Wayward Son
2: Heaven
Renault was first aware of exactly two things when he woke up—a hard leather boot gently but firmly prodding him from his slumber, and a throbbing ache in his neck and shoulders.
"Wake up. It's time for work." a flat, even voice deadpanned.
Shaking his head to drive off the last vestiges of sleep, Renault looked up at his caller. A red-haired man of average height and wiry build stood before him, gazing down at the vagrant impassively. Renault looked into his gray eyes, and was reminded, as he always was, of a still, frozen pool of water in the dead of winter. Renault had worked for the mason for over two years, but he had almost never managed to see what lay beyond the stoic, passionless exterior his employer presented to the world.
"Boss!" he exclaimed, "Uh, I mean, Master Henken! How'd you know I was here?"
"I was on my way to the cathedral when I heard someone snoring in this alleyway. The voice sounded familiar, so I decided to give it a look." A corner of Henken's mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a grin—the closest thing to an expression Renault had seen cross the man's face. "I never knew the hard ground made such a comfortable bed."
Renault grunted in annoyance as he got up and rubbed his sore neck. "It sure as hell isn't!" he whined. "If I had anyplace else to go, I'd be lying on a bed instead of cobblestones!"
"Don't you have a home to go back to?" came the curt reply.
The young man turned his eyes to the ground, suddenly seeming strangely contrite. "Home isn't really someplace I want to be right now." he murmured.
Henken arched his eyebrows upwards in surprise. Renault had proven to be a thoughtless, self-centered troublemaker during the time Henken had employed him, so seeing the bishop's son so uncharacteristically ashamed of himself revealed that something serious had happened between the boy and his mother. Still, he knew better than to press the issue—if the kid wanted to talk about it, he would. "Well, whatever," Henken said. "Let's get to work."
Thagaste was one city under the bright sun of the afternoon, but a completely different one under the soft light of the early morning. On any other day, Renault would have been enjoying himself immensely—very few people were out at this hour, which meant that the crowds and noise he so despised were absent. However, he found himself missing the commotion of a large city at day. The still and quiet of dawn gave little to distract him from the unpleasant memories of last night's altercation. The sounds of his mother's anguished sobbing echoed horribly inside his head, and he could only sigh miserably and hope his work would keep his mind off of his personal problems. Thus, he paid little attention to the majestic Etrurian architecture he usually loved to examine as he walked through the city—he merely kept his head down and gait steady until he and his master reached their destination.
Zodian's Rest was the largest cathedral in Thagaste and the immediate vicinity, and reputed to be the very oldest, built upon the ruins of a house of worship destroyed during the Scouring. This grand cathedral was where Renault's father had administered his diocese, a responsibility that had passed on to his wife after his death. Renault grimaced as he stood before the church it was his duty to repair—his very job served as a reminder of a woman he'd rather not think about at the moment. His master expected his apprentice to work, however, and pointed calmly but resolutely at the scaffolding erected at the western front of the church. "Time to get started." he ordered.
Together, the two men clambered up the scaffolding until they reached the upper heights of the great façade. For the last week Renault and Henken had been working to repair damage caused by what couldn't be explained by anything other than a freak accident. In the middle of a quiet Sunday night, a large chuck of the stone on the west side had simply crumbled to dust as if it had been crushed by a force stronger than any man. None of the parishioners or the clergy had seen what had happened, and nobody could figure out what actually did happen. Renault had been working with stone for over two years since Henken had come to the city looking for an apprentice, and neither of them could come up with any explanation either. "Man, I'd like to beat the stuffing out of whoever did this," Renault grumbled as he began to carefully place bricks into the damaged wall and set them with mortar. "The last thing I want to do is work on this cathedral!"
"It's nothing to complain about, Renault," Henken pointed out, setting in place a replacement keystone for a demolished arch. "We're getting paid some good money for this job. Besides, if it wasn't this cathedral, it'd be some other building we'd be working on."
Renault grinned for a moment, then nodded his assent as he saw that his boss had a point. Although most people found Henken's emotionless demeanor to be disconcerting at the very least, Renault found that he was one of the few people he could get along with. When he gave advice it was with nothing more than cold, hard logic, quite unlike Jerid's condescending lecturing or Monica's self-righteous condemnations. "You're right, master," the apprentice acknowledged. "Still, I just can't get past how weird this damage is, you know? I mean, what could take out such a big chunk of good stone from up here? I thought a mage would have blasted it, but I never saw any scorch marks or anything. I could see a bishop's spell doing the damage, but why the hell would a member of the clergy deface their own church?"
"Watch the mouth, Renault, it'll get you in trouble," Henken laconically admonished, as he usually did when his apprentice swore. He appreciated the fact that Renault noticed subtle details like that, however—the youth's acuity, combined with his skillful hands, were why Henken typically overlooked his numerous failings. "You're right to notice that, though—good eye. I don't know of anybody in this entire city capable of pulling off this kind of stunt. I've heard from a few travelers that attacks like this have been happening more and more in other parts of the country, though."
Renault blinked and stared curiously at his employer. "You serious?"
Henken nodded. "I am, although this is the first time I've seen it in a big city like Thagaste. Most of the other incidents took place in very small, poor villages up north. A church's walls just crumble away one night, or its doors and windows just disintegrate on another. I've heard that priests and clergymen have disappeared in a couple of towns too."
A brief glimmer of worry crossed Renault's face. "Do you think that could happen to my mom?"
