"Oh, but that is not so," I said. "Before God, I am the living proof."
"No," said my sister, "you are a good follower of St. Francis, a mendicant and a saint, because you are a simpleton, a fool. That's all St. Francis ever was--God's idiot, walking about barefoot preaching goodness, not knowing a word of theology really, and having his followers give away all they possessed. It was the perfect place to send you--the Italy of the Franciscans. You have the addled brain of the Taltos, who would play and sing and dance the livelong day and breed others for playing and singing and dancing..."
"I am a celibate," I said. "I am consecrated to God. I know nothing of such things." I was cut so deep it was a miracle the words would come from me. I was wounded. "I am not such a creature. How dare you?" I whispered, but then I bowed my head in humility. "Francis, help me now," I prayed.
"I know this whole story," declared the Dutchman, as my sister nodded. He went on. "We are an Order called the Talamasca. We know the Taltos. We always have. Our founder beheld with his own eyes the Taltos of his time. It was his great dream to bring the male Taltos together with the female Taltos, or with the witch whose blood was strong enough to take the male's seed. That has been our purpose for centuries, to watch, to wait, and to rescue the Taltos!--to rescue a male and a female in one generation if such a thing does occur! Ashlar, we know where there is a female! Do you understand?"
I could see this startled my sister. She had not known it, and now she looked at the Dutchman with suspicion, but he went on, urgently, as before.
"Have you a soul, Father?" he whispered to me, changing his manner now to a more wily one, "and a wit to know what it means? A pure female Taltos? And a brood of children born knowing, able to stand and to talk on the first day! Children who can so quickly beget other children?"
"Oh, what a fool you are," I said. "You come like the fiend to tempt Christ in the desert. You say to me, 'I would make you the ruler of the world.' "
"Yes, I say that! And I am prepared to assist you, to bring back your breed in full force and power again."
"And if you do think me this witless monster! Why would you so generously do this for me?"
"Brother, go with him," said my sister. "I don't know if this female exists. I have never beheld a female Taltos. But they are born, that's true. If you don't go, you will die tonight. You have heard tell of the little people. Do you know what they are?"
I didn't answer. I wanted to say, I do not care.
"They are the spawn of the witch that fails to grow into the Taltos. They carry the souls of the damned."
"The damned are in hell," I replied.
"You know this isn't so. The damned return in many forms. The dead can be restless, greedy, filled with vengeance. The little people dance and couple, drawing out the Christian men and women who would be witches, who would dance and fornicate, hoping for the blood to come together, for like to find like, and that the Taltos will be born.
"That is witchcraft, Brother. That is what it has always been--bring together the drunken women, so that they will risk death to make the Taltos. That is the old story of the revels in these dark glens. It is to make a race of giants who will, by sheer numbers, drive other mortals from the earth."
"God would not let such a thing happen," I said calmly.
"Neither will the people of the valley!" said the Dutchman. "Don't you understand? Throughout the centuries they have waited and watched and used the Taltos. It is good luck to them to bring together male and female, but only for their own cruel rituals!"
"I don't know what you are saying. I am not this thing."
"In my house in Amsterdam there are a thousand books which will tell you of your kind and other miraculous beings; there is all the knowledge we have gathered as we have waited. If you are not the simpleton, then come."
"And what are you?" I demanded. "The alchemist who would make a great homunculus?"
My sister put down her head on the table and wept.
"In my childhood I heard the legends," she said bitterly, wiping at her tears with her long fingers. "I prayed the Taltos would never come. No man shall ever touch me lest such a creature would be born to me! And if such were to happen, God forbid, I should strangle it before it ever drank the witch's milk from my breasts. But you, Brother, you were allowed to live, you drank your fill of the witch's milk and grew tall. Yet you were sent away to be saved. And now you have come home to fulfill the worst prophecies. Don't you see? The witches may be spreading the word now. The vengeful little people will learn that you are here. The Protestants surround this valley. They are waiting for the chance to come down upon us, waiting for the spark to light their fire."
