Encoded Vellum: Part 6

by Jeff Chapman

The Abbot paused his monologue, apparently lost in some winding corridor of thought. The older brothers shared this habit of stopping in the middle of discussions to think. Sebastian found these pauses annoying. A life of prayer and contemplation no doubt diminished one’s sense of urgency.

Sebastian could suppress his curiosity no longer. “And what was that extraordinary event?”

“Your question suggests that something turned the course of his life, like an unexpected comet cutting across a ship’s course. But wouldn’t you say deciphering the Lord’s message is a type of puzzle, the greatest of all puzzles?”

Sebastian paused to consider the wording of his response, how to disagree with the Abbot. “I suppose his messages are sometimes cryptic to the uninitiated, but I don’t believe the Lord wants to hide anything from us.”

“Not hide. Not conceal. But the Lord expects us to struggle to answers and the struggle, which might last a lifetime, may be more valuable than the answer, for it is in the struggle that we find and achieve our purpose.”

Sebastian nodded, considering his own life--Christchurch, Trinity University, seminary, all of which had fallen into place. He had moved from one phase to another with the ease and certainty of a confident student following a well-lit and well-marked hallway to an exam for which he knew all the answers.

“You look pensive,” said the Abbot.

“I don’t believe I’ve encountered any such struggles. Either, forgive me for my bluntness, you are wrong or I am treading the wrong road.”

“Be patient,” said the Abbot. “You haven’t lived long enough. Now, back to the story of Brother Septimus.”

The Abbot drank several gulps from his glass of water. Depression clouded Sebastian’s judgment and he found his life’s journey wanting. How could he minister to anyone, exercise any sense of understanding and empathy? Patience did not number among his virtues.

“Like most young men, Brother Septimus was restless for adventure, eager to be part of something new. Dax and Macbane were organizing the first expeditions to Eclectia at the time. What ambitious young man would not leap at such adventure? At seventeen he had no skills, other than a quick mind and a persuasive tongue. Somehow he talked his way into a position on Macbane’s third expedition.”

“The third,” said Sebastian. “Wasn’t that...”

“Yes, the ship crashed in the vicinity of Mount Olympus during a dust storm. Septimus was one of the three who walked out of the hinterland to the coast. You might say he was the only survivor. The other two died of ash lung within months. The trek was a remarkable achievement without maps and only rudimentary knowledge of the land. I believe they were the first to discover that the bugs are edible. When Septimus returned to the Avenir, he enrolled to study for the priesthood.”

“Was he religious before his ordeal?”

“Not at all. He numbered among the young atheists, I believe.”

“What happened to him out in the desert?”

“We don’t know. The official report was lost in a core collapse and Brother Septimus wrote nothing else about it.” The Abbot turned toward the patient and the cryptic manuscript on the bedside table. “As far as we know.”

Encoded Vellum: Part 5

by Jeff Chapman -

Brother Peter stopped in the doorway. “Would a glass of water refresh you, Brother Anthony? I’m afraid Brother Sebastian is in for a very long story.”

“Not as long as you think,” said the Abbot. “But, yes, a glass of water would be most kind.”

“I live to serve.” The director dipped his head in a bow so shallow and quick that only a member of the order would have remarked it. Displays of humility permeated the daily life of the order. One could tell a novice, the brothers joked, by the depth of his bow.

The Abbot lowered his head as he twisted his neck to look at the patient. The movement puffed out the Abbot’s jowls, adding another curve to the roundness of his corpulent form. The stubble from black and white whiskers peppered his chin and neck which sheened with sweat. His lips moved in silent prayer.

Much of the literature brought from Earth on the Avenir had been lost in the core collapses, with one particularly notable exception: a folder of English stories including Robinson Crusoe; Moll Flanders; A Journal of the Plague Year; King Lear; Macbeth; fragments of A Midsummer Night’s Dream; and a number of other works. Sebastian had read them all again and again and marvelled that such an alien world had ever existed except in man’s fancy. Among those literary castaways survived the story of Robin Hood. Friar Tuck came to mind whenever Sebastian passed the Abbot clicking through the halls with his staff. Friar Tuck wielded his stout stick as a weapon. Could Abbot Anthony do the same? Sebastian grinned.

