!” Isaac insisted.
Muata shook his head, staring off into the distance. “There is no right and wrong here, priest. There are only the prices you’re willing to pay.”
The priest stared at him as he angrily brushed himself off, but Muata didn’t seem to notice. “We will return to the Mission at night, if you wish to find us,” the Indian added. “During the day, we hunt for your friend. Pray to your god we find him first.”
Isaac didn’t turn to watch the other man depart. He could see Huojin approaching, following his companion, but Isaac was surprised to see the Chinaman stop in front of him. He removed a carefully folded silk sheet from under his arm and offered it to the priest, who took it after a moment. It was heavier than he expected.
“The Emperor asked me to give this to you,” Huojin said, as explanation.
“The Emperor?” the astonished priest asked. “How could he possibly know of me all the way across the ocean?”
“Not that Emperor,” Huojin corrected, earnestly. “Our Emperor.”
Puzzled, Isaac carefully unfolded the cloth as the Chinaman left him. He pulled from it a long length of chain, which glistened silver in the sunlight. Quickly dropping the chain back into the makeshift bag, Isaac looked all around him, but the man in the blue uniform was nowhere to be seen. His determination bolstered by the unexpected gift, Isaac pulled the dime from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hand.
“Please,” he said to the image of Lady Liberty, “help me find him.”
He felt a tug on his hand. Instinctively, he took a step towards it. The colors swirled on the coin’s surface as he followed the invisible pull, letting it lead him out of the city.
****
The San Francisco fog had rolled in when he found Lionel, sitting close to the bay. The waiter clung desperately to his shredded clothing, as if it could provide some relief from the chilling sea-breeze. Isaac unfolded the silk cloth that Huojin had given him, casting the silver chain aside with an audible clank, and wrapped it around his friend’s shivering frame. Lionel glanced up at him, a picture of anguish etched on his features.
“She knew,” he said, accusingly.
Isaac sighed. “Most likely.”
“My father was in there,” Lionel said, wretchedly.
The priest sat himself down next to his friend, gazing out onto the deep blue water. “He could have escaped,” he tried to reassure.
Lionel forced a smile. “Yeah. My father’s dealt with worse from customers,” he tried to joke, but there was no humor in his voice. The waiter took a deep breath, as if gathering all his remaining strength, and then said, “Isaac, I don’t want to risk your life as well.”
“I am not going to leave, if that is what you’re suggesting,” the priest replied.
“Then chain me up,” Lionel begged, eying the silver chains on the ground with fear. “Throw me in prison. Anything! Just don’t let me hurt you, like I did all those people.”
“That wasn’t you,” Isaac said, anger creeping into his voice. He leaned back and took the chain, watching as Lionel unconsciously flinched from it. “I’ll wrap it around the silk, so it won’t touch your skin,” the priest said, setting to work. The result seemed less than satisfactory to Isaac, who had no experience with tying restraints. He hoped it was a convincing enough facade to reassure Lionel.
The waiter, though shielded by the silk cloth, still shifted uncomfortably, as if the metal irritated him on some primal level. It took considerable mental strength for him not to struggle against his bonds; beads of sweat started to drip down his face. He turned to Isaac and said, in a strained voice, “You have to help me.”
“I don’t know how,” Isaac admitted.
“I don’t know, surely you can... do something,” Lionel finished, lamely. “I know I haven’t been the best of men. I know,” he flinched, “I know I haven’t been the most reverent. I’m sorry. But surely even I don’t deserve this?”
“No,” Isaac said. “You don’t. No one does.”
The waiter’s resolve finally cracked. He strained against his bonds, his face locked in agony as the chains dug into his flesh. “Help me,” he sobbed, struggling vainly. “I’ll do anything. Just help me!”
Isaac leaned forward, putting his hands firmly on Lionel’s shoulders. “Do you renounce Satan?” he asked, looking Lionel in the eye.
“Yes,” the other man managed to say.
“And all of his works?”
“Yes!”
Isaac stood up. “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde,” he began to pray. “I exorcise thee, every unclean spirit, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis.” He made the sign of the cross, pausing slightly in his gesture as he noticed Lionel’s struggling increase. “Et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei...” Isaac trailed off in fear as he watched Lionel’s eyes turn molten gold. Belatedly remembering Muata’s warning, Isaac summoned his courage and continued, “quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo.”
Lionel’s entire body shuddered. Smoke began to rise from the cloth beneath the chains. “Run,” the waiter managed to say, before he started to scream.
Isaac ran.
Behind him he could hear the sickening crunch of broken bones, and the silver chains snapping like twigs, but it was the agonized screaming, like the damned wailing in their eternal torment, that caused him to keep running. He ran until the screams no longer echoed in his ears, until exhaustion had worn away all of the grief in his heart.
