Lar wishes for angels and Aelfden saints

“…et Filii…

Lar squinted his eyes shut, and the water rolled over them like tears in search of a source. It was humbling, even humiliating; it made him feel like a child, and yet he dared not wipe his face, lest this be a necessary part of the rite.

“…et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

He could remember the three sprinkles of water, but though the words had been few, he had not understood one among them. He would never be able to remember so many meaningless sounds. He would not know how to baptize another elf in case of need.

“You may rise,” the church-​​man said.

“Rise” was what the sun did in the morning. It meant going up. Lar stood.

He did not feel any differently, but neither had he seen anything remarkable about the baby of the woman Ragnhild. Nevertheless, from the moment Dre had laid his hands on it, he had howled that the child would be of little use to him now that it had been baptized.

The child must have borne a mark that a demon could see. The child must have been protected from demons. So would Lar be now.

“I welcome you to the Church on behalf of all her members,” the church-​​man said.

Lar tried to understand. “I welcome you”… “to the Church”… “have”… “remembers”…

Men said, “You are welcome” whenever another man said, “Thank you.” Perhaps he was being reminded that he had forgotten to say, “Thank you” in the first place.

Lar said, “Thank you.”

The church-​​man nodded. “Can you stay to talk with me a while? There are some things I wish to tell you. I have a book with pictures.”

Lar was still greatly interested in anything having to do with books. He asked, “Pictures?”

“It is a… an image… Here. Come with me. This is a ‘picture’ here on the wall.”

Lar followed him to stand before a board hanging on the wall, painted all over with images of people and animals. Then he understood.

“I have books with pictures also,” he said.

“Do you?” the church-​​man asked. “I thought you did not know how to read.”

“I see my pictures I have.”

After he had spoken to Hel, Lar had looked through every picture in every book the elves possessed, but he had found nothing that resembled Dre nor anything that bore the mark of Dre.

But now he realized that it was not a means to summon another Dre that he needed.

“I have perhaps book of summon of enemy of demon!” he said eagerly.

The church man smiled and shook his head. “There is no such book. That is not how we combat demons. Now look at this picture. Here is Our Lord Jesus Christ when he was an infant. A baby.”

“Here is donkey,” Lar said, pointing at the gray little beast that stood behind the enormous child. He knew the names of all the animals of the men. “Here is bull. Here is sheep, many sheep.”

“Yes, they are there because He was born in a stable.”

Lar did not think that sounded reasonable, but he did not wish to admit he did not understand. “Here is big blue mother of men,” he said. “I have books with pictures.”

“That is Mary, the baby’s mother. Mary.”

“Mary…” Lar repeated.

“And this is her husband Joseph beside her. And up here in the sky, there are angels.”

“Here are men up here in the sky?”

“Not men. They are angels. They are the servants of God.”

“Up here in the sky.”

“Heaven is in the sky. The angels dwell there with God, and they serve Him. They are…”

The church-​​man hesitated long enough that Lar turned his eyes away from the painting to look at him.

“…the enemies of demons,” he mumbled.

“Yes!” Lar gasped. “We need angels here in this valley! We need book of summon of angels!”

The church-​​man laughed.

Lar’s spine snapped straight, the muscles of his arms contracted, and his hand clenched into a fist. He had forgotten himself; he had been too eager to find a solution to the insurmountable problem of Dre; he had spoken like a fool.

But the man had not turned away from the painting. He would not even see the fist that was coming for him, and Lar hesitated.

“I knew you would say that,” the man smiled. “I tell you, there is no such book. I wish there were.”

Lar did not understand all of what the man had said, but when the smile was at last turned on him, he understood that it was not mocking. It was perhaps even a little sad.

Lar relaxed his hand, and his shoulders drooped as wearily as if he had fought and fought and fought with the man.

“I could use a book of summoning saints, as well,” the man said. “Saints are men who are holy. Very, very good men, who are blessed even on earth. They are the servants of God on earth. They are also enemies of demons.”

“We need saints here in this valley.” Lar tried to smile at his joke, but he was beginning to despair.

The more he was told, the more he saw there was to understand, and he did not think gestures and pictures and his poor English would take the two of them very far. He had simply wanted to un-​​summon Dre, if that was possible, and if not, to summon a more powerful creature who could slay him. It did not seem that it would be so easy.