"These are lies. Lies to put out the Light of Christ which would come into the world on this night. You hear the bells. I go now to say the Mass. Sister, don't come to the altar with your pagan superstition. I will not put the Body of Christ on your tongue."
As I rose to go, the Dutchman laid hold of me, and with all my strength I forced him back.
"I am a priest of God," I said, "a follower of St. Francis of Assisi, I have come to say the Christmas Mass in this valley. I am Ashlar, and I stand on the right hand of God."
Without stopping I went to the Cathedral doors. Great cheers sounded from the multitude as I opened the church. My head was swimming with their disconnected phrases, threats, suspicions--that it was all demonology, of that, I was sure.
I went out amongst the townspeople, raising my hand in blessing. In Nomine Patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti, amen. A beautiful young girl had come forward to be the Blessed Virgin Mary in our pageant, her hair covered by a blue veil, and a rosy-cheeked boy to be Joseph, who had only just got his beard and had to darken it with coal; and then an infant, born only a few days ago, tiny and pink and beautiful, was placed in my arms.
I saw the men in their animal skins gathering, lighted candles in their hands. Indeed the entire valley was ablaze with lighted candles. All the town was filled with lighted candles! And the great beautiful church behind us would soon receive this light.
For a split second again, I did see one of those small beings, humpbacked, heavily clothed, but it seemed no monster--only the common dwarfs one saw in the streets of Florence, or so I told myself again. And it was natural for the people to give it wide berth and to gasp as it fled, for such things frequently frighten the ignorant. They cannot be blamed.
The bell began to chime the hour of midnight. It was Christmas. Christ had come. The bagpipers came into the church, in their full tartan skirts; the little children came in their white, as angels, and all the people, rich, poor, ragged or well dressed, crowded through the doors.
Our voices rose again in the anthem: "Christ is born. Christ is born." Once more I heard the tambourines and the pipes playing, and the beat of the drums. The rhythm caught me and made my vision blur, but I walked on, my eyes upon the radiant altar and the manger of hay which had been made to the right of it before the marble Communion rail. The infant in my arms gave strong little cries as if it too would announce the glad tidings, and kicked its sturdy beautiful little legs as I held it high.
I had never been such a child. I had never been such a miracle. I was something ancient and forgotten perhaps and worshiped in the time of darkness. But that did not matter now. Surely God saw me! Surely God knew my love for Him, my love for His people, my love for the Child Jesus born in Bethlehem, and all who would speak His name. Surely St. Francis looked down on me, his faithful follower, his child.
At last I had reached the broad sanctuary, and I went down in genuflection and laid the little infant in the bed of hay. Linen had been prepared for it. It cried very hard to be so abandoned, poor little Christ! And my eyes filled with tears to behold its common perfection, its ordinary symmetry, the natural brilliance of its eyes and voice.
I stepped back. The Virgin Mary had knelt beside the little miracle. And to the right of the small crib knelt her young St. Joseph, and shepherds came now, our own shep
herds of Donnelaith with their warm sheep over their shoulders, and the cow and ox were led to the manger. The singing grew louder and ever more beautiful and blended, with the drums beneath it, and the pipes. I stood there swaying. My eyes misted. I realized in my sadness, as I sank deep into the music, almost irretrievably into it, that I had not seen my saint. I had not thought to glance at the window when I came down the center aisle. But it did not matter. He was nothing but glass and history.
I would now make the Living Christ. My altar boys were ready. I walked to the foot of the steps, and began the ancient words in Latin.
I will go in to the Altar of God.
At the Consecration, as the tiny bells rang out to mark the sacred moment, I held up the Host. This is My Body. I grasped the chalice. This is My Blood. I ate the Body. I drank the Blood.
And finally I turned to give out the Holy Communion, to see them streaming towards me, young and old and feeble and hardy and those with babes who held down the little babies' heads as they themselves opened their mouths to receive the sacred Host.
