Chapter 11

Thus we went on as far as to the light,

Things saying ’tis becoming to keep silent,

As was the saying of them where I was.

Dante, Inferno, 4.103-105

After washing at a fountain in front of the stone building, and giving their horses to attendants, they were led inside. The main doors opened into a large central room, under a domed ceiling. The vault of the dome was decorated with constellations of the night sky. The paint used must have had metal flecks in it, or else the pictures were inlaid with bits of glass, because the stars on the ceiling sparkled in the torchlight, and final rays of the sun coming through thin windows in the dome. The capstone at the very top of the dome was decorated with a golden, stylized star, like a compass rose.

Painted around the bottom edge of the dome were mythological creatures: centaurs, harpies, and minotaurs, as well as stranger ones Dante did not have names for. One looked like a giant snake with wings, another like a plume of smoke with a woman’s face. The artist who had painted these had done them in such a way one could imagine they were supporting the vault above them. At the same time, they looked like they were assailing it, either to ascend or destroy it. As beautiful a room as it was, Dante wondered about its appropriateness as the central hall of a monastery, nearly as much as he wondered about the presence of women in their group. The capstone should have been a depiction of God on His throne, the stars should have been accompanied or replaced by angels, and the mythological creatures should haven been angels. Or demons, so long as the painting made it clear they were being cast down and imprisoned by God and the angels. Nothing about these people quite made sense. Yet here in the monastery the feeling given by such incongruity was a sense of wonder and bemusement, rather than one of dread and confusion.

Under the dome, the room was full of round, wooden tables with chairs set around them. Dante, Bogdana, and Radovan were directed to sit at one with Adam. Although there were two other chairs at the table, these remained empty.

“I’m sorry,” Adam explained. “Although we do not have the same rules as other monasteries regarding proximity to the opposite sex, we do keep our members away from strangers in general. I will be your host tonight, while my brothers and sisters will keep their distance. I hope you understand it is not disrespect.”

“Of course,” Dante said, though he was still baffled and curious about their arrangements here.

“I’ve lived just outside the valley all my life,” Bogdana said, “and I never knew this monastery was here. And I certainly wouldn’t have thought there were women here. I don’t think I understand your group.”

Adam smiled. “Our female members seldom leave the island openly, except in emergencies, as during a plague.”

“But what order are you that allows this?” Dante asked. “This is not done, where I come from.”

“I have never heard of this, either,” Radovan said.

The food arrived. As to diet, these strange recluses followed the norms Dante was used to, at least. The food was hearty and abundant, but there was nothing unnecessary or extra beyond the minimum to nourish the body. They were each presented with a large bowl of vegetable soup, and in the middle of the table was a loaf of black bread. Dante saw Bogdana could barely keep herself from it, she was so hungry, but manners dictated they wait. Dante could only imagine how ravenous she was in her condition, with only a few berries since the morning.

“Please,” Adam said, “pray as is your custom. There is no need to follow any special prayer of ours.” He and the other monks bowed their heads to silently give whatever blessing it was they were used to giving. Dante could only follow their lead. He saw Radovan and Bogdana were equally surprised by their customs.

The prayer being done, Bogdana immediately began eating, though she was still attentive to what was being said by the men.

“Yes. I’m sure our order does not quite fit your expectations,” Adam continued. “But there is some precedent, from the time of the apostles, of men and women saints living or traveling together in chastity, as they spread the good news and served the Lord. We believe the flesh is not so weak it cannot withstand temptation, and we do not believe it so strong it can lead the soul and mind into temptation against their will.”

“I see. This is not how it is done elsewhere,” Dante said.

“Well, we do have some… reinforcements to strengthen our resolve. All members are raised here in the monastery from childhood. They are taught to look upon one another as brothers and sisters, so any feelings of a more carnal, disorderly sort would seem like incest to them. And if, God forbid, someone were to act on such incestuous urgings, they would be punished according to the harshest laws of the Bible – with public execution.” Dante thought that part of their order sounded more like the kind of harsh, earthly justice he was used to hearing preached, if only selectively practiced. “Thankfully, this has not been necessary for hundreds of years in our monastery.”

To have brutality applied so infrequently was also outside Dante’s experience, and he marveled at it. “But what is your order, exactly?”

Adam pointed back at the main door they had entered. Dante turned and saw there was a large crest on the wall above it. The symbol consisted of angry, orange flames pointing down from the top. They were reaching down to something that looked like an iceberg, within which was encased the outline of a small, blue heart. Like the dome, the crest was strikingly incongruous for a religious order – there was no cross, or crown of thorns, or lamb, or dove, or any other Christian symbol on it.

“We are the Order of the Blessed Death,” Adam explained. “We are neither of the eastern nor western churches, but have existed since long before the two split.” He gestured back at the crest above the door. “Our crest tells much of our beliefs and practices. There is a legend that the next time God grows weary of humanity’s wickedness and madness, and regrets having made us, He will use fire instead of water to destroy the earth. But we believe that before His fire turns to destruction, it is intended to melt the frozen human heart that seals itself off from God’s love, and that such healing flames rain down on us all the time, if we were but aware.”

“But when was this order founded?” Dante asked.

“Legend has it Cain was the founder of our order. Out of penance for his wickedness and lack of love, he spent all the rest of his life wandering, pleading with others to live a life of love, and to pursue a blessed death.”

Dante exchanged looks with Bogdana and Radovan at this strange revelation. Bogdana’s spoon was poised in midair for a moment, before she gave a shrug, emptied the spoon in her mouth, then set it down to reach over and tear off another hunk of bread.

