Father Aelfden finds his purpose

Father Aelfden walked slowly up the road, not because he was trying to watch where he placed his feet – the night was moonless, and watching would have little availed him in any case – but because he was deeply troubled. He had just spent several hours arguing with Father Brandt about the nature of time, and he had come to the disturbing conclusion that he agreed with the old priest on this matter.

Even more disturbing was that he had now to attempt to resolve the problem that had plagued the priest and the Duke for years: if God and the universe existed outside of time, and if time was only perceived in the minds of men, and if, as they had agreed, animals had minds that did not perceive time, then it meant that animals had minds that more nearly resembled the mind of God than did the minds of men, at least in this sense.

What was the solution? If he could not reason away this quandary, then it meant he had much more work to do than he had thought. If time was an illusion – perhaps a trick of the devil! – then he would have to learn to disbelieve it.

Sometimes when he meditated he could forget his past, forget that there was a future, and could almost exist outside of time, like God…

But then his stomach would grumble and remind him that time had passed since he had last eaten.

Ah! Accursed flesh! How he longed to rip it from his bones! The utmost agony, and then – how much closer to God!

He decided he would stop at the church on his way home. In the old priest’s house one could not hear the bell of Saint Margaret’s, and he suspected that he had missed Matins. He would say them, and add a Te Deum for good measure. Perhaps he could briefly lift himself out of his body, out of time…

Now he began to hurry, only to slow again and stop as he passed the edge of the woods and the church came into view. The night was moonless, but the windows shone as brightly as if the moon itself were within the church.

He had never seen anything like it. Was it a miracle? He knew he had been sent to this valley for a reason. Was he to witness it? He hurried forward again.

He fell to his knees as soon as he stepped into the nave, trembling with rapture.

An angel stood silhouetted before the altar – an angel of God! With a message perhaps! Was he worthy to hear it? Was his ear worthy? Was he to be the prophet of modern days?

“Lo, here am I!” he cried. “Send me!”

The angel turned and spread wide its wings, and then Father Aelfden saw the horns upon its head, and he saw that the angel was not a silhouette but was itself black as a shadow.

Father Aelfden’s stomach churned with horror. To what had he just offered himself?

“Vade retro satana!” he howled.

Perhaps it was for this he had been sent.

He stumbled to his feet and ran towards the creature, chanting the formula for exorcism and the dispelling of demons.

The words were as bright as lightning in his mind and roared like thunder from his tongue. He was their master, and they were his words, though he had never yet said them, and had only heard them once.