High above, amid the narrow soaring arches of this vast building, the shadows hovered, but the light rose, blessed and bright, seeking every corner to illuminate it, seeking every bit of cold stone to make it warm.
The Laird himself, my father, came to receive Communion, and with him my fearful sister, Emaleth, who bowed her head at the last second so none would see that I did not give her the Host. And uncles whom I knew from long ago, and kinswomen, yes, and the chieftains of the other strongholds and their clans. And then the farmers of the valley and the shepherds, and the merchants of the town--a never-ending stream.
It seemed an hour or more that we gave Communion, that back and forth we went for cup after cup, until at last all the men and women of the valley had partaken. All had received the Living Christ into their hearts.
Never in any church in Italy had I known such happiness. Never in any open field under God's arching sky, beneath His perfectly painted stars. When I turned to say the final words: "Go, the Mass is ended!" I saw the courage and happiness and peace on every face.
The bell began to ring faster, indeed madly, with the spirit of rejoicing. The pipes struck up a wild melody, and the drums began to beat.
"To the castle," cried the people. "It is time for the Laird's Feast."
And I found myself raised upon the shoulders of the stout men of the village.
"We will stand against the forces of hell," cried the people. "We will fight to the death if we must." It was a good thing they carried me, for the music had become so merry and so loud that I could not have walked. I was spellbound and crazed as they took me through the nave, and this time I did turn to my right and gaze up at the black glass figure of my saint.
Tomorrow when the sun rises, I thought, I will come to you. Francis, be with me. Tell me if I have done well. Then the music overcame me. It was all I could do to sit upright for those who carried me out of the church and into the darkness where the snow lay gleaming on the ground and the torches of the castle blazed.
The main hall of the castle was strewn with green as I had first seen it, with all its many tapers lighted, and as the villagers set me down before the banquet table, the great Yule tree was dragged into the enormous gaping mouth of the hearth and set alight.
"Burn, burn, burn the twelve nights of Christmas," sang the villagers. The pipes were shrilling and the drums beating. And in came the servers with platters of meat, and pitchers of wine.
"We will have the Christmas Feast after all," cried my father. "We will not live in fear any longer."
In came the boys with the roasted boar's head on its huge platter, and the roasted animals themselves on their blackened spits, and everywhere I saw about me the ladies in their splendid gowns and the children dancing in groups and in circles, and finally all stood up to make informal rings beneath the great roof and lift one foot and do the tribal dance.
"Ashlar," said my father. "You have given the Lord back to us. God bless you."
I sat at the table astonished, watching all of them, my brain throbbing with the beat of the drums. I saw the bagpipers now dancing as they played, which was no small feat. And I watched the circles break and form into other circles. And the smell of the food was rich and intoxicating. And the fire was a great blinding blaze.
I closed my eyes. I do not know how long I lay with my head against the back of the chair, listening to their laughter and to their songs, and to their music. Someone gave me some wine to drink and I took it. Someone gave me some meat and that I took as well. For it was Christmas and I could have meat if I wanted, and must not be the poor Franciscan on this day of all days.
I heard a change come over the room. I thought it merely a lull. And then I realized the drums had begun to beat more slowly. They had begun to sound more ominous and the pipes were playing an attenuated and dark song.
I opened my eyes. The assembly was wrapped in silence, or the spell of the music. I could not tell which. I felt if I moved I would become dizzy myself. I saw the drummers now; saw their fixed expressions, and the somber drunken faces of those who blew the pipes.
This was not Christmas music. This was something altogether darker and more lustrous and mad. I tried to stand up, but the music overcame me. And it seemed the melody had gone away from it, and it was only one theme repeated over and over, like a person reaching, making the same gesture, again and again, and again.
Then came the scent. Ah, it is only my sister, thought I, and I alone know it and I shall stifle whatever desire it creates.
But then a gasp went up from those scattered about the great room, those gathered on the stairs. Indeed, some turned and hid their faces, and others pushed back against the walls.
