touching his head at various spots. “Edward, does my head look bigger to you?”
“Shut your mouth, Tristan,” I say. He believes in nothing, Tristan. As I stand and stare at this tapestry, I wish I, too, could believe in nothing. But the sight of this artwork sends chills crawling like demon fingers along the skin of my back. I am so hot and unsteady that I feel like shedding my armor. If I am in purgatory, then where is Elizabeth?
Tristan points to a soldier with a bulbous forehead. “Dear God!” he shouts. “It’s started! That poor man!”
Matheus stares at Tristan with a look of infinite patience, then speaks.
“You wanted to see hell, Tristan?” He points toward Boxford and the smoke columns in the distance. “That is hell. Hell surrounds us. There is no plague. There are only the saved and the unsaved. Those whom you call ‘afflicted’ have ascended to the Kingdom of Heaven. And the rest? They are lost in the darkness. You are up to your necks in hell, my friends, and the fiery waters continue to rise. There is only one way out. You must take it before your souls drown and the devil claims you for eternity.”
“In these times of madness,” Tristan says, smirking, “only the plague will save us. So why have you not been saved, Matheus?”
“I will be, Sir Tristan,” he replies. “I cannot wait for the day. But God and Hugh need a king here to help guide the lost back to their home.”
Belisencia’s fingers coil in her hair. Her green eyes are wide and shine with tears. “We…we are dead?”
“Yes, Sister,” Matheus says. “And God waits for you.”
“But…if the afflicted have gone to heaven, why do they still walk?” she asks. “Why do they not die?”
“Because this is hell, Sister. And when the spirit departs the body in hell, demons take its place. The bodies lurch and stagger because demons fight amongst themselves for control. Like snails fighting for a shell.”
Belisencia’s hair flutters in the wind. I stare out into the village. Is Elizabeth in heaven? Am I searching for something that she does not need? Am I searching hell without purpose? If I must afflict myself to reunite with my angel, then I will let the demons tears my body apart. And I will smile as they do it.
But what if he is wrong?
“I always…” Tristan scratches at his neck. “I always imagined hell with a bit more…well…fire. What was all that bollocks about fiery lakes and brimstone?”
“The fire is inside us, Sir Tristan. We burn with fear and shame. Do you not feel a smoldering within you?”
“Yes,” Tristan says. “I thought it was the dried venison from the bandit camp.”
“Listen to him!” Belisencia weeps and falls to her knees. Her hands claw at Tristan. “Look at the tapestry! Look out there!”
“You try to deflect the truth with your humor, Sir Tristan,” Matheus says. “Do not harden your heart. Who do you know that has been afflicted? Are they not the devout? The innocent? The meek? The best of us?”
This last remark brings sweat to my brow. Elizabeth. Morgan. Matilda. I think of the priests and bishops. Of the monks and the holy devout. These are the people this plague has taken. Dear Lord, could Matheus be right? Is my Elizabeth waiting for me? I stare up into the sky, as if I might see her beckoning.
“You are right, Matheus,” Belisencia says. “It is the most devout who are taken. I have sinned, so I remain here in purgatory. I have sinned.” Belisencia tightens her lips and stops talking. I see the struggle on her face.
Matheus strokes her chin.
“Must you touch her so much?” Tristan asks.
“We are all sinners, Sister,” Matheus says. “It was only by Christ’s sacrifice that our sins were forgiven. We must make our own sacrifice. We must show God that we have faith. This plague is a test, my child. A trial of faith for those whom Saint Michael found unworthy of either heaven or hell.”
“Hallelujah,” Tristan says.
“God is merciful.”
“Shut your mouth, Tristan,” I say. He believes in nothing, Tristan. As I stand and stare at this tapestry, I wish I, too, could believe in nothing. But the sight of this artwork sends chills crawling like demon fingers along the skin of my back. I am so hot and unsteady that I feel like shedding my armor. If I am in purgatory, then where is Elizabeth?
Tristan points to a soldier with a bulbous forehead. “Dear God!” he shouts. “It’s started! That poor man!”
Matheus stares at Tristan with a look of infinite patience, then speaks.
“You wanted to see hell, Tristan?” He points toward Boxford and the smoke columns in the distance. “That is hell. Hell surrounds us. There is no plague. There are only the saved and the unsaved. Those whom you call ‘afflicted’ have ascended to the Kingdom of Heaven. And the rest? They are lost in the darkness. You are up to your necks in hell, my friends, and the fiery waters continue to rise. There is only one way out. You must take it before your souls drown and the devil claims you for eternity.”
“In these times of madness,” Tristan says, smirking, “only the plague will save us. So why have you not been saved, Matheus?”
“I will be, Sir Tristan,” he replies. “I cannot wait for the day. But God and Hugh need a king here to help guide the lost back to their home.”
Belisencia’s fingers coil in her hair. Her green eyes are wide and shine with tears. “We…we are dead?”
“Yes, Sister,” Matheus says. “And God waits for you.”
“But…if the afflicted have gone to heaven, why do they still walk?” she asks. “Why do they not die?”
“Because this is hell, Sister. And when the spirit departs the body in hell, demons take its place. The bodies lurch and stagger because demons fight amongst themselves for control. Like snails fighting for a shell.”
Belisencia’s hair flutters in the wind. I stare out into the village. Is Elizabeth in heaven? Am I searching for something that she does not need? Am I searching hell without purpose? If I must afflict myself to reunite with my angel, then I will let the demons tears my body apart. And I will smile as they do it.
But what if he is wrong?
“I always…” Tristan scratches at his neck. “I always imagined hell with a bit more…well…fire. What was all that bollocks about fiery lakes and brimstone?”
“The fire is inside us, Sir Tristan. We burn with fear and shame. Do you not feel a smoldering within you?”
“Yes,” Tristan says. “I thought it was the dried venison from the bandit camp.”
“Listen to him!” Belisencia weeps and falls to her knees. Her hands claw at Tristan. “Look at the tapestry! Look out there!”
“You try to deflect the truth with your humor, Sir Tristan,” Matheus says. “Do not harden your heart. Who do you know that has been afflicted? Are they not the devout? The innocent? The meek? The best of us?”
This last remark brings sweat to my brow. Elizabeth. Morgan. Matilda. I think of the priests and bishops. Of the monks and the holy devout. These are the people this plague has taken. Dear Lord, could Matheus be right? Is my Elizabeth waiting for me? I stare up into the sky, as if I might see her beckoning.
“You are right, Matheus,” Belisencia says. “It is the most devout who are taken. I have sinned, so I remain here in purgatory. I have sinned.” Belisencia tightens her lips and stops talking. I see the struggle on her face.
Matheus strokes her chin.
“Must you touch her so much?” Tristan asks.
“We are all sinners, Sister,” Matheus says. “It was only by Christ’s sacrifice that our sins were forgiven. We must make our own sacrifice. We must show God that we have faith. This plague is a test, my child. A trial of faith for those whom Saint Michael found unworthy of either heaven or hell.”
“Hallelujah,” Tristan says.
“God is merciful.”
Similar Books