"I doubt it," Henken replied. "Most of the trouble's occurring in poor towns in the north, like I said. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that whatever these vandals are doing is motivated by their poverty more than anything else. The king's taxing the people harder and harder, and it's not easy for some of the poorer villages to keep up. Combine that with the tithe required by every Eliminean church, and you have a whole lot of resentment brewing towards the clergy and the nobility. It wouldn't surprise me if this country had a rebellion on its hands in a few years."
"But if it's just poor people doing the damage, like you say, then how are they doing it? What could possibly make solid stone just crumble away like this?"
"That's a very good question, Renault, and I don't have an answer to it."
"So then it's got to be something else." Renault grinned. "The situation can't be that bad, can it? Who's been telling you this stuff? I'd bet they're just making it up!"
Henken shrugged. "A friend of mine's a royal tax collector, and that's what he told me. Believe him or not."
"Tax collector, huh? Looks like you know some pretty important people. Maybe this kind of thing does signify worse to come." Renault chuckled in amusement. "Man, Elibe's really falling apart, isn't it? First there was that civil war in Lycia a few years back, and now there's this rebellion brewing. Hah, if only I was a mercenary! I'd be making a killing off of all this war!"
Something that seemed dangerously like anger flashed behind Henken's flat gray eyes. "You're not. Get back to work."
"Y-yes sir!" Renault stammered, completely unnerved and intimidated by his employer's sudden burst of emotion. He had never seen Henken angry before; had never even come close to seeing him angry, but he had seen all he needed to know that anyone who antagonized the mysterious stonemaster was a fool.
And with that, their conversation ended. The two men worked in silence for hours, carefully setting stone after stone in place. The work was easier than Renault had anticipated, and it seemed as if they could fully repair the damage to the cathedral within a few days. The soft morning sun rose in the sky until it glowered overhead with the force of noon, and the empty streets soon filled with the noise of human life. Renault found this much to his liking. Despite repairing his mother's workplace, he was able to drive all thoughts of the woman from his mind by immersing himself in the commotion of city life, by concentrating on nothing but setting one block after the next into place.
Unfortunately, the trance he had worked himself into could be broken quite easily by one thing—his own stomach. Renault had not had any breakfast, and as noon marched on, hunger began to bloom inside his belly, eventually making itself known with a loud and embarrassing grumble. Renault blushed and tried to busy himself by dusting away some of the debris surrounding one of the cathedral's taller buttresses, but both he and his boss knew it was pointless.
"I'm actually getting hungry myself," Henken dryly intoned. "Taking a break for lunch sounds like a good idea."
"Uh…yeah." Renault sighed apprehensively. He proceeded to sit silently with his hands folded in front of him while Henken proceeded to reach into a small knapsack he carried with him and pull out a piece of dried jerky and a loaf of bread. After taking a bite of the jerky, he noticed his protégé wasn't eating anything. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You don't have anything to eat? Your mother always makes you lunch to bring to work."
"Not today, she didn't." Renault mumbled dejectedly.
"I see." said Henken. He nonchalantly broke his loaf of bread in half and tore away a piece of jerky, holding both of them out to Renault. "Have this, then."
"Master? Are you sure?" Renault asked, surprised at this uncharacteristic display of kindness.
"That noise your stomach's making annoys me." came the blunt reply.
"Oh. Sorry, sir." Renault obediently took his share of his master's lunch and began to devour it voraciously. He had already finished the bread and had just started on the jerky when he heard a familiar, annoying greeting.
"Oi, Renault!" came the cheery voice of a young man from below. "How're you doing, my friend?"
Renault grimaced and clenched his hands shut in annoyance. He looked down and saw a portly, brown-haired youth a year older than he was, wearing the simple clothing of a poor seminarian and sporting a large, stupid grin on his face. "I'm fine, Serapino," Renault called down to him. "Look, I'm taking a lunch break right now, and then I have to get back to work. Do you think you could leave me alone?"
"Oh! Whoops! Sorry, I didn't realize that. Hope I wasn't interrupting anything!"
"I'm sitting on this damn scaffolding enjoying a bite to eat after spending the morning fixing up your stupid cathedral." Renault muttered to himself. "What else could I be doing?" Then again, Renault couldn't be particularly surprised at how dense Serapino could often be. He'd known the aspiring priest since he had been very young—Serapino usually sat near him during church services. They had grown to be close friends, since both of them aspired to join the clergy, but after Renault's father died and he drifted away from the church, they had also grown apart. Still, Serapino was quite fond of Renault's mother and assisted her in her duties as bishop as part of his training. Thus, he continued to consider him a friend, much to Renault's dismay. He was honest and well-intentioned, but also remarkably scatterbrained—Renault was amazed he had ever managed to gain entry to a seminary to train for the priesthood.
He smiled in satisfaction as the chubby young man started to waddle off, but silently swore to himself when Serapino hastily padded back with an inquisitive look on his face. "Oh! I almost forgot!" he called. "Renault, have you seen your mother today? There's a couple of, uh, things she has to read, but she hasn't come in yet. Do you know where she is?"
A sudden flash of anger burned through Renault at the mention of his mother, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. "I don't know." he called back down to Serapino.
"Oh." The seminarian looked puzzled. "Uh, are you sure? Your mother's usually really on top of her duties as a bishop, it's sure weird to see her skipping out like this."
"Look, I don't know where she is, alright?" Renault again called down, growing angry.
"Really?" Serapino looked dismayed. "But you're her son and everything, I thought maybe you'd—"
"I DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE IS, AND I DON'T CARE!" Renault shouted in fury. Henken shot him a look of surprise, curious bystanders gathered around to see what the commotion was, and poor Serapino was so bewildered by the sudden outburst that he took a step back, tripped on his own robes, and fell squarely onto his backside.