“You are amused, Brother Sebastian?”

“No.” The medico resumed the stony countenance he thought befitting a monk and physician. His work bore grave consequences, and the more serious his demeanour, the more confidence patients would place in his pronouncements.  “I was thinking of something else.”

“Hmm. We shall see.”

Another reproach or no? To Sebastian, the Abbot seemed to talk on some elevated plane within a context Sebastian only vaguely understood. He found the Abbot’s occasional homilies impossible to follow though others talked for days of their brilliant subtlety.

The Abbot inhaled three times, each breath deeper than the last, filling up his lungs, it appeared, as a balloon, in preparation for a long talk. His cheeks trembled with each exhalation. The younger brothers considered the Abbot’s longevity a miracle, and Sebastian tended to agree.

“What I know,” began the Abbot, “is only hearsay from brothers long dead.” He crossed himself, blessing their souls. Sebastian did likewise. “Our lives are not worthy of veneration except our works of charity and devotion in service to God and others. Even the portraits of the former abbots are cause for debate.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“But I think some connection to the past is necessary or we are lost, adrift on a river of which we know not the source.”

Sebastian found himself again nodding, agreeing with the opposite view and feeling a fool.

Brother Peter entered bearing the Abbot’s water. “The meeting is arranged immediately prior to evening prayers. We may push back the start of dinner to accommodate.”

“Very good, Peter.”

“Abbot Anthony is a font of wisdom,” said the director to Sebastian. “Take note and listen carefully.” Brother Peter looked back and winked as he passed out of the room. Whether he winked at the Abbot or Sebastian, Sebastian could not tell.

“Brother Septimus was a very bright young man,” said the Abbot. “Extremely fond of puzzles. As a teenager he twice won the Avenir’s crossword competition and excelled at mathematics and cryptography. He might have been a so-called wizard. I see you nodding. Yes.” The Abbot glanced at the manuscript on the bedside table. “He has left us a puzzle to solve.”

“Something extraordinary must have happened to him,” said Sebastian. “To draw him to our life.”

“As with all of us,” answered the Abbot.

Encoded Vellum: Part 4

by Jeff Chapman -

“No one has ever lived two hundred Foundings, even artificially. The body breaks down. How could a man in a cave survive that long?”

“I know,” said the Abbot. “But it is him, or a clone. He has the bearing, the aura, of an abbot. Could that be replicated? If I could, I would swear on everything that is holy.”

“Forgive me for contradicting you,” said the medico, “but the man is in a coma. What bearing could he have?”

“I must agree with our young colleague, Brother Anthony. A remarkable resemblance, but it can be nothing more. Perhaps he fathered children after leaving the abbey? I cannot believe that even a former abbot would allow himself to be cloned, at least not voluntarily. You’ve had a shock. Let us walk you back to your chamber.”

“The time capsules,” blurted the Abbot.

The medico looked askance at the director.

“Of course,” said the director. “You haven’t been here long enough, Brother Sebastian. When a new abbot is consecrated, the cup used for his first communion as abbot and one or more personal possessions that he gives up in order to free his mind for service are sealed in a time capsule.”

“And a lock of hair,” added the Abbot.

“Even better,” said Brother Peter. “I had forgotten about the hair.”

“His capsule is not to be opened for at least two hundred more Foundings. The community must pray and decide as one on a course of action.”

“Why not open it and reseal it?” said Brother Sebastian.

“The community vows at the consecration to respect the date on the capsule,” said the Abbot.

“I will arrange a special gathering for tonight,” said Brother Peter.

“Why did the first Abbot leave the abbey?” said Brother Sebastian.