"What is it?" I cried out. My father stood staring as if no words could reach him. I saw my sister Emaleth the same, and all of my kin and the other chieftains. The drums beat on and on. The pipes whined and ground.
The scent grew stronger, and as I struggled to remain standing I saw a group of people, clothed only in black and white, come into the hall.
I knew these severe garments. I knew these stiff white collars. These were the Puritans. Had they come to make war?
They concealed something with their number, moving forward in concert, and now it seemed the pipers and the drummers were as wrapped in their music as was I.
I wanted to cry, "Look, the Protestants!" But my words were far away. The scent grew stronger and stronger.
And at last the gathering of people in black broke open and in the circle stood a small bent and dwarfish female, with a great smiling mouth, and a hump upon her back and burning eyes.
"Taltos, Taltos, Taltos!" she screamed, and came towards me, and I knew the scent was coming from her! I saw my sister plunge towards me but then my father caught her and forced her down to the ground. He held her struggling on her knees.
One of the little people, bitter, fiery of eye.
"Aye, but we shall make giants together, my tall brother, my spouse!" she cried. And opening her arms she opened as well the tatters of her ragged gown. I saw her breasts huge and inviting, hanging down upon her small belly.
The smell was in my nostrils, in my head, and as she stepped up onto the table before me, it seemed she grew tall and beautiful in my eyes, a woman of grace and slender limbs and long white fingers reaching out to caress my face. Pure female of your own ilk.
"No, Ashlar!" cried my sister, and I saw the downward movement of my father's fist, and heard her body fall to the stone floor.
The woman before me was beaming; and as I watched, her golden-red hair grew longer and longer, coming down her naked back and down between her breasts. She lifted this veil now and revealed herself to me, cupping her breasts in both hands; and then dropping her hands, she opened the secret lips of the pink wet mouth between her legs.
I knew no reason, only passion, only the music, only the spellbinding beauty. I had been lifted to the table. And she lay down ben
eath me, and I was lifted over her.
"Taltos, Taltos, Taltos! Make the Taltos!"
The drums beat louder and louder as if there were no limit to the volume. The pipes had become one long drone. And there beneath me, in the golden hair between her legs, was the mouth smiling at me, smiling as though it could speak! It was moist and tender and glowing with the fluid of a woman, and I wanted it, I could smell it, I needed it; I had to have it.
I drew out my organ and drove it into the nether crack and thrust again and again.
It was the ecstasy of nursing from my mother. It was my whores in Florence, the ring of their laughter, the soft squeeze of their plump breasts, it was the hairy secrets beneath their skirts, it was a blaze of flesh tightening on me and drawing out of me cries of ecstasy. But it would not be finished. On and on it went. And to have lived a lifetime with so little of it, I had been a fool, a fool, a fool!
The boards were rattling and booming with our lovemaking. Cups had fallen to the floor. It seemed the heat of the fire was consuming us; the sweat was pouring out of me.
And beneath me--on the hard slats of wood, in the spilt wine and the scraps of meat and the torn linen--lay not the beautiful woman of shimmering red hair, but the tiny dwarfed hag with her hideous grin.
"Oh, God, I do not care, I do not care! Give it to me!" I all but screamed in my passion. On and on it went until there was no memory anymore of reason or purpose or thought.
In a daze, I realized I had been dragged from the dwarfish woman, and that she was undulating on the boards before me, and that something was coming out of that secret wet place where I had put my seed.
"No, I don't want to see it! Stop it!" I screamed. "Oh, God, forgive me!" But the whole hall rang with laughter, wild laughter vying with the drums and with the pipes to make a din against which I had to cover my ears. I think I bellowed. Bellowed like a beast. But I could not hear myself.
Out of the loins of the hag came the new Taltos, came its long slithering arms, lengthening as they reached out, thin and groping, and fingers growing longer as they walked upon the boards, and at last its head, its narrow slippery head, as even the mother cried in her agony, and it was born knowing, it was born pushing itself free from the dripping egg within the womb, and looking with knowing eyes at me!