The Abbot ch 8: Curiosity

Chapter 8: Curiosity

    I flip through the blueprints, but I can’t seem to find what I need. I go through the pile once, twice, three times before I give up and shove them all away, sighing heavily. I’m not really focusing on the plans—I could have gone right past the ones I need without noticing.
    How could Aidan go through a Northmen attack and not understand why Kells needs a wall? Did the Northmen follow him, as I fear?
    I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to pull myself together. I need to get working again. Today there has been too many delays, and almost nothing has been done. I wonder where Brendan has gotten off to now. This time, it’s my fault. I left him behind in the scriptorium. I consider going down to fetch him again, but… if I do that, I’ll run into Aidan again. I’m sure he went straight back to the scriptorium to secure his precious Book.
    Brendan is probably at Aidan’s heels right now. I remember the way his face lit up when he realized who Aidan was. The way all the monks gathered around him, hailing him as an answered prayer.
    “Uncle?”
    Brendan catches me so off-guard I almost jump. “Brendan!” He’s come up behind me, head tilted down a bit.
    “I…I’m sorry about before, Uncle.” His head droops farther. “I know I need to do better.”
    I’m grateful that he’s come back, this time before I even sent for him. “Perhaps that is the first step towards improvement.” I dig around my desk until I find my chalk again. We can pick up where we left off.
    But I hesitate. Should I tell him what happened in Iona? He needs to know, so he better understands the urgency of our work here. And he will doubtless hear the news sooner or later. But I find myself somewhat reluctant to tell him. He dreamed of Iona being destroyed, and it truly was. He is still a boy. Hearing that a nightmare came true could deeply unsettle him.
    “Uncle…” Brendan asks. “How do you know Brother Aidan?”
    “Hmm?”
    “You recognized each other,” Brendan says. “When did you meet him?”
    “Long ago.” So very long ago, when my life looked very different. “I met him when I was a boy at Clonmacnoise, my first abbey. He came there to study illumination for a time.”
    “The Brothers told me of his work,” Brendan says, his eyes brightening. “They say his writings glow from the pages as if they are light. Is it true he is the Perfect Illuminator?”
    So, this is what they’ve been filling his head with lately. Soon he’ll believe Aidan can walk on water. “No one is a perfect illuminator, Brendan. He’s just a man, like the rest of us.”
    Brendan’s shoulders sag.
    “It’s been long since I’ve seen his work,” I add begrudgingly, “But he was very skilled then.”
    “The Brothers told me of his Book,” Brendan says. “The Book of Iona. They say that Colmcille himself—”
    “I know of the Book.” Just what Brendan needs, another distraction. He looks up at me with wide eyes, waiting to hear more. “Brendan… do you know why Brother Aidan is here?”
    He bites his lip, but doesn’t answer.
    I take a deep breath. “Iona has been destroyed by the Northmen.”
    Brendan nods slowly. “It’s like I dreamed.”
    “That’s a coincidence,” I tell him. “Don’t let that frighten you. You knew Iona was a vulnerable place—you understood the danger they were in, better than they did, perhaps. Your mind filled in the possibility—and it just so happened that Iona had already fallen. Your dream was still just a dream. Dreams are not real.”
    As I tell myself when I dream of Kells burning.
    Brendan’s eyes glaze over as he loses himself in his thoughts. “If Iona is gone, that makes the Book even more important…”
    “Brother Aidan is very fortunate that he saved the Book when he left Iona,” I say. “Most of the books…” But I find that I don’t want to speak of burning books to Brendan. It’s an easy leap from thinking about the books burning to thinking of the people who must have burned… To Ceather and Bronach, fading into ash.
    “Burned?” Brendan finishes softly. “But Uncle, that’s why this Book is more important than ever.”
    What exactly did the Brothers tell him about the Book? “Aidan has come here to Kells seeking shelter,” I say. “He’s brought the Book here for shelter as well. But we can’t protect Aidan OR the Book unless we finish the wall.”