****
When Lionel awoke, he was surprised to find Isaac standing next to him.
The priest wordlessly extended his had, helping Lionel sit up. Angry red burns seared his skin where the chains had bound him. The waiter bit his hand, trying to clear the foul taste from his mouth.
“There’s blood everywhere...” he rasped.
“It’s alright, Lionel,” Isaac said, weakly. “It was,” he choked, and had to clear his throat to continue, “just some stray animal.” The silver ring he had found on the bloody remains, engraved with the name of a beloved fiancee, cut into his hand as his fingers clenched around it, hiding it from view.
“We have to try again,” Lionel pleaded. “We could... get more chains, or cage me up first...”
Isaac shook his head sadly. “I am sorry. I am just not strong enough.”
“What about... what about those hunters?” Lionel suggested. “Or Maria? Surely they know some way to stop this?”
Isaac looked into his friend’s desperate eyes, then turned away, unable to keep his composure any longer. He glanced down at the ring in his hand, then, quickly slipped it into his pocket. It fell with a heavy clang, to Isaac’s ears, though Lionel did not seem to notice. “I asked them,” he managed, after taking several deep breaths. “There is nothing.”
Lionel slumped forward in abject despair, putting his head in his hands. He trembled in misery for quite some time, but Isaac did not move to comfort him. “I don’t want to die,” the waiter wept. “Even after all I’ve done, I still want to live, more than anything.”
“It’s not your fault,” Isaac murmured. “There is no sin without free will.”
“It’s still... me, Isaac,” Lionel said. “As long as I’m alive, everyone around me is in danger. There’s nowhere for me to go. I don’t know what to do!”
Isaac bowed his head, staring mindlessly down at the ground, which he could barely see in the dying light. “We’ll go to the Mission.”
Lionel looked up, hope dawning in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “The priests will offer sanctuary. They must be able to do something to help.”
Isaac couldn’t bear to reply. He simply nodded.
As the sun slipped below the horizon Lionel quickened his pace, trying to catch up with Isaac, who walked steadfastly ahead. As he approached, the priest averted is eyes.
“Do you really believe what you said to Maria?” Lionel asked. “About forgiveness, no matter what?”
“Yes,” Isaac said, a single tear trickling down his cheek.
“May God forgive me,” he whispered.
****
It had been far too easy.
It had been easy to steel himself for a crime that hadn’t happened yet. Easy to accept a murder that had only happened in his head. It had been easy to to rehearse his empty words when the listener couldn’t talk back, easy to tell himself it was necessary when he hadn’t had to do it. It had been so, so easy to justify when he knew his finger wouldn’t be on the trigger.
Isaac stumbled through the Mission entrance, his vision fogged by hot tears. Shadowed figures were rising up all around him, cloaked by the darkness, speaking words he barely heard. Their hands tore at his sleeves, trying to drag him down into the depths of despair. He roughly shoved them away, escaping into the cathedral.
“I know I can always count on you,” the shadows mocked, as he slammed the doors behind him..
He hadn’t been prepared for the look on his face.
The candles still burned in their holders, and the the moon shone down on him through the stained glass. The light did little to keep the shadows at bay, serving only to increase their presence, now faint and ethereal more than flesh and blood. They haunted his vision, flitting around the corners of his eyes, threatening to surge forward and consume him at any second. Isaac staggered up to the candlelit altar, the flickering flames barely lighting his path.
“...priests will offer sanctuary,” the shadows hissed.
He hadn’t been prepared for the hurt in his eyes.
The golden cross shone a sickly yellow in the pale light. Isaac bowed to it out habit more than conscious effort, disturbing the change in his pockets. The cacophony rang in his ears, and he covered them in anguish. The coins clinked together incessantly, like chains, silver chains, wrapped around his friend, dragging him out to the gallows. His priestly vestments hung heavy around his neck, like executioner robes.
“...an honest man...” the shadows laughed.
He hadn’t been prepared to see the lifeless shell of his friend, never to smile or joke or laugh again.
The noise was driving him insane.
Reaching out into his pockets, he turned them out violently, casting the dimes across the chapel floor. The coins shone brightly in the moonlight, and Isaac put his head in his hands. For, scattered on the floor before him were twenty-nine dimes and a single ring, thirty pieces of silver, silently condemning him with their presence.
With nothing else that could be done, Isaac knelt down amongst the scattered coins and wept.
“Forgive me...”
"No, but evil is still being — Is having reason — Being reasonable! Mousie understands? Is always being reason. Is punishing world for not being... Like in head. Is always reason. World should be different, is reason."