Celestino’s eyes flashed a glint of concern.
“Are you aware that a new priest has arrived here at Compostela?” Iseo began.
“No,” he said.
“His name is Father Avriel. He was sent here by the Pope himself. It is an honor to this church that the Father would recognize Compostela.”
“How does the priest’s arrival vex you, my Maker?”
“He was sent to train with Father Tomas,” she explained on an exhale, the truth now between them.
“He is human, not my kind?”
“Sí.”
“I do take your meaning.”
“Father Avriel was sent here to learn the rite of exorcism.”
Celestino nodded.
“He must know all concerning you.”
Celestino considered her concern. “Am I ready to meet other humans? Outside the confines I am now placed in?”
“No. Heaven help you. You speak and the words tumble out as if you were a foreigner.”
“What is foreigner?”
“A person who is from somewhere else,” she replied. Iseo put her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly. “I suppose you are a foreigner. In a way.”
Celestino’s mouth curled up in a perfect smile. “Sí. I am from somewhere else.”
Iseo noticed how beautiful he was. Strong chin. Wide jaw line. Aquiline nose. Perfectly arched brows framing a pair of mesmerizing gray-blue eyes. And his teeth were a string of polished pearls. Holy Jesus! His teeth might give him away. Rarely did one have all their teeth, let alone all their teeth set in a perfect white row. She realized at that moment Celestino had not a single physical flaw. Why should he? He is a creature divinely inspired by God himself.
“Father Avriel is to assist Father Tomas with your training.”
“And this is what vexes you?”
“Sí. What if he fails to guard your secret? What if he cannot accept the truth about the order of the world? What if—”
“Stop, my Maker. You must trust Father Tomas.”
“Perhaps you are wiser than I in this regard. I have lived among people long enough, and they tend to disappoint.”
“Perhaps.” He smiled again…and as he did, his perfection burned itself into Iseo’s mind, pricking her right in the heart. Her ribcage tightened with the tiniest pang of anxiety.
“You might think about not smiling so much.”
Celestino was confused. “Are you not pleased by my gesture?”
Iseo ignored the question. “We should leave for Father Tomas’s chambers. They will be waiting for you by now.”
*
“Enter,” Father Tomas called out when Iseo knocked on the closed chamber door.
Iseo entered first, followed by Celestino. Father Avriel observed how Celestino’s frame filled the doorway, dwarfing the woman. At that moment, it occurred to him that he had not truly considered the image of the defender against the dark side. He realized that he expected someone older and wiser looking. This man’s eyes had an unexpected innocence that immediately alarmed him. He stood up to greet him.
“You must be Celestino.” He extended his hand in greeting. “I am Father Avriel.” Celestino stared at his hand, and then looked to Iseo. She stood mortified that she had not yet taken opportunity to instruct Celestino in proper greeting practices. To rescue the situation, she took the priest’s hand and shook it firmly.
“Sí, this is he. Por favor, Father, I beg your forgiveness on his behalf. He is not from...here. He is a foreigner,” she faltered slightly with the partial truth, “and he has yet to master the finer points of etiquette.”
“To be expected of foreigners. No apology required.”
Celestino then extended his hand as Iseo had. “I am honored, Father Avriel.”
The odd timing gave the priest pause, but he took Celestino’s hand in his own.
Father Tomas cleared his throat. “Now that acquaintances have been established,” he motioned to the worn leather seats, “shall we sit?” Three chairs were positioned around a small, wooden table in front of the chamber hearth. Flames flickered hungrily across the logs. “Iseo, por favor serve the libation. And I heard Father Antony was inquiring after your whereabouts. I informed him, of course, that you had gone to fetch some documents for me from the ink room.”
“Sí, Father,” Iseo replied. She looked to Celestino and mouthed, “Lo siento,” as she poured the wine for all three men.
“It is all right, my Iseo.” Celestino smiled reassurance at her.
She rolled her eyes. His teeth will surely give him away.