    Something inside me twists as I speak. Is Aidan really so different from the other refugees who come here, seeking the safety of Kells’ walls? Yet I was not welcoming to him. I would never have spoken to any other refugee that way… I don’t accost them and question whether the Northmen followed them.
    I owe him an apology. Tonight, when the work is done, I need to be sure he is settled in and treated as an honored guest. He does not yet understand the wall--but then, he has only just arrived. Perhaps that will change. Right now, so soon after what he went through, of course the Northmen seem unstoppable.
    “I understand, Uncle,” Brendan says.
    “Good.” I snatch up my chalk and scan the walls, finding the place I was working earlier. “All right, now pay attention. This section of the wall is supported by three pillars…”
    Brendan stays with me the rest of the day, fetching the plans I need, accompanying me to the wall to supervise the work there. As I help lift stone, he scurries across the scaffold to deliver blueprints to the other brothers. He seems to be on task, but his eyes are unfocused, dreamy.
    It’s late in the day as we head back to the workroom to secure the plans for the night. Brendan fidgets beside me, his eyes locked on something far in the distance.
    “Uncle?” His voice is faint. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want me to hear.
    “Yes, Brendan?”
    He won’t look up at me. His eyes are wide, his brows furrowed. He almost looks… afraid? Is he thinking of Iona?
    “Do you… do you remember when I was small, and… I wanted to illuminate?”
    I stop walking. I can’t hold back a sigh. “Yes. I remember.” I suppose I should have expected this.
    He stops too. He still isn’t looking at me. “You said I was too small then… but maybe, when I was older…” He tilts his head up, hope in his eyes despite himself.
    I massage my temple. “Brendan. You know there isn’t time for that right now.”
    “I would still work on the wall,” Brendan says. “It’s just… I am older, and maybe—”
    “This is not a time for books, Brendan,” I say. “Not even a time for the Book of Iona. What happened to Iona is a warning. We need to marshal all our efforts to keep that from happening to Kells.”
    He gives me a longing look, but he doesn’t argue. “All right, Uncle. I just… I just wondered.”

    As the Brothers trickle into the Refectory for dinner, I pull Aidan to the side. He's watching me with caution. Neither of us has recovered from our discussion before. "Brother Aidan," I say, "I would like you to join me at the top table tonight, as an honored guest."
    He inclines his head, a smile sliding easily across his face. "Thank you, Abbot. I would indeed be honored."
    As dinner begins, I see all of the Brothers casting looks our way, staring at their Perfect Illuminator. Brendan is no different. His eyes are glowing so brightly with excitement that they outshine the candlelight. He seems to be asking the Brothers many questions. I have no doubt they are filling his head with more talk of the Book and Aidan’s expert skill.
    Aidan digs very eagerly into our simple dinner of lentil soup and coarse brown bread. I wonder how long he has gone without a decent meal.
    “Tell me about the boy, Brendan,” Aidan says. Brendan is watching him even now—but as Aidan smiles and meets his gaze, Brendan averts his eyes. “He’s your sister’s child, isn’t he? He has a real look of her.”
    “Yes,” I say. “He’s Ceather’s son.” I have to clear my throat before I go on. “She was lost in a Northmen raid when he was only a babe. Their entire village perished.”
    “I’d heard that the village was destroyed,” Aidan says softly. “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was an uncommonly kind woman.”
    “She was.” I see some of that in Brendan sometimes.
    “How did Brendan survive?”
    That is a story I do not like to tell. I shake my head, searching for the right words—words that will satisfy his curiosity without bringing more questions.
    Tang speaks up from his seat at the nearest table. “The Abbot is far too modest in telling that tale. He saved the boy himself—he went into the village and fought off the Northmen to bring Brendan to safety.”
    The brothers nearest us turn to listen. Fortunately most, including Brendan, are too far away and too busy speaking to overhear. Tang is one of the very few who has ever heard my tale--and he heard it long ago from Liam, not from me.