“That is a most unusual founder, Brother Adam,” Dante said. “And what is this ‘blessed death’ your order is named for?”

“Why, that you must surely know, if you are good and godly people, as you appear to be. It is the opposite of a cursed life, of course. What life could be more cursed than one lived out of selfishness and hate and burning, never-ending desire? And what death is more blessed than that died by Jesus, giving himself to death out of love and selflessness, with no desires for his own needs, but only for the needs and healing of others? Where did you say you were from?”

“Italy.”

“Ah.” Adam nodded. “I think you’ll agree that those who follow the cursed life have put down deep roots of corruption in your land.”

Dante nodded. At least there was something coming closer to orthodoxy in this part of the description, as odd as the rest had been. “Is your order spread far abroad, in Italy and beyond?”

“We believe all men and women of good will are members of our order in their hearts, even if they do not know to call themselves such. But as for actual members who wear the grey robe and follow our life in community – yes, we are all across the world. In lands you don’t even know of yet, lands beyond what you call the Pillars of Hercules, lands to the east of Persia and India, lands where men and women have never heard of Jesus, there are those who follow the blessed death as He did, and spurn the cursed life as He taught.”

The description had turned odd once more, to say the least. “I see. And all these people in your communities--if you keep yourselves so secret that none of us have ever heard of you – where do your new members come from? How do you recruit them? If you believe every good person is a member, what is the special mission of those who join? Are you warriors? Penitents? Do you care for the sick rejected from their societies?”

“We perform all those functions, as required by the times. Our unique calling is to combat the special kind of cursed life that afflicts those with the plague of undeath. Their affliction simply makes literal, in their flesh, the cursed kind of life embraced by so many. A life of mindless hunger and violence, with no concern for others. So our members patrol the countryside secretly, usually at night, tending to the final rites of any who have succumbed to this abominable, hateful kind of living death. Usually, we can keep the plague under control this way, and only a very few die in each generation. But we are not God or His holy angels. Sometimes our vigilance is not enough, and the plague grows too strong and spreads too fast. Then we can only withdraw within our walls and let the army and the civil authorities deal with it their way. When they are done, our surviving members move into the devastated areas and find any children orphaned by the plague. Usually there are many, whose parents’ last act was to lift them on to a tree branch, or stuff them into some animal’s den, or cram them into a garret, while they fought and died at the monsters’ hands. We take these children and raise them, and they become the next generation of our community.”

“But the army is coming this way. Won’t they destroy your monastery, as they have the towns and villages in the area?” Radovan asked.

“This has never happened in the history of our monastery. The stones of this building were laid down before Caesar, and it will outlast any petty tyrant in our land. But we must respect our agreement with them, if we are to receive their special protection. We have agreed never to take in and harbor people from the plague-ridden area once the army has been called in. We must submit to their authority. As long as we do, they will bypass the monastery. That is why you cannot stay with us after tonight. My brothers and sisters out on patrol have told me that the army will not be here before tomorrow afternoon. In the morning you must leave, so the community can be safe. I assume you are trying to move west, to the end of the valley?”

“Yes, and then over the mountains, we hope,” Dante said.

Adam nodded. “It is another job of our monks to guide people over the mountains when they try to escape. There is a little-known pass that every brother and sister knows well. Those from the outside seldom find it, or if they do, they forget the way and cannot find it a second time when they come looking for it. It is dangerous for the monk who serves as a guide, since once outside the monastery he can be killed by the troops, just like the villagers are. But it must be done for charity’s sake. It is part of the blessed death, to show others the way.”

Adam turned to Bogdana, Dante, and Radovan, and addressed each of them in turn. “My daughter, you are great with child. And you, from Italy, you seem marked in a special way, for some special purpose, the details of which I cannot intuit, but I feel it strongly, nonetheless. And you, a soldier come to us from the army, you seem pure of heart, a pentitent who fights for the weak, sometimes even for the unworthy. You are not three random refugees, I think, so I will accompany you myself. I had a premonition some special group would come before I grew too old to make the trip, so I must welcome the task as a special honor from God.”

Adam stood, along with the three of them. He called over two young monks--one man and one woman. “My young brother and sister here will show you to your rooms. I must go now and prepare for the journey. This will require much prayer and clarity of mind. The dead, and those who would exterminate them, are more powerful and relentless than ever. Good night to you all.”

Dante and Radovan bowed slightly to him, while Bogdana gave a surprisingly graceful curtsy. Just as her gentleness and grace had been apparent, even in the calloused hands she had placed on his eyes, so too this woman’s beauty could always shine through her rough exterior, Dante thought.

Dante felt a strange elation over Brother Adam’s belief he might have some important work yet to produce. There might be some heroic deed yet to do, whether for the memory of Beatrice, or – he blushed to think it – for the roughhewn beauty whom he had now sworn allegiance to, and whom he knew he was growing to love. His blush turned into a bracing, shivering chill when he thought he might even do this great thing – whatever it was – for the God of this “blessed death.” What a morbid but uplifting concept adopted by these strange, seemingly heretical monks, hidden deep in the woods of this bizarre backwater of the world. He looked up at the stars depicted on the ceiling, and wondered if Brother Adam’s estimate of the monastery’s age was anywhere near accurate. If it were – and stranger things had been known to happen – then those jewels had glinted down on someone standing in this spot when Christ was alive, just as they now sparkled above him. Dante smiled, thinking how their artist had achieved such unexpected immortality.