"He is waking…"
"Obviously. Go."
The boy opened his eyes to the lined face of the priest hovering over him. Tensing, he felt for his mask, touching his own scarred flesh. Panic-stricken, he covered his deformity with a hand as he stumbled backwards.
"Quiet, child," the old man said gently, lowering the bloodied cloth into the basin. He picked up the mask held it out to him. The boy grasped the mask tightly, adeptly moving it to conceal his features.
The priest watched as the child pressed himself against the wall. Even from behind the mask, he could see the sharp eyes glace at the bloodied cloth. A small hand reached up to feel the gash on his head.
"Where is she?"
The priest's heart broke at the knowing look in the child's eyes. "At peace," he said quietly. The boy lowered his head, his eyes glistening with tears.
"Because she is without me…"
The priest opened his mouth, and then after a moment, closed it, powerless to lie to the child. After a long silence, he stooped and picked up a tray with a small loaf of bread and cheese, setting it on a small table.
"This food is for you, should you desire it, as is this room, should you choose to stay." He paused, his gaze unwavering.
"Within these walls, you will not be judged by this," he said, gesturing toward the mask, "but here." His wrinkled hand motioned to the boy's heart. "God sees only the soul."
The boy looked at him with large eyes, unmoving. The priest smiled grimly and picked up a candle, turning to leave.
"Thank you," whispered the soft voice. The old man nodded and left.
The priest moved slowly down the stairs to his study. Spectacles perched on the end of his nose, his eyes scanned over the letters in his hand. At the foot of the stairs he paused, looking in through the doorway, a small grin spreading across the wrinkled face.
The boy was facing away from him, lying on his stomach poring over several large volumes. The priest stared with a muted awe. Those were books that even boys thrice his age would not attempt to decipher, even then, under tutorage.
The old man turned his head at the quiet footsteps of the seminarian. The young man stopped at his side.
"You let him into the library?" came the exasperated whisper, "some of those volumes are exceedingly rare…"
The priest held up a hand, moving away from the opened door. "Those dusty books could hardly be harmed in those hands. Let him be."
The young man sighed, not moving.
"Do we even know his name?" he asked reproachfully.
The priest shrugged. "He did not tell, and I will not ask." He frowned at the seminarian's confused expression. "Trust must be earned, Lucien."
"Do you know nothing of his background? I heard the mother was of ill repute…"
The priest turned heatedly at him. "I knew of his mother." He sighed, his eyes narrowing. "You, a man of the church! You know better than to judge a child on actions of a parent."
"The Lord is longsuffering and of great mercy…but by no means clears the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children," Lucien quoted, his tone flat. He grasped the arm of the priest.
"He is damned, sir, just look at him! God will surely punish us for keeping such a thing within holy walls."
The old man pulled away from the other's grasp. "Leave now. And seek penance." When the footsteps faded away, the priest slowly entered the library, setting his papers down on a chair.
"Might I join you?" he asked, noticing the child was sitting up, as though expecting him. The boy nodded.
Pursing his lips, the priest willed his old joints to cooperate as he took a seat upon the floor, careful to give the boy plenty of space.
"Ah, there," he sighed, smoothing out his robes. He pushed his spectacles higher on his nose, looking down at the nearest book. "Oh, that one," he said quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I had many a nap in attempt to wallow through those pages."
He glanced up, for the first time, seeing some hint of amusement in the boy's demeanor. Smiling, he found himself staring into the hazel eyes…completely childlike, and yet not so…full of too many unspoken hurts.
Unable to look anymore, the priest turned his gaze back to the yellowed pages of the books, his mind churning with self-resentment. He had no more doubt that the child had overheard the words spoken of him, and yet he threw no tantrum, bore no outward sign of offense. If his earliest lesson was to accept aversion, he had learned it well.
To his surprise, the child spoke.
"These are your books?"
Thankful for the distraction, the old man nodded. "Many are from my time at the university, suffice to say," he said, chuckling, "they have not been opened in quite some time."
The boy paused a moment, gazing back at the book in his hand.
"You did not always want to be with the church?"
The priest smiled at the astuteness of the child's words, spoken far more as a statement than a question.
"Not at all. In my youth, I studied a great many things, until after some years, to my dismay, I finally came upon a realization."
The boy's head tilted inquisitively. The priest gently lifted the book from his hands, closing it, his old eyes focusing past the mask. "There will come a time when the knowledge of this world can bring no more answers, no more comfort. And when one accepts this, the only logical place to turn back to is God."
