St. Bernard Children's School, Valana. 21 July 3493

The schoolchildren didn't mind having an elderly clergyman join in on their games. Nice, friendly and cheerful-looking, he wasn't like most of the other teachers there. True, he had only been "given the assignment" for a week, and intended to stay for another. Yet for his young watch, it seemed like an endless break from the usual monotony. I guess the sentiment's mutual, thought the Messer. But it was not long after classes were ended that one of the teachers approached him, concerning the arrival of a strange visitor. The man, he was told, had been waiting for him in the inner garden. Even if he wasn't told who the stranger was, there was a feeling that he knew exactly who this guest was. Thus, after requesting total privacy, he promptly made his way.

Before him was a bearded old man, wearing little more than a loincloth and jacket made of burlap, and a cryptic grin that seemed to defy description. In contrast to the surroundings, the man looked as though he stepped out of another world. Another time. He noticed the guest's weathered yet sharp eyes move towards him. Even after several years, he still found that gaze piercing; it was one that hinted of wisdom, patience and utter loneliness. If there were any similarities between the two, there was at least this.

"It's been a while, old friend," he greeted in Latin. "Still going at your job?"

"I haven't crossed paths with you for eight decades and that's the first thing you ask? Zolst ligen in drerd!"

For a moment he tried recalling the language used (Yiddish, was it?). "Come now. Shouldn't we be getting used to this by now?" The two embraced each other eagerly. Both noted wryly how they seemed to look as though they met the previous day. "After all my good man, it hasn't been that long since our last meeting."

"Hmmm-hnnn! Pleasantries are hardly seen these days, but they're tiring. I guess you must be wondering why I've trekked all the way up here to."

He smirked. "I take it has to be more than just taking a respite from the desert?"

"That too. You want I should also speak of heat and exhaustion like every other person? Even a wanderer needs a break every now and then. Your excuse is likely the same thing, anyway. Except you'd want some momentary break from the pressures in New Rome. Heh." The old man sat on one of the benches. "Besides, that nonsense on New Rome being 'New' ought to be dropped. It's only recent in the same way you are."

He was right, in any case. He had passed through that city in all it incarnations. He saw it when the first bricks had not yet succumbed to grime and decay. He was there when the original still stood on those seven hills in many of its forms. He also did boast on meeting none other than Rome himself. But so have I, old friend.

"If I were to drop it now, it would be redundant." He momentarily paused to level his voice. "But allow me to be straight-forward. You did not come here to castigate me on city names and old animosities. And more often than not, I'd bump into you, rather than the opposite. So what do you want?"

"It concerns you and the Recording."

He didn't need any clarification. "If I'm not mistaken, that information is still on a need to know basis."

"One sees, one hears," he said matter of factly. He could have simply taken the detail from some loose-tongued Leibowitzian. Yet the Messer knew otherwise; it was one of the few things certain about the old man. No point in arguing over that again.

"All I can say is that we're close to finally solving that riddle. But you undoubtedly know more than that, yes?"

"So you've just answered your own question. Gantseh megilleh." His eyes narrowed. "Now I give my own: what do you know about the place that relic was found?"

"Nothing much really. Our archeologists have only found a handful of traces of a town below the site. Estimates there suggest-"

"Hmmm-hnnn! I didn't ask what your men found there. What do you know?" There was a hint both of spite and remorse in his voice. Which one was which was difficult to tell. And for a few moments, the clergyman hesitated.

"I...don't remember much. There had been a town there before the Diluvium Ignis, yes. Vaduz, I believe it was called. I may have been around that region a few times. And there was always this young adolescent-looking girl in the distance walking alongside a taller blond haired man. The partner was somewhat recognizable, but I can't recall who she was, or how she actually looked like..."

Sometimes, he wanted respite from that as well. He knew much of the Vatican's true history - Church records, saints, popes and mishaps - better than most scholars. I was there, after all. Yet outside that, his memories were still scattered. It had taken him a thousand years to remember that Saint Bernard was Swiss. That the Schwyz had always called those distant mountains home. That there was a love-hate relationship between him and Austria. That one of them was still alive somewhere. And that he missed them, countless generations after the fact. With each passing century, such cases grew more frequent. But they were never entirely recovered; it was normally just enough to either recognize them or haunt his inner recesses. All because someone decided to trigger Armageddon with the push of a button. If not for the damn Deluge...

"...I must be rambling on about again," he smiled. "You wanted to tell me something important. Please do so now." The sooner we're through with this the better.

"If you want words of wisdom, have this then: That Recording was never meant for you. It was meant for someone specifically in mind. Eloihim only know who that's intended for. But this much I know: there are things we want to recall. And there are those that are better left forgotten. And those best kept private. One need not be goyim to know that." Or a Nation.

There was a noticeable tinge of sorrow in the old man's voice. It was one that seemed to scream "Don't do it." But what do I have to lose now? He let out a wry, tired laugh. "I'll keep that in mind, old friend. It's just...I need to know. There has to be more to 15 centuries ago than a blinding painful flash."

"I can't speak for the dead. You know that, Iovannes."

"Of course."

-o-

The old man refused the offer to stay in the dormitory for the night. But the Messer knew better than test the patience of the only living human connection he had left from the pre-Deluge world; he was also the one who may very well outlive him and the pitiful handful of survivors eventually. As they bade farewell, he thought of clearing one more enigma.

"You never did like it whenever I said 'go in peace,' Benjamin bar Eleazar. Or have you abandoned that kin of yours along with Leibowitz?"

A cryptic smile returned to the Jew's face. "Leibowitz never was a kin of mine. But you could say that Benjamin was. If you're that lazy, what do I care? Might as well call me Lazarus." They embraced one more time. And as he left, Iovannes thought he heard "And I'm not Israel, as that abbot of yours claimed. I haven't seen her since you first came here."

Notes:

Valana - From the sequel/midquel Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman. In the novel, it served as the Vatican's refuge in the Rocky Mountains, following Texarkana's invasion of New Rome.

Zolst ligen in drerd - Drop dead.

Gantseh megilleh - Big shot.

Goyim - Gentiles.