Realizing what he had just done, and seeing what a spectacle he'd made of himself, Renault was overcome by shame. He hastily shimmied down from his perch to help Serapino get back on his feet. "I'm sorry, Serapino," he quietly apologized. "I've had a really rough night. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that, I'm really sorry."
"Uh…it's okay, my friend." Serapino looked at him hesitantly. "Something really bad must have happened, huh?"
Renault sighed. "Yeah. It wasn't your fault, though. Look, the last time I saw her…the last time I saw my mother, I mean, she…she was at home. Maybe she's still there, I don't know."
The aspiring priest's face immediately brightened up. "Alright! Thanks, Renault! I'll just check in with her, then. Thanks again!"
Renault watched him waddle off towards his mother's house with a heavy heart. The small crowd of curious spectators had grown bored and dissipated, and Renault finished up the last of his jerky as he climbed back up the scaffolding to resume his work. Henken, however, didn't seem to expect him to. Renault's employer simply stared at him evenly, as if searching for an explanation.
"Like I said, I'm sorry, master." Renault shut his eyes and massaged his temple.
"It really seems like you've got something heavy on your back today, Renault." Henken replied. Renault looked into his eyes, and saw something there that looked suspiciously like sympathy. "You want to talk about it?"
The young man looked down at his lap for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then looked at Henken. "Hey, master," he asked, "do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Did you ever know my father?"
Henken blinked, somewhat confused at this seemingly random turn in the conversation. "I can't say I did," he replied. "He died several years before I came to Etruria. Sergion was his name, right? He was a good man, from what people have told me."
Renault smiled fondly. "Yep. He definitely was, master. I wanted to be just like him when I was a kid, you know. When I was little, he'd pick up and let me ride around his shoulders for hours. He never seemed to get tired, either. Back then, I thought he was the strongest man in the world!"
Henken smiled as well, a rarity coming from him. "I wonder if all children think that way about their fathers?"
"Heh, well, my dad wasn't just strong. He was one of the kindest people in the city, too. After he'd finished his work for the diocese or presided over a Sunday Mass, he'd just head out to do good things for Thagaste. I heard stories about his work from all over the place. Spending a day helping out a soup kitchen, teaching classes at an orphanage, tending to the sick at one of Elimine's hospices, that sort of thing." Renault lowered his head. "I think that's what killed him, in the end."
"What do you mean?" Henken asked.
"It all started a day after he'd attended to a small hospital near the cathedral. The place gave aid to those too poor to afford a physician or a healer. Well, some of them, at least. Most just couldn't be helped. Dad came home from that place one night, and he went to bed feeling as happy as ever."
Renault's expression darkened. "Over the next few days, though, he started to get really sick. He said it was just a cold and tried to brush it off. I guess he didn't want to worry us. He kept saying nothing was wrong even as his coughing got worse. It wasn't until Sunday that we found out just how bad his problems were.
"He'd insisted on presiding over the service even though my mom told him to stay at home. Mother and I sat on the front pew, like we always did, and listened to him preach. He seemed to be doing well enough, but he kept coughing and coughing. He apologized for it at first, but couldn't keep it up. I remember…I remember him trying to get through the last homily before giving Mass, but…he couldn't make it. I still remember that moment, as clear as if it happened yesterday. He…he gave one horrible cough, and started gagging. He fell to his knees…tried to get up, but…he just fell again and stayed put. Mother and a few other parishioners rushed up to help him, and we all dragged him home and put him in bed as quick as we could." Renault grimaced. "I don't remember if somebody else gave the believers their bread and milk.
"I don't think I was ever as scared in my life, before or since. I thought my dad was the strongest man in the world. I never imagined something like that could have happened to him. But when we got him in bed, we saw blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth. I guess even he wasn't strong enough to put up a fight against that."
Again, that brief glimmer of sympathy could be seen behind Henken's cold eyes. "It was consumption, wasn't it?"
Renault nodded. "He'd probably caught it from some poor bastard at that hospice he always helped out at. When my mom saw what it was, she shut him up in the guest bedroom." Renault put his head in his hands. "It took him a week to die afterwards."
"My mom and I, we really did our best to help him. My mom did, at least-she made sure I stayed the hell away from that room. I remember her wrapping a cloth around her face, bringing a tub of hot water to my dad to wash away the blood he kept vomiting...what I remember most, though, is how we prayed. Day and night, we asked the Creator to help us, to do something for us. After I woke up, I said a prayer for him to get better. Before meals, when my mom and I said grace, we'd say a prayer for his health, and at night...my mom would give me a cloth for my face, and we'd kneel at my father's bedside, and ask God to heal him."
"It didn't do shit," Renault spat bitterly. "He lingered for a little more than seven days, just wasting away. It was the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. His muscles turned to rotten mush, his eyes sank into his head, and there was always that grimy coating of blood around his lips-as soon as my mother tried to wash it away, the coughing just brought it back. My dad used to be so strong, I...I just couldn't stand seeing him that way. Honestly, I was glad when he died. At least he wouldn't have to suffer anymore."
"Sometimes death really can be a blessing." Henken muttered softly.
Renault nodded in agreement, then looked up at the sky. "That's when I lost my faith, master. Dad was a bishop, but that didn't help him one bit. My mom and I prayed and prayed, but that didn't do anything. So then what's the point of believing in the God of Elimine? Hell, what's the point of believing in any of the gods of any religion at all?"
Renault grimaced, growing angrier. "My mom never saw it that way, though. After my dad died, she took over his position as bishop of this diocese and got even more religious. She's always on my back about how I'm not pious enough, how I should pray more, and how I'm a bad son because I don't kneel before some God who's never done anything for us." The young man gritted his teeth angrily. "I can't understand it, Henken! We followed the teachings of Elimine all our lives, and God still took my father away from us. Why does my mother still believe?"
