The Crowfield Curse (27 page)

The prior tucked blankets around the abbot and eased a down-filled pillow beneath his head. He looked over his shoulder at William and Brother Stephen.

“Carry our father down to the church.”

William took the foot of the hurdle, while Brother Stephen took the head, and together they lifted it off the floor and carried it to the doorway. William saw that the abbot was still staring at him. The old man's lips moved but William could not hear his whispered words. Prior Ardo leaned down and put his ear close to the abbot's mouth, a puzzled frown on his face. He glanced up at William and the frown deepened.

“Abbot Simon wants me to tell you . . . ,” he began, then paused. “He said, ‘Tell the boy to beware the coming darkness.' He said, ‘The light shines brightly in this boy, and it marks him out from his fellows. His path will not be an easy one but he will not walk it alone.' ”

All eyes turned to stare at William. He felt himself redden under the weight of their curiosity.

“What does that mean?” Brother Gabriel whispered, looking from the prior to William and back again, his plump face perplexed.

Looks of mingled unease and suspicion went between the monks in the room. William could almost feel them pull away from him as if he were something dangerous. Only Brother Snail stood his ground, his frail, hunched body huddled inside his cloak. He smiled at William and there was a look of compassion in his eyes as if he understood just how alone William felt at that moment.

Perhaps they're wise to be wary of me,
William thought. 
I have the Sight; I walked away from a fire that should have burned me to death; and I was chosen by a cursed man and a fay to release an angel from a dark and evil spell. The abbot is right; I'm marked out from the people around me.

“What does our father mean,” Brother Gabriel continued, a quiver in his voice, “‘the coming darkness'? What darkness would that be?”

“I don't know.” Prior Ardo regarded William thoughtfully, as if seeing him for the first time. “But it can wait for now. We must get Abbot Simon to the church.”

Brother Martin and Brother Gabriel went on ahead down the narrow stairs. William and Brother Stephen followed, one slow, awkward step at a time, trying not to tip the hurdle too much in case the abbot rolled off.

William puzzled over the abbot's words. What did the abbot mean by “the darkness”? Did he mean the Dark King? But how could the bedridden old man possibly know anything about
him
? No, William thought, the abbot had said “the
coming
darkness.” Whatever it was, it hadn't happened yet. A feeling of foreboding passed over him like a cold shadow.

“Have a care, boy!” Brother Stephen said sharply. William had not been paying full attention to what he was doing, and he had trapped the monk's hand between the edge of the hurdle and the wall.

“Sorry,” William muttered.

“Yes, well, don't do it again.”

They reached the foot of the staircase and angled the hurdle out into the cloister alley. It was snowing again. A restless wind sent flakes whirling across the cloister garth and through the arched openings of the north alley. William put his head down against the wind as the icy snowflakes stung his face and briefly blinded him. It was a relief when they reached the door into the south aisle of the church and went inside the building.

A pile of snow lay on the nave floor beneath the hole in the roof. Prior Ardo stared at it, momentarily distracted from the task at hand. He glanced up at a patch of white sky between the bare roof timbers and his face hardened into its habitual lines of weary resignation. It was just one more thing he would have to see to.

William and Brother Stephen carried the abbot into the chancel. Brother Snail and Brother Mark hurried to collect as many lanterns, candlesticks, and wax and tallow candles as they could find. They put them on the chancel floor, the altar, and in brackets on the choir stalls. Brother Odo followed along behind, lighting them with a taper. The flames glowed like little white stars in the gloom.

“Put the hurdle here,” the prior said, pointing to the floor in front of the steps up to the high altar. For a moment William hesitated. The abbot's covers would not keep out the biting chill and drafts that cut across the tiled floor. Then he thought,
Does it matter?
The old man was as close to death as it was possible to be.

William stepped back from the hurdle. Someone touched his arm. He looked around and saw Brother Snail. The monk gestured for him to stand over by the choir stalls.

The monks took their places in the stalls and began to sing. The Latin words of a psalm rose into the darkness above the shimmering haze from the candle flames. At a nod from the prior, Brother Gabriel slipped away from his stall and returned several minutes later carrying a wooden box. As he passed by, William saw that it was the box from the sacristy cupboard, the one in which the feather was kept. The monk carried it over to Prior Ardo and William watched as the prior lifted the lid.

There were one or two wary glances in William's direction from the other monks, as if they were not sure that he should be watching this. William ignored them. He had as much right here as any of them. After all, he was the only person in the church who had ever actually seen the angel.

There was a collective gasp as the prior carefully lifted the feather from the box and held it up. It gleamed with a soft radiance in the candlelight. He knelt beside the abbot and laid the feather on the old monk's chest.

With an effort, the abbot freed one hand from beneath the covers and his thin fingers clutched the feather. William thought he saw a smile lift the corners of the old man's mouth.

William noticed a small point of light near the east wall. At first he thought it was a reflection off the silver crucifix on the altar, but after staring at it for a couple of moments, William realized the light was hovering somewhere between the altar and the dying abbot. His scalp prickled uneasily as he watched the light begin to move slowly down the chancel.