Father Avriel noted the strange address given to the young woman. Interesante.
Father Tomas turned to face the enormous challenge sitting before him. Rather than return to his desk, he remained standing and instinctively began pacing. His mind played a ruthless game of tug-o-war. How to tell, what to tell, what to leave for a later time. He was lost in thought, when Celestino’s voice startled him.
“Will he know all as you and my Iseo?”
Father Tomas looked over his shoulder at the young gargoyle. He shrugged his shoulders before nodding his head. “Eventually, sí, if he is to be trained in the work we do.”
“Are you a priest, as well?” Father Avriel asked Celestino.
“No.”
“Do you intend to take vows?”
“Vows? For what purpose?”
“For God. I am asking if you intend to take the robe. Become a priest.”
Celestino finally understood. “No, I will never become a priest.”
Father Avriel raised a single eye brow at the certainty in Celestino’s response. “Brother,” he said to the other priest, “how is he the best defense against the dark side of evil if he is not to become a priest?”
“Evil has many shades, some of them quite beautiful,” the elder priest explained. “The dark side, as you say...as you think you know it, is the most easily recognized and defeated.” Father Tomas glanced in Celestino’s direction. “It is the myth of darkness and the light of evil that requires more than a priest.”
“More than a priest?” Father Avriel’s voice rose with the inquiry. “Certainly, you mean a higher ecclesiastic.”
“No. I mean something altogether different,” Father Tomas admitted.
Iseo sat stiffly in the corner, apparently forgotten by the holy fathers. Her gown itched at the neck, and she ran her finger around the inside collar. She worried the new priest would not accept Celestino. Had she not carved him herself, she might not have believed either.
“I feel you are speaking in riddles on purpose. What do you hint at with this conversation?” Father Avriel felt his jaw grind and flex with impatience.
“What do you know of angels?”
The question took him by surprise. “Angels?”
“Sí, angels,” Father Tomas repeated.
“God created the angels to serve and worship Him.” Father Avriel began to think Father Tomas was testing him. He was uncertain how much of his mission he should reveal to this priest. “It is a fundamental fact of creation.”
Father Tomas shook his head. It was as he feared. He would be the first to deliver the true nature of the war between Heaven and Hell. “I believe you should sit, Brother, for we have much to discuss.” Father Avriel did not realize he’d stood up and was now pacing. He had already cleared a thin trail through the dust that covered the stone floor. He returned to his seat, stretching his long limbs in front of him, looking his mentor in the eye.
“Enlighten me...on the creation of angels.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
At that moment, Father Avriel remembered the quiet woman in the corner. He turned his head and his eyes met hers. It surprised him how brown they were, like fresh earth. It was her fear that made him remember her, as it was palpable enough to feel, and shone clearly in the black center of each eye. A chill threaded down Iseo’s spine, when the priest’s gaze bore into her own. She thought it almost contemptuous.
“What are you frightened of, woman?” Father Avriel asked her.
“I am not frightened, Father.” She blinked and the shining fear vanished into dull pebbles before Father Avriel’s eyes. Interesante, he again thought.
Father Tomas caught the tension. “Iseo, perhaps it is best you seek Father Antony and offer your assistance in the kitchen.”
Iseo dared a glance at Celestino. “But, I was hoping to—”
“He will be fine, Iseo. Rest assured, I have everyone’s best interest at heart.”
“But—” she protested.
“Go. It is a matter for men and Celestino alone.” The tone of Father Tomas’s voice silenced any further pleading. Iseo nodded to Father Tomas, smiled weakly at Celestino, and left the chamber. Men can be so condescending! Does he forget I know more than most concerning the secrets of God? I know who Celestino really is. What he really is. With increasing agitation, her reluctant steps picked up pace. In her own small way, she rebelled by returning to her workshop, avoiding the kitchen and Father Antony altogether.