Henken said nothing for a few moments, allowing his apprentice a bit of time to catch his breath and gain control of his emotion. "Renault...that's actually a good question." he replied calmly. "Take a minute and think of it this way, though. Your father's death was hard on your mother as well, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. If I ever get married, I'd like be as close with my wife as my dad was with my mom. His death really tore her up inside. After his funeral, my mom barely ate or slept for days. She'd just lie in bed staring at the empty space next to her. I was scared that she'd die too, but a lot of dad's former parishioners and his students from the seminary came by to cheer up his wife. I guess that encouraged her to take his position." Renault winced slightly as he remembered how angry he had made his mother the night before. "Even today, just mentioning my father gets a rise out of her."
"I thought so." Henken nodded. "So think of her feelings, Renault. Her beloved husband died, and she's had to raise their son all alone for the past ten years. I'm no expert on the Scriptures, but I do remember that Saint Elimine taught that good people would go to God's country when they died, where they received their rewards for all the good things they did in their lives." He gazed contemplatively at the cathedral they were working on. "That's something a lot of people want to believe in, your mother included. Even if your father died painfully, it's nice to believe he's happy in the afterlife. Even if he's not here anymore, it makes it a little easier to believe he's watching over you from heaven. Isn't that what your mother teaches?"
"Yeah. She always tells me that my dad's in a better place, that he's watching me with God, and all that other stuff." Renault clenched his fists tightly. "That just makes me angrier, though. I can't stand the thought of heaven!"
Henken blinked, surprised yet again by his angry apprentice. "Why?"
"My mom always tells me that my dad's happier now, that he's not suffering anymore because he's in a better place. But why does heaven have to be better? Why does God's country have to be better than anything we have here on Elibe? Why do we have to deal with suffering and death and pain? The Creator's supposed to be all-powerful, right? Why doesn't He just send everybody straight to heaven instead of waiting for us to die first?" Renault shook his head. "There's nothing in the world worse than death-I know that from watching my father. Why does God say we have to die before joining Him? I can't believe in a God like that. I won't believe in a God like that. And I can't see why my mom does!"
"Death is inevitable, Renault." Henken's voice was flat and hard, and his eyes were as cold as his apprentice had ever seen them. "It's everywhere, it's inescapable. Whether or not you believe in God, the one constant in life is that it ends. I've seen enough death to know that to be true."
At this, Renault looked at his master curiously, and Henken blinked, as if he mentioned something he shouldn't have. His expression softened, and he hastily waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss what he had just said. "Forget that, Renault. Look, I'm just saying that death is a natural part of life, and it's something all people have to accept. Religion is one way of doing so, and it's what your mother chose to help her deal with it. Can't you respect that, at least?"
Renault sighed heavily. "It'd be easier for me if she didn't try to shove her beliefs down my throat all the time. Even if she's dumb enough to believe all that crap, why does she have to force it on me?"
"Because you live under her roof and still depend on her to take care of you," Henken replied, his typical blunt, unemotional demeanor returning. "Your personal life is none of my business, but if you don't want to sleep on the hard ground and spend your mornings with an empty belly, you'll just have to deal with her religion. It'd be best for you to make up with your mother. I won't have anything for you to eat next time."
"Alright, alright, I get your point, master," Renault conceded, "I'll apologize to her when I get home. I'll try, at least."
"Good." Henken motioned towards the wrecked face of the cathedral, which still needed to be repaired. "We've chatted enough. Time to get back to work."
Both men turned back to the cathedral, continuing once again to set the stone blocks into place. After a few minutes, however, Renault paused for a moment to turn towards his master. "Uh...one more thing, sir," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Thanks."
Henken merely nodded expressionlessly, and Renault hastily returned to work. Thus, he did not notice the tiniest hint of a smile which had managed to creep onto his master's face.
-X-
The young seminarian stumbled as fast as he could through the crowded streets of Thagaste, deeply unnerved by the nonstop activity of the busy city. Serapino was not at all difficult to fluster even under the best of circumstances, and the fact that he had apparently managed to get himself lost did absolutely nothing to put him at ease. Disoriented as he was and preoccupied with trying to find his way to his destination, his troubles were compounded when he managed to blunder straight into another young man carrying a basket full of apples. The fruits spilled everywhere, and both men tripped over each other, straight onto the cobbled ground.
"AGH! You idiot! Watch where you're going!" the apple-carrier fumed.
"Ah! I-I'm so sorry, I swear by Elimine's name I didn't mean to...ah, I'm such a clumsy good-for-nothing!" Serapino hastily got on his hands and knees to pick up the fruits he had knocked down. The other fellow opened his mouth to agree, but stopped when he saw the title of the heavy, ornately gilded leather-bound tome Serapino had dropped. "You, are you a priest?" he asked. "That's a copy of St. Elimine's Journey you're carrying."
"Uh, I'm training to be one, yes," Serapino stammered, "though I doubt Elimine will look fondly upon me for all the trouble I've caused...ah, I'll wear out my rosary tonight making reparations for this mess!"
At this, the other man sighed heavily. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll clean all this up myself, you don't have to help me. It looked like you were in a hurry, so get going."
"Ah! Thank you, my friend!" Serapino exclaimed happily. "If only I knew where to go."
The other fellow blinked. "Are you lost?"
"Er," Serapino gazed up at the man with the most sheepish expression he could muster. "You could say that...I, uh, I'm looking for the house of Bishop Monica, but I can't seem to find it anywhere! It's as if it just disappeared!"
