“Those are the foundations of the great minster the King is building.”
The Abbot doubted the elf understood one word out of five, but to speak to him as to a child would have insulted his pride.
Aelfden saw deep into the hearts of others, but even he could not ordinarily see hidden weakness in a half-mile’s walk. He had seen the elf’s because it was one he shared. The elf’s pride reposed not on nothing, but on foundations eaten hollow by the worming fear of being found out a fraud.
He was not certain he could convince this proud elf to kneel to a God he did not know, but Aelfden’s indulgence had its limits.
“We kneel when we enter a church,” he explained, “as a gesture of humility and in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.”
The elf nodded slowly, pretending to understand, but avoiding Aelfden’s eyes because he did not.
“Like this.”
Aelfden dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Before he could decide what to say next, he heard the elf settle beside him.
Aelfden had years of education, custom, and habit behind him, lulling him into ease within the sacred space of churches. But in that instant, as they knelt side-by-side, he realized that he was no more than the elf: a prideful, frightened creature performing gestures he did not truly understand in adoration of a God he did not truly know.
In that instant he wondered whom for the sake of whom the Lord had sent on this night, and he wondered why.
When they stood he said, “The most urgent matter is to see you baptized. Have you ever – ”
“Baptize?” the elf gasped.
“Yes, baptized, if you will permit it. We shall – ”
“What is baptized?”
The elf’s eyes were turned full on him now. Now he clearly meant to understand, and he would not pretend that he did.
“Through baptism we are reborn to a new life, and all sins are forgiven us. We are made members of the Church, and even of the Body of Christ.”
They were only words, and there were no gestures that could pantomime baptismal grace. It was not essential that the elf understand, any more than a baby understood, but it was necessary that he consent.
“Through baptism,” Aelfden explained slowly, “we are marked by the Holy Spirit with the seal of the Lord.”
“Mark on face?” the elf asked immediately.
“No… Baptism leaves a mark we cannot see.”
“Dae-mon can see?”
“I… don’t know. I suppose they must, since you will be marked as belonging to Christ. Your soul will be safe from them.”
“Soul?”
“I shall try to explain to you,” Aelfden sighed. “First we shall baptize you to protect you from demons.”
“Yes. Baptize is protect from dae-mons.”
“It is a start. Please kneel here beside the water. Kneel?”
Aelfden bent his knees halfway to the ground, and the elf dropped to the floor again, looking no less noble even on one knee and with his head bowed.
“I shall put a little water on your head,” Aelfden explained with words and gestures both. “This is baptism.”
The elf nodded.
“What is your name?”
The elf lifted his head and stared up at him, revealing miles of vague distance or leagues of depth in his night-blue eyes. Did he not understand the question? Was this another elf with no name?
“How are you called?” Aelfden asked.
“Lar I am called. Lar.”
Aelfden froze with his hand half-way to the water. “You are the Lar…?”
“There is one Lar. One.”
Aelfden was again awed by the Providence that had sent him wandering up the road at just that hour, instead of one of the monks, one of the lay-brothers, or even one of the workmen returning to retrieve something he had left behind.
Unless Aelfden was himself the workman sent to retrieve something left behind. Perhaps it was for this that he had been called to this valley: to recover the souls of this pagan elf, of Paul and Lena, and of all their kind.
“You have no idea in how grave a danger was your soul,” he told the elf. “With baptism, all your sins will be washed away.”
“You will baptize me?”
Not until this reaction of astonishment did Aelfden realize the elf had feared he would refuse. It was a wonder that he had admitted his true name, except by some defiant pride.
“Certainly I shall baptize you. We are all sinners. We are all unworthy. But I think it best you be given a new name, that I may dare inscribe it in the register. The name of a saint, who will be a special guide and helper to you. I shall baptize you with the name of… Laur…entius. Lawrence.”
Aelfden hesitated. The name had come almost unbidden, almost too easily. Was it merely a play on the sound of the elf’s name – a vanity? Or had it been whispered to him by the same secret voice that had sent him wandering up the road at just that hour?
The elf’s face remained as still and smooth as the surface of the water, a perfect reflection of the darkness over their heads. Aelfden was reminded that this was not the time for hesitation or for doubt.
He disturbed the calm of the water with his fingers and the calm of the elf’s face with the water.
“Laurenti, ego te baptizo, in nomine Patris…”
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Chapters
Hmmm... I wonder what will come of this. Aelfden and Lar become a demon-busting crime team. Ok so maybe not but it sure is an interesting pairing. I wonder what everyone is going to think of this when they find out (as of course they will... this is Lothere after all =).