The child looked down at the book again, assimilating the priest's words. The old man glanced out the window, the sun already falling behind the trees. Dark, dusty rooms were no place for a child, he thought, yet the boy showed no inclination of going elsewhere. He paused a minute, his eyes lighting up when the idea at last struck him.
"You like music, yes?"
The boy's head turned up instantly. The priest smiled. "Our organ's age is rivaled only by myself and in desperate need of skilled hands." He chuckled. "I believe you already have some familiarity with it."
The boy's head lowered a fraction, but even the mask could not hide the delight that shone in his eyes.
Groaning, the priest struggled to stand, even after the brief time, his limbs stiff. He felt a quiet touch at his arm, helping him up. He smiled at the child.
"Thank you," he said, moving slowly to gather his papers once more. The child followed close behind. The priest laughed. "Oh, you mustn't linger for me. The organ awaits." He waved his hand encouragingly. The masked face regarded him for a moment, but the boy did not move from his side.
Weeks passed quickly, the cold days of winter gradually fading into the chill breath of spring. The priest watched with some ease at the newfound confidence in which the child navigated through the church, never without some large volume or sheets of music. During mass, he adeptly disappeared, though the old man doubted that he was ever far away.
The priest stood in his office, placing a book back on its shelf as Lucien strode in, holding a large, unlit candle.
"Look!" he demanded, setting it on top of the priest's papers. Sighing, the old man picked it up, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. After a moment, a small grin played on his lips. He handed the candle back to Lucien.
"I see no flaw."
Lucien's mouth dropped open. "Are you blind? It's a depiction of the Virgin Mary herself!"
"And it is exquisitely carved," the priest retorted, his eyes twinkling, "I commend the artist."
The seminarian's face turned several shades of red. "It was him, wasn't it? The impudence! This is a house of…"
A thunderous chord shook the walls.
Lucien jumped, dropping the candle while he pressed his hands to his ears. "My God! The end times! The Lord has finally returned to smite us!" he bellowed, looking up at the ceiling in terror.
The priest ignored him, listening intently. After a moment, he glanced at the younger man again.
"Can you not hear it?" the priest whispered, his eyes far away. "It is a variation on Dies irae. Listen to the chord progression…brilliant..."
Lucien lowered his hands, his eyes narrowed. "Sacrilege," he mumbled, storming out of the room.
With a sigh, the priest walked over to the broken candle on the stone floor. Suppressing a groan, he kneeled, picking up the pieces of wax with reverence.
The priest carefully made his way to the balcony, keeping himself in shadows. The music was no longer as the roar of a lion, but like a lamb, gentle, hanging in the air before fading softly. He stopped by the heavy curtain, looked at the small figure perched on the organ bench, surrounded by the glow of a hundred candles. The child looked intently at the rows of keys, the sheet music long forgotten, his small hands moving with a grace rarely gifted to children his age.
The priest blinked away his tears, clasping his hands together. All too suddenly, the music came to a halt, the organ bench overturned as the boy shrank back.
"Oh, please," the priest said, coming forward, "I…I did not mean..."
The boy looked toward the ground. "I did know anyone was listening," he said quietly.
The priest righted the bench, his eyes fixing upon the worn wood. "It is a shame to only allow these walls and a grizzled old man to hear such beauty."
He turned his eyes upwards, watching as the small hand touched the gray mask.
Looking away, the priest nodded his head respectfully and left the boy in peace. At the stairs, he paused, looking back.
"All of heaven must weep for you," he whispered.
"He did what?" Lucien whined, his eyes wide. The priest sighed, lighting the next candle.
"He agreed to play at the next mass."
"But he is a child!"
The priest raised an eyebrow. "And he plays like an angel. It is a gift that should have never been repressed."
The younger man stepped in front of him, his eyes narrowed.
"It is not natural for a child to possess such ability! Have you forgotten what lies behind that mask? He is more akin to a devil than an angel!"
The priest regarded him a long moment, his gaze shrewd.
"Your jealous of him, aren't you, Lucien?"
Shaking his head, he glared into the younger man's eyes, his tone frigid.
"As despicable as that is, it remains your sole validation to loathe him, for the child has shown more intelligence and potential these past months than I have ever seen from you."
The younger man took a step back, dumbstruck. Biting his lip, he turned and left the priest alone.