*
Father Tomas rose to bolt the door behind Iseo. “Now, let us talk of man and angels,” he said. He settled into his worn leather chair. “Por favor, make yourselves at ease.” He indicated for Father Avriel and Celestino to both take seats offering greater comfort. “Celestino, perhaps you can recite what you have learned about the Creation from our studies.”
“From the beginning,” he said. “God created the Heaven and the Earth from the great darkness that was a void. By the power of His words, He created all. He spoke and light filled the day. And dark overtook the night. Again He spoke, and this time land and water appeared. Trees and fields emerged from the earth. God spoke and the Heavens shone with the sun, the moon, and the stars.” Celestino stopped his narrative. “I have no further knowledge of things than this.”
“Surprising for a man who lives a monastic life,” remarked Father Avriel. “Are you a Muslim convert?”
“I do not take your meaning,” Celestino replied.
“If you were, you would know. From what realm have you found yourself here?”
“From the hands of my Iseo.”
“Your Iseo?” he looked at the older priest. “He speaks like a child concerning God. And like a man regarding a woman.”
“The purpose of the meeting slips passed us. Man and angels,” Father Tomas smiled. “You are correct, Celestino, our lesson did not progress beyond that.”
Sharp tension rooted all three where they sat. Father Tomas took a deep breath, as he began to tell the secrets he had learned about the angels. “God spoke and life sprang from the earth and in the waters. Creatures of all kinds roamed the land and swam the seas. And then God created the first man, called Adam, from the dust of earth and breathed life into him. He gave all His creation for Adam’s use. This is what we call the Paradise. The time when all was perfect, even man.”
“Yet, man could not remain satisfied. The world was not enough for Adam,” Father Avriel reflected. “Adam lingered at the edge of the great Tigris like one who was abandoned, even with all of creation at his feet.”
“Adam was alone. God’s creation was yet…incomplete.”
Celestino interrupted, “God breathed into man, but not into my kind.”
Father Avriel smiled to himself. Of course! How did I miss it? He is the one. The mystery began to fall into place.
Undaunted, the elder priest continued, “He brought every animal before Adam to discover if any of the beasts would serve as suitable companions for him. Adam named them all, yet remained alone. So, God caused a death like sleep to fill him, reached His hand into his body and pulled a rib bone from his side, and created the first woman, Eve. This is how we know women are to serve men and why they deserve our protection.”
“When God created the Heavens, he also created the angels, numerous as the stars. The Codex confirms a guardian angel for each soul. Angels are messengers, as well as warriors,” Father Tomas paused, “and some are evil.”
“Sí, some are most definitely evil,” mused Father Avriel. “When they fell to Earth their cries echoed like thunder. The sheer weight of their celestial bodies crashing to the Earth caused the ground to crack open.”
Father Tomas raised his eyebrows at Father Avriel’s passionate retelling, missing the stray tear his fellow Brother wiped away with a graceful finger. “Are you aware of how the evil ones are in league with demons?” he asked the newly appointed priest.
“In time, the Fallen began to hate men. Their hate hardened into a burden they had not previously known. It was the source of great mourning for them, and their hatred burnt as black as pitch. Jealousy consumed them, for they perceived that God had given mankind a greater gift than to live in His Heavenly presence. Man, with all his imperfections, required forgiveness. Man could be redeemed, and they could not. The agony of their condemnation was turned toward man. The Fallen, knowing they would never again ascend to Heaven to serve God, turned from Him completely. They joined with the demons below to search out weak humans and steal their souls—that precious immortal gift—to Hell.”
Father Tomas sat back in his chair. “Even I could not have recited it more eloquently than that.” He placed his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. “You, my young Brother, are perhaps more than you appear.”
“I am but a humble servant. Nothing more,” he assured Father Tomas.
“What do you know of the substance called livingstone?” Father Tomas asked.
“I am unfamiliar with it.”
“It is a stone, as hard as any fine marble, yet filled with the sangre of life. It is extremely rare, and must be worked with great care...and in secret.”
“Why in secret?”
“What is made from this stone is God’s most powerful weapon against the dark.”