Serapino's new friend sighed heavily yet again. "It hasn't disappeared, you've just been looking in the entirely wrong area! Go down this street until you see a baker's shop with a red sign over the entrance. From there, head left. The bishop's place ought to be the fifth house you see. It's white with a red-shingled roof. You should be able to find it easily."
"Ah! A thousand blessings upon you, my friend!" Serapino's eyes lit up with gratitude. "I shall certainly mention you in my prayers tonight! Thank you, thank you!"
And with that, the aspiring priest eagerly waddled off in the direction the other man had pointed out to him. Shaking his head, the deliveryman chuckled. "A scatterbrain like that needs Elimine's blessings a lot more than I do," he laughed to himself, and then returned to picking up the apples Serapino had spilled.
-X-
Despite the directions he had received, Serapino still had a difficult time hunting down Monica's residence, and it was only thanks to the kind intervention of yet another goodhearted stranger (who was forced to show the bumbling seminarian right to the bishop's front door) that he managed to find his way there safe and sound.
As he walked up to the doorstep, Serapino paused for a moment to take a look at the pretty, though not ostentatious, house. Monica kept her son's skillful hands busy with their home when he was not at work, and the building gained much from the attention. The roofs of their neighbor's homes were often just a tad leaky or shabby, but the shingles of Monica's home were always in perfect condition. The shutters of the windows of other houses in the area were typically slightly crooked (and after bad weather, sometimes nonexistent) but all of Monica's were perfectly straight and well-maintained. And where the elements took their toll on the walls of the other buildings in the neighborhood, the coat of limewash which covered the exterior of Monica's home always looked as if it had just been painted on—which Monica forced her son to ensure it had every month.
Despite the outwardly picturesque appearance of the home, Serapino felt deeply uncomfortable whenever he dropped by for a visit. He'd never been able to figure out exactly why—the house looked nice enough, after all. But something about it just struck him as unpleasant, somehow. The limewash was laid on with quick, hard strokes, those of a man who hated what he was doing. The nails which held the building together were driven in with an architect's careful hand, but the wood around them was flayed and uneven, indicating more force than necessary was behind the blows. These small details reminded Serapino of how angry the person who made them always seemed to be nowadays, and the seminarian couldn't help thinking that Renault was channeling his seemingly endless supply of hatred and resentment into his home as he worked on it.
Serapino sighed heavily. How he wished Sergion was still alive!
Still, it was his duty to check up on the bishop, and after all the trouble he'd caused for various people in his attempts to get here, God would not approve of him turning back now (and likely getting lost yet again). Thus, he raised a hand and rapped softly on the door. When no reply came, he knocked harder, and when he was rewarded with nothing after that, he curled a pudgy hand into a fist and pounded loudly on the door. To his surprise, it was not locked or fastened, and opened inward with a small creak into the empty house.
Serapino jumped back and yelped in surprise. "I'm sorry!" he apologized, but after he regained his wits, it seemed there was no-one in the house to apologize to. This deeply perplexed the young seminarian—if Monica wasn't at the cathedral, where else could she be? His curiosity overtook his good sense, and he cautiously stepped foot into the bishop's residence. "Uh…Your Excellency?" he called out nervously. No-one answered. Now both nervous and worried for the bishop, Serapino carefully made his way around her residence. The house seemed even gloomier than usual, as if the walls had borne witness to something exceedingly terrible last night.
The silence which permeated the dwelling was suddenly broken by a loud thump that came from above him, and Serapino nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise. Attempting to calm himself down before he lost his nerve and fled the residence, he thought to himself, "I bet it's Monica doing something upstairs!" Relieved, he convinced himself that it was a reasonable explanation. He ran to the stairwell and looked at the darkened hallway at the end of it. "Your Excellency?" he called. Still, no answer. He quietly made his way up the stairs, wincing as they creaked beneath his feet. "Uh, Bishop Monica, I was just wondering where you were today…" he began to say, but stopped when he heard what sounded like soft, padded footsteps quickly making their way across to Monica's bedroom. "Ah, Bishop!" Serapino called out happily, and hurried up to where he heard the noise.
Peering into the bedroom, Serapino didn't understand what he saw. Monica was in there, all right, but he'd never seen her doing anything like she was now.
The woman feverishly paced back and forth across the room, words of prayer spilling incoherently from her mouth as she quickly and anxiously threaded the beads of her rosary through her nimble fingers. Her face was stained by what appeared to be an entire night's worth of crying, and most unnerving of all, her nose was covered with dried blood. "Bishop!" Serapino cried. "What in the world happened to you?"
Monica suddenly stopped her pacing and chanting, although she continued to move the beads of her rosary. She turned her glazed, stricken eyes upon her visitor. "Serapino?" she murmured, almost uncomprehendingly.
"Uh…yes, it's me, Your Excellency. What…what happened?"
At these words, Monica snapped out of her trance. "Ah! Serapino!" she exclaimed. "N-Nothing! I…I'm fine."
"You certainly don't look fine," Serapino admonished, concern evident in his voice. "You didn't come in today, even though there were several documents you were requested to sign. I was worried!"
Monica's eyes widened. "Oh, by the Saint, you're right! How could I have been so lazy! I am so sorry…I'll get to it right away!"
She immediately tried to rush past her guest, but Serapino would not let her leave. He grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "Don't worry about it, Monica!" he pleaded. "It can wait until tomorrow. Please, just stay here. Lie down. I'll…I'll clean you up."
