Chapter Four: Drawing Lessons

4 years after the attack

When I'm in my workroom, Brendan stays with me. But when I'm working on the wall, he spends his time in the scriptorium. It's not safe for him to be running about on the scaffolding yet. Maybe when he's a little older.

Unfortunately, most of the brothers spend the majority of their time in the scriptorium too. They have not quite caught the vision of the wall yet… despite my best efforts.

I come in one day to find Brendan sprawled on the ground, a parchment spread before him and a quill smashed in his little fist. He's tracing loops of ink with abandon.

"Brendan!" He freezes, then looks up at me, eyes wide. "Those are not for playing! Those are for the brothers!"

Brother Leonardo stands up, arms spread out. "Abbot Cellach, I explain. The boy asked if he could—"

"Well, he can't," I say. "We can't waste our supplies this way."

Brendan's head droops. He lowers the quill to the floor.

Brother Square speaks up now. "He just wants to learn the fine art of illumination."

"He's a child," I say, "There will time enough for that much later on. Brendan—"

His lip is quivering. His eyes are beginning to flood.

I sigh. Why did they tell him he could draw? They know our supplies are limited. They know a young child could easily get carried away and waste scores of pages on nothing but whimsy.

Now, I appear to be the villain.

I take Brendan's hand. "Come along, Brendan. I need you in my workroom." When he stands, I can see that he's splattered ink on his robes.

Brother Tang comes forward to gather Brendan's supplies. All the brothers are solemn and silent as we walk away. Why do they look at me like that? They know the worth of our parchment, and what it is to be used for. They are always speaking of their precious books.

"Uncle?" Brendan's voice is muffled. He keeps his head bent. "Why can't I draw like the other brothers?"

"You're too young, Brendan," I say. "Maybe when you're older." Maybe, once the wall is finished and we have the safety and leisure to work on illuminating.

"I'm not a child," Brendan says softly.

I stop for a moment. My mouth twitches into a smile despite myself. The boy doesn't yet come up to my knee. I have to stoop over to reach his hand. "Yes, you are. But there is no shame in that. Everyone is a child, for a while."

"Not me!" Brendan pleads. "I am a brother, just like the other brothers! I live here and I work here and I do what the brothers do… except when people say I am too small. Brother Tang is small, but he can draw."

"Brother Tang is a lot older than you," I say. I pull him along towards the tower.

"I wasn't playing," Brendan whispers. "I don't play. I was working. I was helping."

Something in those words pierces me through the chest. I stop again, looking down at him. He looks up at me with heartbreak etched into his face, and for an instant, he reminds me so much of his mother that I have to look away.

I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. I am not cut out to be a father. Brendan is trapped in a place no child should be trapped. Raised as a monk and treated as a monk, so he does not get to run and play as a child should. But much too young to be a brother, not able to be part of the Abbey the way the monks are.

Somewhere, Ceather is not pleased with me.

I kneel down and lean forward, bringing myself to Brendan's eye level. "Brendan… You are too young to draw on parchment. But… maybe there's another way you can learn."

"There is?"

We go to my workroom. I dig beneath my plans and find a small slate and a piece of chalk.

Brendan takes the chalk reverently. "Like you use for your drawings," he says, pointing at the designs I've scrawled across the walls and floor.

"Yes." A thought occurs to me. "Brendan, you must never draw on my work in this room, do you understand? This," I tap the slate, "this is where you can draw, but the walls and the floor here are only for me."

Brendan nods. "Yes, Uncle."

"If you draw where you're not supposed to, I will have to take your chalk away."

"I won't, Uncle, I promise!" His eyes shine as he reaches for the slate.

He sits on the floor sketching happily while I work on my plans. But it's not long before I feel a tug on my robes. "Yes, Brendan?"

He hands me the slate, filled with some sort of childish scribble… People, maybe? That blob could be a head, maybe these squiggles are arms. "I need a new one, please. This one is full."

Ah. "Slates are different than parchment," I say. "You can wipe them clean and draw something new, see?" I rub my hand across the drawings. I'm tempted to use my sleeve, but I don't want to teach him bad habits.

Brendan is slightly crestfallen that I've destroyed his work. "The brothers say their drawings will last forever."

"Someday, yours will too," I say. "Keep practicing." I hand back the slate and turn back to my papers.

Brendan tugs my sleeve again. "Uncle?"

"Yes?"

He doesn't answer. I look down at him. He stands with one foot twisted behind the other, his hands behind his back and his head tilted down. "Will you…" he mutters something I can't hear.

"What is it, Brendan?" My plans are calling to me. The wall can't wait.

He stands a little straighter. "Will you… teach me?" He holds out the chalk to me.

"I…" I shake my head. "No, Brendan, I'm working."

His shoulders sag.

"My work is very important," I say. "We have to finish the wall, to—"

"…keep the bad men away, I know," he says. "I understand."

He shuffles away and sits, bending over his slate again.

I read through my plans again. A few minutes pass and I realize I've been staring at the same spot.

Ceather would have taught him to draw.

At last, I push my papers away. "Come here, Brendan." He looks up, eyes quizzical. "I'll teach you."

"You will?" He's on his feet in a flash. "Thank you, Uncle!"

He scrambles into my lap, slate in hand. I eye my plans one last time, but… after all, if I give him the slate with no teaching, what good is it, truly? This way, he really will be practicing for the future… Someday the wall will be built, and there will be time for other things. Hopefully that day will come before he is grown. It would come faster if you didn't stop working today, I think, but I brush the thought away. This won't take long.

"What do you want to draw?" I ask.

Brendan's brows come together as he thinks. "How about… a cat?"

I smile at that. There are a few cats in Kells, and Brendan is quite enamored with them. "All right. Let's draw a cat." I take his tiny hand in mine and wrap it around the chalk. I guide his hand across the slate, forming a simple cat.

Before I know it, the slate is full… with cats, with little Brendans, with a hulking blob he insisted on shaping himself that he says is me.

Brendan leans back against my chest as he sketches the next thing… whatever it is. "Uncle," he says. "I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to be bad."

I feel like a monster. "I know, Brendan." I pat his arm, a little awkwardly. "You may make mistakes sometimes, but you're never bad."

"It's just, the brothers told me I could."

"I understand why that was confusing," I say. "But I told you not to. You need to do what I say, because I am your Uncle, and I know what's best for you."

Brendan nods. "And, you're the Abbot."

I chuckle a little at that. "Yes, I'm the Abbot."

"I won't use the quills again," Brendan says earnestly. "Or the parchment. Not unless you tell me I can, promise."

"Thank you." I ruffle his hair, something my father always used to do, then catch myself, shocked.

What time is it? How long have we been at this? I glance at the window and it's much later in the day than I expected. I lift Brendan down to the floor. "Well, I think that's enough for now. I need to get back to work."

Brendan nods. He sits besides me on the floor, scratching at his slate.

Soon a little hand wraps around my ankle. "Uncle?"

I sigh. "Yes, Brendan?"

"Do you think we can do this again, sometime?"

"…Maybe. We'll see."

Author's Note: Inspired by Brendan's reaction when Aidan first gives him the quill: "I'm... I'm not allowed..." And by the fact that Brendan's pretty good at chalk drawings by the time Aidan arrives. Someone gave him that slate. Someone must have taught him something about drawing. :)

Apparently it's going to take me a while to actually get to the events that happened in the movie.