“Questions, questions.” The Abbot looked to the medico and nodded at the other chair. “Sit down, Brother Sebastian, and I will tell you all I know of the first Abbot.”

Encoded Vellum Part 3

by Jeff Chapman -

“There are no matches among Avenir records,” contended the medico, and regarded the old man in the bed.

“Perhaps they were not very thorough,” said Brother Peter. “Mistakes have occurred before. They give scant enough attention to our requests. You should ask them to look again, Brother Sebastian.”

The medico nodded.

“And if the Abbot will give us a name,” said the director.

“His records are no longer there,” said the Abbot. “They were lost in the core memory collapses.”

Sebastian calculated what that meant for the age of the patient, then recalculated. Impossible. Until now he had thought the Abbot’s mental capacity untouched by age. Perhaps senility came in bursts like solar flares lashing out into space. He looked to the director and wrinkled his brows.

The director shook his head and sighed with the exasperation one might show an errant child.

“I believe—” began the director.

“Do you not recognize the face?” The Abbot turned from one monk to the other. “Either of you?”

Brother Sebastian shook his head.

“I’m afraid we do not,” said Brother Peter.

“Surely you do,” said the Abbot to the director. “You’ve passed his portrait many times.”

Brother Peter stared at the man in the bed, cocking his head from one side to the other to regard the face from different angles.

“I pass him every day,” said the Abbot.

“Yes, yes,” said the director. “I see it now. Uncanny. Remarkable, but utterly impossible.”

“Who is it I should recognize?” asked Brother Sebastian.

“The first Abbot, Brother Septimus. His dark eyes pierce me every morning and night. His is the first portrait outside my chamber.”

The medico gaped. “But—but—that would make him over two hundred Foundings.” 

Encoded Vellum: Part 2

by Jeff Chapman -

Brother Sebastian and Brother Peter each held one of the Abbot’s arms as they guided the gasping man into a chair. The Abbot’s face was blanched despite his rapid breathing and his eyes remained fixed on the patient quietly sleeping through the turmoil.

“Are you in pain?” asked the medico. “Any palpitations?”

The Abbot instinctively pressed a hand to his chest, but the veteran of three heart attacks shook his head. “No, no,” he told Brother Sebastian. “I am quite recovered. I have had a shock, that is all. But my nerves....”

The director frowned at Brother Sebastian. “You should lie down, Anthony. Let our able medico examine you. It may seem nothing but turn deadly serious without warning.”

“I am fine, Peter. If you lie down at my age, you may never get back up.” The Abbot smiled at Brother Sebastian. “You are frightening our young medico. He doesn’t want the first patient he loses to be the Abbot.”

“I assure you my medical reputation is the furthest....”

The Abbot raised his hand to silence Brother Sebastian. “I am certain your heart is where it should be. I was only teasing, one of my vices. Now, as to our patient here. Have you checked the DNA archives?”

“Of course,” answered the medico with a force that surprised even him. Whether spoken in jest or not, he still chafed at the previous remark questioning his charity and professionalism. Brother Sebastian was young and ardent and the abbey had not yet washed his soul of pride. He glanced at the director, who was busy taking the Abbot’s pulse, and consciously checked his tone. “We queried all the standard repositories. The results were negative, not even a close match for a relative.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said the Abbot.

“Most births in the land villages, among the miners and hunters and of course the nomads, go unrecorded,” said the director.

“This man was not born on Eclectia but on the Avenir.”

“You know this man?” asked Brother Peter.

The Abbot took a deep breath. “I believe I do.”

Encoded Vellum

by Jeff Chapman

Brother Sebastian Norwich observed the rise and fall of the thermal blanket covering the old man’s torso and legs. That something made from minerals hacked out of rock could be soft and comforting never ceased to amaze the young medico. A monitor mounted on the white wall above the bed displayed the man’s vitals—stable but weak. A cyclops scanner—so named for its single, pulsing, blue eye—whirred and clicked as its gaze travelled up and down the length of the man’s body.