“More powerful than the Archangels?” Father Avriel scoffed.
“I believe so, sí.”
“What could possibly exist with more power than Michael or Gabriel?”
“The gargoyle.”
Father Avriel had expected that response. “How is the gargoyle more powerful than the Archangels?”
Father Tomas thought the young priest’s disbelief echoed competition more than surprise. “The gargoyle is the inspired work of God, made by the hands of chosen Makers, but takes no breath from Him. The gargoyle is rooted in the substance of earth. His power is his choice to serve. His heart is pure because he does not desire heaven.”
Father Avriel glanced at Celestino, who had remained silent for much of the heated exchange. “He is the gargoyle?”
“Sí. Celestino is newly born. I assumed that is why you were sent.”
“It is.”
“I see.”
“May I ask a question, Brother?”
“Por favor, ask whatever you need to know.”
“Who else knows of this creature’s true nature?”
“Only myself, Iseo, and now, you.”
“What purpose does the woman have to hold such a great secret of the church?”
“She is the Maker.”
Father Avriel held his tongue. It had not occurred to him that God would elevate a woman with such a unique gift. Apparently, all aspects of his new appointment had not yet been revealed to him.
Chapter 8
Crossing of Stone
Iseo walked quietly down the hall toward Celestino’s room, feeling guilty for borrowing a beeswax candle from the sanctuary supply. She did not want the common kitchen tapers of tallow leaving a trail of fatty stench behind her. Now, she worried the honey sweet scent would do the same. She persuaded herself that the stubby cylinder she borrowed would not be missed. The church spent handsomely for the beeswax because it did not smoke and smell of rotting meat during services. The squatty candle cast a faint glow, just enough light to see one foot placed in front of the other. She knocked on Celestino’s door and it opened into the darkened room. The fire in the hearth deadened to cha
rred wood radiating brightly with red and orange.
“Celestino?” she whispered.
“I am here,” he said.
She covered her mouth as a small gasp escaped into the silence.
“Are you all right?” Celestino asked.
Iseo squinted into the darkness. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, until she finally recognized his silhouette a few feet in front of her and felt relief.
“You frightened me.”
“Lo siento, my Iseo. I meant only to alert you to my presence.”
“You have not lit your candles? Why do you sit alone in the dark?” she asked, as she entered his chamber.
“I do not mind the absence of light.”
“Something that must be aligned with your nature. Humans generally avoid the dark, as it is the Devil’s time.”
“I was birthed in the dark, during the Devil’s time,” he said. “Do you see me as a thing of darkness?”
“You were birthed under the moonlight. And you are not evil, Celestino,” she scolded.
“Do you not think it curious God only reveals the gargoyle in the night, when all else of His creation was brought forth in the light of day?”
Iseo stumbled about in the gray, heading toward the dimming fire to pick a thin rush from the bundle in the hearthside basket. After she plucked one from the dried bunch, she walked toward the table, where she knew an arrangement of candles was rooted to a copper plate. She used her own candle to ignite the rush and lit the ring of tallow on the table. A warm glow spread into the shadowy corners of the room.
“What makes you consider such gloomy thoughts?”
“My lessons.”
“Your lessons?”
“Sí.”
She pulled a chair out from under the table and sat. “Tell me your meaning,” she encouraged.
“It concerns the order of creation.”
“I do not follow.
“How gargoyles are differ from men and angels.”
Iseo placed her hand on his arm. “Of course you are different. You already possessed such knowledge.”
“Are my kind less in the eyes of this God? All living creatures were brought forth by His word. His hand brought them to the light. They are more worthy. My kind was brought forth in the darkness.”
Iseo considered his words. There was truth in his reasoning, but she knew he was nothing of the evil or dark that ruled the realm of his creation. She carved each inch of him herself and brushed each inch of his figure with her own hands. She knew each bone of each wing, the length of his nose, the size of his clawed feet by perfect measurement, by her heart. He was the perfect result of God’s inspiration.