    Aidan’s eyebrows shoot up. “You fought off the Northmen?”
    “Only three,” I mutter. Aidan’s eyebrows go higher. “I was too late… By the time I reached the village, Brendan was the only one left alive. I believe his parents saved him—they both died fighting. All I did was take him home.”
    “So…” Aidan says. “You’ve seen a Northmen raid.”
    “I saw the end of it,” I say. I don’t want to say anything else. Aidan has his own demons dancing behind his eyes—he doesn’t want to speak of what happened in Iona, either. We turn back to our food.
    Aidan, as always, tries to lighten the mood that has settled over us. “Seeing the lad reminds me of you when you were a boy.” He chuckles lightly. “Does your nephew have that same mischievous streak?”
    I’m caught off guard, and I can’t hold back a snort. “A mischievous streak? I’ll have you know, I was a very obedient child.”
    “Often you were,” Aidan says, “As long as you respected the person telling you what to do.” He lowers his voice to be sure the other brothers can’t overhear. “But if you didn’t… you were quite gifted at pranks, as I recall.”
    I laugh a bit at that. His words bring back memories that I haven’t thought about in a long, long time. “Well… only if a particular person deserved it.”
    Aidan smirks. “Yes… I suppose Brother Gallagher deserved a bit of… chastisement.” He laughs too. “When I first went into his room, I thought it had been attacked by a giant spider. It must have taken you hours to string up his room.” His laughter deepens. “And then you booby trapped his bed, besides!”
    “I don’t believe they ever caught whoever was responsible for that.” I smooth my face into a blank slate, but it only lasts for a moment before I’m laughing again. I still remember Gallagher’s angry rant… but he never did pin the incident on me. Actually, I was almost never caught in my pranking. Probably because for the most part, I was an obedient, serious child--not one that my elders would suspect.
    “Maybe some people didn’t.” Aidan smiles, shaking his head. His eyes go back to Brendan. “So no little incidents like that here?”
    “No,” I say. I look over at my nephew as well. “Brendan wouldn’t…” But I’m laughing again, harder this time. The image of Brendan tormenting the Brothers with some of my old pranks… It wouldn’t be like him at all. The incongruence to the image amuses me. Then again, I was rarely caught by my own Abbot. “Well, if he does, no one’s told me anything about it!” Maybe he's truly a prank master and I have no idea.
    Brendan has caught us watching him. His face is flushing, the tips of his ears turning red. I flash him a grin, trying to show him that it’s all right. Brendan’s gaze flicks from me to Brother Aidan, and then he smiles back. He sneaks another look at Brother Aidan before he ducks his head again.
    I realize suddenly that all the Brothers are staring at me, astounded. Brother Leonardo’s mouth is actually hanging open. What’s so shocking? Did they overhear our story? They couldn’t have—we spoke softly.
    Then I realize they’re surprised to hear me laughing, to see me smiling. Well, after all, I am human. I do laugh sometimes. I try to remember the last time I had a real, good laugh, but nothing immediately comes to mind.
    “He seems a good lad,” Aidan says.
    “Yes,” I say. “He has his faults, as do we all, but he is a good lad.”
    Aidan tips his head, looking thoughtful. "Has he ever tried his hand at drawing?"
    I stiffen. "As I told you, we don't have much time for such activities here."
    "I see. I simply wondered whether the boy took after his uncle in his artistic skills."
    Flattery will not work on me. I choose not to answer.
    Aidan has finished his food. I catch him stifling a yawn.
    “You must be exhausted, Brother,” I say. “We’ve prepared a cell for you. I’ll have someone escort you…”
    But Aidan is shaking his head. “Actually, I’d like to get the Book settled in the scriptorium. I may spend some time there this evening.”
    “Of course. As you wish.” The Book is the only thing that survived the attack on Iona. It makes sense that he wants to secure it in the scriptorium. Still, I feel uneasy. This is not Iona. We don’t have time for illustration here.