“We have the relic of a saint here in this chapel,” the man said, “but I shall tell you about that another time. There are not many saints in the world – less and less, perhaps – and we cannot see the difference with our eyes. What we men – and elves – must do is to pray for aid and protection.”

“To pray.”

“I shall teach you how to pray. But first I wish to tell you a few things, and for that I shall need my book. Will you sit here and wait for me?”

Lar still had a lingering hope that the solution would be found in a book after all. If nothing else, he might learn something that would help him understand the pictures in his own.

He sat and waited. He heard the man walk out onto the new stones that were laid around a great hole in the earth, and then walking across a plank bridge to reach the buildings at the far side.

Lar had never been inside such a structure as this temple that was called “abbey”. It was large and lofty like the elves’ own ancient halls, but those were empty spaces carved into the rock deep beneath the earth. The men cut stones out of the earth to build a new earth up around their empty spaces.

The walls of this temple were made of stones so thick that he might as well have been underground. And yet in the window openings there was nothing more than a thousand thousand shards of glass suspended like colored dew in webs of iron.

There was little more than spider webs to keep the night at bay, and he could feel the night pressing in. The spider could strike at any time.

The church-​​man was already talking as he walked up to the bench where Lar sat, but Lar paid attention to little of it and understood less. He did not take notice until the man said an unfamiliar word with an unusual intonation.

“Lawrence?”

Lar looked up at him. “Lawrence?” he repeated.

“That is your name. That is the name I gave you when I baptized you. You understand, I don’t wish to tell anyone that I am helping you at this time.”

“You don’t tell?” Lar asked, surprised.

“No. That is why I prefer to call you Lawrence even when we are alone together. If I call you Lar now, I may forget and call you Lar if I must speak of you before others.”

Lar did not understand. This man seemed to be saying that he would not tell the other men he was helping him. It seemed a treachery against his own people.

“Why do you help me?” Lar asked suspiciously. “You are enemy of demons also?”

“Yes. But it is my work in the world to help others. I am friend to men and elves.”

“Men and elves,” Lar repeated.

“Yes.”

“What is your name, friend to men and elves?”

“Aelfden is my name.”

“Elf…?”

“Aelfden,” the man chuckled. “It means ‘elf-​​valley’. My poor mother never knew how well she named me.”

“It is your nature.”

“I don’t know why she chose it. She never even saw me.”

“Aelfden…” Lar repeated softly, so he would not forget.

“Yes, but you must call me Father.”

Lar’s spine stiffened again and his head snapped up. Never, never had he called another creature “father”. Not Dartesas’s father, though he had raised him. Certainly not his own father. The closest he had ever come was saying the words, “I am your son,” and he would never make that mistake again.

He thought the anger and the outrage should have been visible on his face, but the man kept talking, and now Lar was obliged to pay attention, because he was waving something shiny at the end of a long cord.

“What is this?” he snapped.

“This,” Aelfden said patiently, “is a medal that you shall wear on your neck. It bears the symbol of the cross, which I shall explain to you, and it is blessed to protect you from demons.”

“It is magic for protect from demons?”

“It is not magic…” Aelfden said, but when he saw the disappointment on Lar’s face he added, “Rather a kind of magic.”

“Church magic?”

“Let us call it church magic for now.”

“Give it to me.”

The man handed it meekly over. Lar slipped the long cord over his head and wrapped it three times around his neck so that the silver plaque would sit high on his chest.

“You may wear it beneath your shirt,” the man said.

“I wear it here so demons can see,” Lar growled.

“As you wish.”

The man picked up the book he had laid on the stone table and sat beside Lar on the bench.

Lar clenched his teeth and fists in frustration. He had not had the chance to protest about the word “father”, and already the man was moving on to yet another matter. With his poor English Lar did not know how to bring up the subject again.

“First I shall tell you a little more about the baby in the picture, who is the Son of God.”

“Who is this baby?” Lar barked. “Who is this God?”

Aelfden lifted to him a face as placid as a cloudless sky. “This baby is our Lord. God is His father, but also the father of everyone, men and elves alike.”

“No!” Lar cried, grimly pleased to have a chance to protest after all. “I have no father! No! Never, never.”

“You have no father?”

“No! Never!” Lar smiled scornfully down at this small, sickly, older man who thought he could install layers upon layers of fathers over Lar’s head.

But the man could not be perturbed. “Now you do,” he said patiently. “I shall tell you about Him.”