Wolves Among Us(41)
“A man spied a pearl in a vast field of stones, and he went and sold all he had. He purchased that field and claimed his treasure, and none could stop him.”
“And Jesus said this was like the kingdom of God.”
Bastion raised his eyebrows. “Do you know the Bible?”
“Not as well as I should.” Mia could not hide the pain in her voice.
He bent for another kiss, but she pushed him back.
Bastion bowed and departed.
Chapter Eighteen
Stefan looked at the boys’ dirty faces. Their bodies were smeared with ashes. The eldest insisted he should be paid more, as he had collected the bones. Bastion requested the bones be saved for him. He would smash them and scatter them in the river, sending Rose’s—the witch’s—remains out into the sea, where she would be lost forever. Stefan pressed a coin into each palm covered in ash and grime.
“Bless you, Father,” one boy called, running for home. Their mothers would be filled with joy at the money. Or maybe they would pause for a shy moment before extending their palms, thinking this was blood money—blood money that Father Stefan had brought to them all.
It had been the right thing to do, calling for an Inquisitor. A murder had occurred—two murders, in fact. Left on the church steps like a dare. Bjorn could not have been counted on to understand the enormous opportunity. He had even seemed hostile to the idea of calling for an Inquisitor. Stefan heard tales of Inquisitors, always busy in more prominent towns, always doing great works that the church fathers would not soon forget. The village of Dinfoil could be remembered too. Great works could be done here. Two murders gave reason enough to call for an Inquisitor.
“I have done what was right,” Stefan prayed aloud, “and yet, Lord, my soul is not at peace. Something raw lies in my heart that will not let me rest. Is it something I have done? Have I failed You somehow?”
The candles below the altar burned but did not dance. Stefan saw that nothing stirred the air. He was alone. Maybe he had always been alone in here. Or maybe God would not answer because the answer must be brought up from Stefan’s heart.
Stefan cleared his throat, grateful to be alone. He was going to say something foolish. “I brought Bastion here. But the suffering he caused does not seem right to me. I cannot argue with what he says. He is smarter than I am, and better educated. All I have is a painful sense that You are not pleased. Is it me, O Lord? Do I displease You? What more do You have for me to learn?”
After a long, empty silence, he looked around, his eyes noting the seat Rose had preferred. He had known her for more than ten years, since her husband came to work the land for the baron who owned much of this village. She had arrived in winter, and Stefan had gone at once to welcome them. Rose had clutched his hand and thanked him, over and over, for such kindness. To a frightened young bride in a new village, a kind priest was a lifeline.
She had attended every service, except when her husband’s recurring illnesses prevented her from leaving their home. He had declined fast after the wedding, leaving her with work and no children for comfort. After the funeral, Rose had continued to stay on in the village, a faithful, friendly face as he said Mass. Two springs had passed since she stopped attending so often, even struggling for words when she sat in the confessional. I was a poor priest, he thought, to fail in giving sustaining words. He had no idea what was wrong with her. Her faithful, friendly face turned dark and hard, sitting through Masses with an accusing eye.
Eventually he became glad when she did not attend.
But had she been a witch?
Behind the altar, in the back of the church, was a hallway. The sun came in through a single window. Stefan watched as the light illuminated particles of dust floating in the air. They swirled and flew up like sparks. Something had stirred them.
“Hello?” Stefan listened and heard nothing. “Who is there?”
He heard a scratching sound.
Stefan grunted loudly, ignoring his quivering hands, and stood, walking past the altar, approaching the hallway. The sound intensified. He stepped into the hallway, his hands curled into fists.
A cat scratched at the door at the end of the hall, wanting to be let out. Stefan’s shoulders slumped down, and he laughed, scooping it up, ruffling the fur around its ears. The cat meowed in outrage. A big female, probably just had kittens, too, Stefan judged by her loose, flapping belly. He opened the door and placed it on the ground, letting it flee before he shut the door once more. He didn’t turn around. What he really feared, the course of all his deepest dread, rested behind him.
In the forlorn hours of the night, years ago, a stranger had come to the church. Stefan had fallen asleep on a pew before the altar, too tired from his midnight prayers to walk back to the dormitory. A noise disturbed his sleep, and he woke to find a cloaked man placing something on the altar. Stefan sat up.
“What are you doing?” he had called.
The man turned, and Stefan looked into his face. He would never forget the man. The stranger had haunted eyes with dark circles underneath. His face looked gaunt, his body thin like a saint who fed on suffering. Stefan reached for his bag to offer the man a coin, but the man fled back down the aisle and out into the night. Stefan rose to examine the gift left by the stranger on the altar. It had been a book. Stefan opened the cover and looked inside, as the hairs rose along his arms. He could be excommunicated if caught with this.