Monica stared at him for a moment, and Serapino realized what he had just done. "Ah! I'm so sorry!" he cried. "I was completely out of place. P-please, forgive me, Your Excellency!" He bowed his head in penance.
The bishop looked down on him, and when he looked up to meet her gaze, he was surprised to see not anger, but a combination of sadness, affection, and strangely enough, relief in her eyes. "No, you're right, my child," she said gently. "Thank you. Your kindness is a blessing to yourself and others." She returned to her bed and lay down, and Serapino immediately set to tending her wound. Setting the Journey upon Monica's bedside table, the aspiring priest took out a handkerchief from his pocket and a small ampoule of holy water from its clasp on his belt. Wetting the cloth with the pure liquid, he gently wiped the blood and tears away from the bishop's face. Although he succeeded in wiping away the crusted blood, the bones of Monica's nose still needed to be set. "Bishop, do you have a staff?" he inquired. She nodded and pointed him towards the closet, where he found a modest birch staff with a small sapphire set at its tip. Holding it up with one hand and pressing on the bishop's nose with another, Serapino chanted the words of power. The bones of her face seemed to give way under his fingers, and he molded the smashed bridge of her nose back into shape. "Is that better? Does it hurt anymore?" he asked.
"It doesn't." Monica smiled. "I didn't know you'd grown so skilled with staves, Serapino. A little more work, and I'm sure you'll be ordained very soon!"
The young man blushed furiously. "R-really?" he stammered. "But I'm so clumsy, and I'm not so smart…"
"You have a good heart, and that's all the matters." Monica looked down for a moment and sighed. "I wish you were my son."
Serapino was taken aback for a moment. "But you already have a son!" he opined.
Monica's face hardened. "Yes, unfortunately, I do."
Serapino remained silent, unsure of what to say. He fidgeted nervously and clasped his hands in front of his lap.
"Renault is a terrible child," Monica continued, her voice choking with sadness and bitterness. "He's a blasphemer and a thug. I've prayed for him so many times, and I have been praying for him since last night." She raised the rosary she held. "I can't remember how many cycles I've completed, just walking around this room. But it never does anything. He never changes" Her eyes began to water up, and Serapino held out another handkerchief. "Thank you, child." Monica responded gratefully.
"Renault wasn't always like this, was he?" Serapino asked quietly. "When we were children, he always used to come to church with me…"
Monica shook her head. "He used to be such a good boy. He wanted to follow his father into the clergy before…before Sergion…" Monica sniffled and blew into the cloth. "By the Saint, how I wish Sergion was still alive!"
Serapino nodded sadly. "Everyone wishes Sergion had not passed, Your Excellency. Still, though, he remains with us in spirit, right? He watches over us from Heaven, doesn't he? That's what the Scriptures say…"
"You've studied them well, Serapino." Monica smiled sadly. "That's what I've told my son, day after day. His father is watching him from heaven, and he wouldn't want his son to turn out this way. But Renault is never sorry. He just gets angrier and angrier, no matter how I scold him. His father must be so ashamed…what have I done to deserve such an incorrigible child?"
"Um…" Serapino was yet again at a loss for what to say next. "I don't know what went on between you two last night, but Renault seemed very sad about it today."
Monica looked at him, somewhat surprised. "Is that true?"
He nodded "Yup, I asked him where you were while he was working on your cathedral. He looked like he didn't get much sleep, and he seemed really sad about something."
"He did?" Monica's face softened for a moment, but much of its hardness remained. "He should. He always makes trouble for me and others, no matter what I say to him."
Serapino looked at her in dismay. "But he's still your son, isn't he? Sometimes children fall astray. That's just how they are. Elimine preached forgiveness…can't you extend that to your own flesh and blood?"
"For ten years?" Monica retorted. "While he's twenty-three?"
"I'm twenty-four and I still cause trouble for my parents. If someone wrongs you ninety-nine times, aren't you supposed to forgive them one hundred times? That's what I read in the Scriptures."
"He is my only son." Monica sighed. "You're right, Serapino. It's a strange thing, isn't it? I'm a bishop being taught Scripture by a student."
At this, Serapino turned beet red, and tucked his plump head into his collar to make himself look as small as possible. "F-Forgive my impudence, Your Excellency!"
Monica chuckled. "There's no need to apologize, my child. You're wiser than you think." She reached out and patted his cheek affectionately. "I truly thank you, Serapino. Whichever parish you eventually administer will be blessed indeed."
"Th-thank you, Bishop." Serapino stood up. "I have to go home, I think my parents are expecting me. So…so you'll be alright?"
Monica nodded. "I will. Thank you again Serapino. If Renault comes home today," she paused for a moment, "I…we'll make things right. God will show us the way."
Serapino smiled in contentment and waddled off down the stairs, with Monica following close behind him. As he exited her home and began making his way back to his own, he turned and saw the bishop happily waving him goodbye.
Not even getting lost yet again and having to ask for directions to his own house could dim his good cheer.
-X-
The sun was beginning to fall in the sky, and the streets were filled with teeming throngs of people returning to their families after a hard day's work. Renault was one of them. He and Henken had managed to make more progress on the cathedral than expected, and it seemed they might be able to repair it completely over the next few days. They were both satisfied with their work, but although they hard parted with a simple agreement to meet at the cathedral next morning, Renault knew he was obligated to carry out Henken's unspoken request.
With a heavy heart, he trudged resolutely towards his home, where restitution of some kind had to be made.
Standing at his doorstep, he brought up a hand to knock, but hesitated for a moment. Is it really worth it? He thought to himself. Punching your own mother in the face wasn't really a transgression easily forgiven.
Still, he had to try. Spending a night in an alley was not an experience he'd like to repeat.