Brother Sebastian had removed the oxygen mask an hour ago. Tubes for feeding, hydration, and disposal disappeared beneath the blanket. Rising hues of tan and ochre had beaten back the man’s initial pallor. One might think him simply asleep, not locked in a coma. Considering the man was a day from death when he arrived at Lazarus House a fortnight ago, Sebastian was much pleased with his patient’s progress, but only prayers could help him now.

Sebastian turned his attention to the curious manuscript that arrived with the old man, strapped to his chest like an instruction manual. The pages were stiff but malleable and crinkled as Sebastian turned them, like nothing he had ever handled before. The unfamiliar sound, deafening in this wing of the House reserved for the sickest patients, set him ill at ease, so he tried to be quiet as if he delved where he should not be trespassing. Row after row of uniform characters in some dark yellow ink packed the pages. Stray Greek and Hebrew letters stood out amidst the scribbles like rubies and sapphires in a bowl of white marbles. The man must be a priest or a scholar of ancient languages, he surmised, but he wagered only a priest would trust Greek and Hebrew.

He translated the familiar letters, recording them on the touchscreen of his notepad to test his theory that the scribe embedded meaning in the white noise of the unrecognizable scribbles. When he finished a page, he scanned the string of letters, expecting them to snap into words, a message to shout at him, but all he heard was a noise of random sounds. Simple letter shifts up and down yielded nothing more. Perhaps the Greek and Hebrew was the noise or the old man was simply insane.

“How is our mystery patient?”

Sebastian dropped his notepad, which bounced once on the tile floor. Its shock resistant rubberized case absorbed the impact.

“Brother Peter.”

The director of the infirmary, Brother Peter An Loc Maria, stepped into the sickroom which now seemed very crowded. Peter smiled at Sebastian, whose hand still rested on the open manuscript, and raised his eyebrows.

Sebastian reached to close the book but stayed his hand. He stood to answer the director. He felt less like a child caught sinning when he looked across at his superior rather than up. “He’s stable but very weak. To be expected. I’ve been watching after I removed the oxygen mask. He’s a tough one.”

Peter nodded. “Any hope?”

“He’s in God’s hands now. Always was, I should say.”

Peter smiled, his almond-shaped eyes nearly squinting shut, and slapped Sebastian’s shoulder. “We are but humble instruments. I’ve arranged a mass to be said for him tomorrow morning.”

Sebastian nodded.

“And what of his manuscript?”

“It’s like a puzzle.”

“We must learn what we can about a patient. If he cannot talk, we must read what he has written.”

Sebastian summarized his investigation and theory that the man was a priest. “He must be at least seventy Foundings.”

Peter nodded. “Interesting. We should check the chronicles for missing priests.” He turned a page and scanned the text. “This must be how vellum felt to the scribes working in the monasteries of the ancient past. Fitting that as we race into the future, we find the past.”

“And can’t understand it,” added Sebastian.

Peter grunted.

“Do you think it’s important?” said Sebastian.

“Very much. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble. The Abbot should be along shortly. If he agrees, we can put all the students to work on it. Give them something challenging and new.”

They discussed the other patients under Sebastian’s care as they waited. Then the Abbot’s staff clicked on the tile in the hall as he approached. The staff, a gift from an old hunter, was carved from the carapace of some giant beetle and adorned with a simple cross on top.

“Brother Peter. Brother Sebastian.” The Abbot, Brother Anthony Mary de Guadalcanal, leaned against the door frame, gripping his staff with both hands, and panted from the exertion of his walk. “Blessings.” The director and medico echoed the greeting. The Abbot was the last of his generation and joked that what he lacked in skill and knowledge the Lord had compensated him with longevity. “So this is our mystery patient?”

Peter and Sebastian parted as the Abbot took a heavy step forward to look at the old man.

The Abbot’s eyes grew wide and his staff clattered on the floor. “Mother of God.”