The singing faltered and faded away as one by one the monks saw the light, until the only sound was the fitful gusting of the wind outside the church. William glanced around and saw fear in the eyes of the monks nearest to him. Peter Borowe, standing on the far side of the chancel, stared at the light with a look of wonder on his face. His mouth widened into a smile and he clapped his hands together softly.

The candle flames in the chancel guttered in the drafts. The painted faces of saints were briefly illuminated before shadows wavered across the walls and hid them again.

The light became steadily brighter. It reached the foot of the abbot's hurdle and stopped. William held his breath and watched as the light began to grow in size, spreading downward until it touched the floor, and upward to the roof beams. It took on the shape of a human body, filling the chancel with a dazzling white glare that hurt William's eyes. The terrified monks huddled in their stalls, praying aloud. The prior crouched beside the abbot, his thin arms covering the old man's body as if to protect him.

Gradually, the light eased and lost its painfully bright intensity. Blind spots swam in front of William's eyes but he could just make out a huge glowing figure, arms spread wide. Blue fire shimmered around it like a halo. Light radiated from its face, so that all William could see of its features were shadows where the eyes should have been. Its hair hung over its shoulders and shone like molten silver. In one outstretched hand it held a sword with a golden blade. From its back, two feathered wings spread out, their pointed tips almost touching the floor tiles.

The angel bore little resemblance to the one in the Hollow, but William knew with a deep certainty that it was the same creature, just as he felt sure that this was closer to its true shape: a being of light that filled him with a bewildering mixture of bone-melting fear and a joy so profound it hurt.

The prior knelt beside the hurdle, his whole body shaking, his hands clasped together tightly in prayer. His head was bowed and his eyes squeezed shut.

William watched as Abbot Simon struggled to sit up and push aside his coverlets. He was still holding the feather and he seemed to be drawing strength from the angel. His face was lit with a radiance that was startling to witness. Tears trickled down his sunken cheeks and his eyes seemed to stare beyond the walls of the church at something only he could see. Without stopping to think, William darted forward and helped Abbot Simon to his feet. He put an arm around the old monk's waist to support him.

A wave of painfully brilliant light billowed out from the angel. It lit up the inside of William's skull, and for a few moments he could not move. Then, just as suddenly, the light was gone and the abbot slumped in his arms. Shaking with fright, William lowered the abbot's body to the floor. He knew the monk was dead.

Prior Ardo hurried over to kneel beside the abbot. He crossed the abbot's arms on his chest and straightened his linen tunic around his legs. William looked around for the feather, thinking that the abbot had dropped it, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“The feather,” he said, looking at the prior, “it's gone.”

The prior glanced at him with a quick frown and turned his attention back to the abbot.

William stood up and gazed around the chancel. There was nothing to show that the angel had been there, but something had changed inside the church.
Or maybe,
William thought,
the church is just the same as always, but
I've
changed.
He felt stronger, calmer. The hardships and the losses of his past no longer mattered. It was as if he had spent his life peering at the ground and had just looked up and seen the sky for the first time.

Brother Snail came to stand beside him. The monk was smiling and there was a light in his eyes that told William he was feeling the same sense of wonder. He looked up at William and the smile broadened. William grinned back. There was no need for words.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

 

 

W
illiam stood in the archway to the cloister garth, watching the snow weave complicated patterns against the gray afternoon sky. He hardly noticed the cold. He could hear the monks singing in the church and understood their need to mark what they had just witnessed. For them it was by praying and singing psalms; for William it was standing in the snow and feeling the swirling flakes brush his face with their icy softness. High above the abbey, the slow toll of the passing bell rang out.

William took the flute from inside his tunic. Through the leather bag, he traced the shape of the instrument. His fingers touched the holes along its length as he tried to imagine the music he would one day be able to play on it. He sensed rather than saw Shadlok come to stand beside him.

“What is that?” Shadlok asked.

“It's Master Bone's flute.”

“His flute?” Shadlok's tone was sharp.

William nodded and turned to look at the fay. “He asked the prior to give it to me.”

Shadlok closed his eyes for a moment and smiled grimly. “I should have known.”

“What?” William asked, mystified. “What's wrong?”

“Bone did not leave you the flute.”

“But the prior said . . .”

“I know what he said,” Shadlok said softly. “But Bone left you his
lute
, not the flute.”

William stared at the fay, feeling as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He half-turned with some idea of going back to the chapter house and asking the prior for what was rightfully his, but then he stopped.

“Prior Ardo will deny it,” he said flatly. “It'll be our word against his.”

Shadlok said nothing. He folded his arms and turned to look out at the falling snow.

William was torn between resentment at the prior's deceit, and understanding what had made him do it. The lute was a beautiful and valuable instrument. The money the prior could raise from selling it would pay for repairs to the nave roof, or perhaps buy a couple of goats and an extra pig next spring. He looked down at the leather bag in his hand.
Let the prior have the
lute
, he thought,
I have something far more precious. I have a future
.