He curled up his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. "Anybody home?" he called.
He heard his mother's soft footsteps padding up to the door, which opened swiftly with a creak, somewhat surprising him. Monica stood beside the doorway, waiting for her son.
"Y-you're letting me in?" Renault stammered.
Monica nodded, and then moved further inside her home, beckoning her son to follow. Renault complied, closing the door behind him. The bishop and her wayward son now stood facing each other in their living room, alone. Renault's mother looked at him with a cocktail of emotions he couldn't quite identify—anger, bitterness, sadness, and expectation seemed mixed with what almost seemed like longing for something that no longer existed.
As he looked at his mother, he noticed that her nose seemed to have been repaired. "Mom, your face—" he began, but Monica stopped him.
"Serapino came by earlier today," she said flatly. "He fixed it for me."
Upon hearing that his friend had been the one to comfort his mother while he was at work, Renault was overcome by shame. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists as he tried to force the words through his constricted throat. "Mom—Mother—" he began, "I'm…I'm sorry."
His mother simply stared at him, expecting him to continue.
"That was the worst thing I ever did in my life," Renault continued, gritting his teeth. "I…that's all I can say. That's all I know to say." He bowed his head. "I'll…damn it, I'll say the Rite of Contrition if you want. I'll confess my sins to a priest! Anything! Please, just forgive me!"
"It wouldn't make a difference, would it?" Monica whispered. In response, her son just stared at her in astonishment.
"For ten years since your father died, you've hated God, haven't you? You've always spurned my attempts to bring you up in the ways of Elimine, and you probably always will. There's nothing I can do to change that. I realize that now. So don't bother with asking God for forgiveness. For you, it's meaningless."
Renault was taken aback. He didn't think it was possible for him to feel any worse than he did as he came home, but he had just been proven very wrong. "Mother…what do you want from me?" he asked, his despair evident in his voice and forlorn expression.
"I don't want anything from you," she responded flatly. "You are my only son. It's my duty to take care of you." She looked up at him. "You've asked for my forgiveness, and it's my responsibility to give it. So…I do forgive you, Renault."
Is that it? Just her responsibility? Renault thought to himself, but realized it was best to keep his thoughts to himself. He merely replied with a quiet "Thanks."
Renault looked at his mother unhappily. He had obtained her forgiveness, but felt that nothing had truly changed. She still looked upon him with that mixture of sadness and disappointment which pained him even more than all her angry lectures and harsh words ever had over the years.
He was a bad son, and his miserable apology had done little to change that.
"Are you hungry, Renault? Do you want dinner?" Monica asked.
"That…that would be nice." Renault perked up, an idea coming to him. "Do you want me to help you, mom?"
The woman shook her head. "There's no point. You don't know how to cook."
Monica quietly padded to the kitchen, and her son took a seat at their dining table. Sighing miserably, he put his head in his hands.
His mother had forgiven him. That was it.
::Linear Notes::
Yet again, legal stuff: I don't own any of the characters or the settings of the Fire Emblem series, I am merely a humble fanficcer. These rights belong to Nintendo and Intelligent System.
And, yet again, another unduly long rendition of these "linear notes." First off, my dear reader, I must thank you for reading my work at all—as I have said before, there are so many fine authors at FFn, it is truly an honor that you are lavishing me with your attention. Secondly, however, I must sincerely and humbly apologize to you for the extreme tardiness of this chapter. As you can tell from looking at the first chapter, I am only releasing this one almost a year after releasing the first. I can honestly make no excuse, but can only beg your forgiveness by explaining my circumstances. You see, for most of the last year, I had been working feverishly on the history of a message board I used to go to, the Fire Emblem Sanctuary of Strategy. This work was intended to be the very last thing I ever did for the board, so I wanted to both finish it off as quickly as possible and make it as good as possible. Thus, until January of 2007, I found almost no time to work on my fanfic as I was too preoccupied with finishing my FESS History. Fortunately, I got that out of the way in January. So what kept me from finishing this chapter until March? College work, mainly. I have been quite stressed and overburdened :( For that reason, I will also be slow with updates UNTIL early May, when I go back home and can FINALLY relax for the summer. Expect to see me much more often then ;)
Now, for all the people I must thank publicly for their reviews of the previous chapter (I unfortunately cannot thank anonymous reviewers or people who haven't left reviews, since I, ah, don't know their names :D;; ):
Writer Awakened—Your review was delightfully long and detailed, and I truly enjoyed reading it. I'm glad you think the story's off to a good start, and I'm also very glad you told me about which aspects of it could be improved. I hope you like this chapter better, particularly in respects to the protagonist—as displayed in his conversation with Henken, Renault does have a few good characteristics, it's just that his mother brings out the worst in him.
Shinnotooni, thanks muchly for your review as well. Glad you liked it, and also, thanks for the heads-up concerning Eliminism as portrayed in FE6 :D
Sega Genesis, now that was an enthusiastic review ^^ Thanks for the offer, but you don't have to send me any money, I'm happy just to be writing for people like you ^^
Keaira19, I'm really happy you enjoyed the chapter. You're right, it is pretty gruesome ;_; I'm sorry this latest update was indeed so far in the future, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait :D
Finally, last but most CERTAINLY not least…
Pureauthor, I REALLY appreciated your review—perfect example of concrit, as it really gave me a lot of ideas to think about in making sure my fic follows the right track. Your comments on theology were especially helpful, and I thought about them when writing about Renault's thoughts on heaven and why he finds the concept so distasteful. Thank you so much again!