Lucien followed the chorus members up the long stairs to the balcony. At the summit, he paused, touching the shoulder of a young girl. She turned to face him, her eyes darting from him back to the others.
Squatting, he smiled at her. "Are you nervous?"
She stared at the floor. Lucien smile flattened. "There is nothing to be frightened of. In a matter of fact, the boy playing the organ today is no older than yourself." The girl looked up, her large eyes widening. "Really?"
Lucien nodded and wagged a finger at her, beckoning the child closer. "He wears a mask," he whispered, standing. Giving her one last pat on the shoulder, Lucien hurried down the stairs, his lips forming a cruel smile.
The priest stood at the front of the sanctuary, his eyes moving up to the balcony. The chorus slowly took their places, waiting for the cue. The girl's voice rang off the stone like a bell, the deeper voices joining her. The congregation was apathetic to the music, staring ahead. The priest had to fight his smile when they started at the sound of the organ, turning their heads back to look up at the balcony. The sounds born under the small hands were breathtaking, demanding attention while still giving service to the accompanying voices.
When the last note faded, the people slowly turned back toward the front, their whispers silences by Lucien's rigid stare. Clearing his throat, the seminarian's bass voice rang over the congregation, their voice echoing in reply. His eyes turned upward, seeing the glances of the chorus upon the young organist, thought none akin to the innocent and curious stare of the little chorus girl.
The priest followed his glance. The boy sat stiffly. Even from the distance, he could see the cowed tremor, the desire to run overcome by some unspoken loyalty to remain. The priest felt a grip on his heart. What had he done? Without the mask of music, awe lapsed into shameless curiosity… he had cast the boy to the wolves.
Only when the child's fingers touched the organ keys again did his poise return. No one could see the deep breath he drew in, the closing of his eyes as his pure voice sang the first chord of Angus Dei, but every ear was captive to the voice, the beauty of it rivaled by none. The voices of the chorus joined in consciously, swept up in the guiding music.
A piercing scream shattered the illusion. The priest looked up in horror as the little girl stood at the organ bench, the mask falling from her hand to the floor. More shocked gasps followed as the girl was pulled away. The congregation was on their feet, the confused voices rising.
"Grab it! That is no creature of God!" someone yelled. The boy seized the mask and ran, the organ music falling to the ground.
The priest was numbed, the hundreds of voices surrounding him echoing in his mind.
"I thought he was dead! His mother was murdered."
"He ran! What if he is guilty!"
"That thing deserves to be locked away! Think, a monster in God's holy church!"
"Please, calm yourselves," Lucien called, his plea unheard. He glanced at the old priest, his eyes devoid of sympathy.
As fast as his legs would allow him, the priest and scrambled up the narrow stairway, gasping out a prayer. When he reached the boy's room, he threw open the door, peering desperately inside. The stillness was overwhelming.
"Where is he?" Lucien asked, coming up behind the old man. "There are men coming to fetch him."
The priest turned and looked at the seminarian, his composure snapping.
"Why…he has done nothing!" he gripped the other man's collar, shaking it.
"That is not our right to judge," Lucien growled, pulling away. The old man looked at him with vacant eyes.
"Yet it does not save him from condemnation," he choked, his chin shaking.
Lucien ignored him, turning his head, listening. "They're coming. If you will excuse me, I must find him…"
"He's in there," the priest interjected, pointing into the dark room. Lucien moved past him, only to slump against the floor seconds later.
The priest let the small candelabra fall to the ground. Breathlessly, he moved to the only other place he knew the boy might have gone…
Hastening his step at the sound of the voices, he shut the door to the library, locking it. His chest pounding, he saw at the small figure huddled against the wall.
"You must leave…there is no time," the priest whispered, coming forward. The boy did not move. Turning his head at the voices, the priest went to the window, and with shaking hands, shoved it open.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. The priest turned back to the child, grabbing him by his shirt.
"Run! Do not let them find you!" the old man urged, dragging the boy toward it. At the window, he paused, the child trembling under his grasp. Still, he made no motion to run, the hazel eyes glistening behind the mask. The old man pointed toward freedom.
"You are a monster…you have no place here! Go now!" he said fiercely, "and never return!"
Pulling away, the child disappeared into the night.
A sob escaping him, the priest shut the window and collapsed against the wall, his face buried in his hands. Men barged through the door, blinking in the darkness. They listened as the priest mumbled the same words over and over.
"Father, forgive us…we know not what we have done…"