Trimurti, that was a birthday gift I indeed appreciated ^^ Although I'm sorry the characters didn't appeal to you, I have to admit that's more than understandable, since as other reviewers have noted, Renault is very unlikable ;_; I am happy you thought the plot moved along well, though (I will admit the puppet strings weren't exactly well-hidden [same with this chapter] but this story does have both a detailed and a quick-moving plot, so I thought it was necessary), and I'm also happy you felt the style was up to my usual standards :D All in all, thanks very much for your review, I really appreciated it ^_^
Secondly, I'm also obligated to thank Trimurti yet again for the valuable assistance she rendered to me with regards to canon and the timeframe of FE7. She was kind enough to spend some time posting up all the ages of the characters in FE6 and FE7 from the game's artbook on to FFn! You can see the results of her efforts here:
www . fanfiction fr / 501314 / 2713 / 12763 / 1 /
Remove the spaces, as always. I found it to be very valuable in plotting out the later sections of my fic, since Renault, whose age was 'unknown,' spent some time interacting with both Wallace (in his 40s) and Lucius (in his 20s). So yeah, that was a great help to me, and I (along with any others who would find that information useful!) are greatly indebted to Trimurti for taking the time to post it. Also, she was kind enough to translate a 'character map' from the FE6/7 artbook and post it up on her LJ (trimurti_tuner). I again found this resource very useful, particularly in its description of the relationship between Renault and Nergal. Other authors would find it useful as well—for instance, did you know that Kent and Heath have a canonical relationship as "acquaintances?" Interesting stuff :D So, once again, a great big thank you goes out to Trimurti for giving the fandom all this nice stuff :)
Also, since I actually finished playing the translated FE6 patch for the Game Boy Advance, I must also thank the people who made it! Thanks to Firelizard once again for translating it, and you can see his work here:
http/ db. gamefaqs portable/ - FE6 script translation
http/ db. gamefaqs portable/ - FE6 support translation
Aside from him, thanks to PrinceLeaf, Eaichu, Kyuusei, Rosa Aquafire, Jet Enduro, and Darkslime for their work on the game and helping FL with his translation. :D
::Theology::
Since I've made a few references to the more esoteric nuances of the Bible and Christian history, I thought it might be prudent to explain them in this section. Although this story—most of it, at least—is far from uplifting, I think that if I can educate a few people about a few bits of history, and a few bits of FE's game world, that's worth it :D
First off, a bit of explanation about the concept of a 'diocese.' Literally speaking, a diocese is an area administered to by a bishop—i.e he looks over the spiritual welfare of all the parishioners in a large area. Under him are the local priests and pastors who take care of congregations at their local churches and things like that. However, during the Middle Ages, it's also important to remember that bishops often had secular as well as spiritual duties—the clergy was often the most well-educated class in Europe at the time, so rulers often relied upon them to assist in worldly administration as well as spiritual administration. Thus, that's the sort of thing that would have kept a bishop like Monica occupied in the world of Elibe. Now, I'm not exactly a historian (or a Catholic) myself, so, uh, if I'm wrong, could someone more knowledgeable please correct me? ^^;
Now, concerning the Eliminean Mass. As many of you know, the Mass, at least in Catholicism, is the ceremony surrounding the celebration of the Eucharist, i.e the bread and wine thing. Now, it's canon that the Eliminean church has a ceremony called Mass, since Bartre tells Renault in their C support, "You may say Mass on Sundays, but you brawl your week away!" This brought some problems for me, however, since I thought it wouldn't be accurate to have Elibe's Mass be exactly the same thing. You see, the Eucharist is a commemoration of Christ's feeding of His disciples, where he told them something to the effect of, "This bread is my body, and this wine is my blood." The importance of this is that it foreshadowed Christ's sacrifice on the cross, where he gave up both his body and his blood to forgive the sins of mankind. Thus, it wouldn't make much sense for the Elimineans to have a Mass similar to that, since St. Elimine didn't die for anybody's sins, she just helped defeat the dragons ^^;; Thus, that is why I decided the Eliminean Mass would revolve around the presiding priest giving out bread and milk rather than bread and wine. Also, it's partially to differentiate Eliminism from Christianity, since I don't want to just rip off the Bible constantly, after all XD The specific significance of this will be explored in a later chapter, but for now, that's just an explanation ^^
God and gods—Renault's question, So then what's the point of believing in the God of Elimine? Hell, what's the point of believing in any of the gods of any religion at all?" is how I solve a canon dilemma seemingly posed by FE6 and 7. You see, in FE6, the Eliminean Church clearly believes in one God—in his supports with Dayan, Yodel states, "God would not approve of me pushing my beliefs onto you." However, in FE7, Kenneth, the corrupt Bishop states, "There are no gods!" Thus, there seems to be something of a contradiction. I solved this by assuming Kenneth meant the gods of ALL religions, not just the Eliminean God. Thus, Renault acknowledges this, and he's just as much of an atheist in the gods of Sacae, Nabata, et. al as he is about the God St. Elimine preached for. At least for now…;)
Serapino's statement to Monica, "If someone wrongs you ninety-nine times, aren't you supposed to forgive them one hundred times? That's what I read in the Scriptures." is a reference to Matthew 18:21-22:
"Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive someone who sins against me? Up to seven times?'
22: Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."
I think it's actually supposed to be "seven-times-seventy," but this copy of the Bible (New International Version from the International Bible Society) just says 77, so I'm going with that. ^_^
Lastly, just as a note, for those of you who don't know—consumption was the medieval name for tuberculosis. T-T
Well, that's all I can think of. Thank you, once again, my dear reader, for staying with me for this second installment of Wayward Son. See you in the future!
