Badlands Homecoming

The badlands had ceased expanding, and there was just enough food to support one or two researchers—well, maybe only one—and that would be me.

The bishop had his hands full. A guard saw me into his office, and the bishop sat waiting behind a huge, salvaged desk between us.

The desk, a marvel, held my gaze. Its rich, brown hue was a testament to its unique origin, a strange wood with a veneer of such smoothness, partially burned away, creating a mesmerizing play of colors. I couldn't help but wonder about the lives that were risked to retrieve such a treasure.

“You are?" he said, not looking up. Now, if it were up to me, I would fall on my knees and kiss his ecclesiastical ring, listen to his blessings, and wait for benediction. Such was my upbringing, which I had only known since…forever. To be in his presence was an honor granted to so few.

But I must answer him! Yet remembering my very name seemed an extraneous and worthless undertaking.

 “Thomas Cranwell, to commoners excluded from knowing my ecclesial rank,” I said, finally.

“Why do you exclude yourself?” he asked again, without looking up from whatever was absorbing him. “Are you not to work for the extension of the Kingdom of God?”

“It is for an uncommon request. Permission to attend at Bradwell,” I practically whispered.

That got his attention. I am asking for something forbidden. To speak of Bradwell and the treasures of antiquity that it contained was to invite suspicion.

Myths, stories, and legends about the sacrifices made to build Bradwell many generations ago were a staple around campfires at night. After the cataclysm and before the new orientation, the building of Bradwell took place in a time so dark that our present darkness looked light by comparison. Yet I was convinced that understanding our past would help build our future!

I threw caution to the wind. Before I knew what I was doing, I was kneeling before him, seeking his hand to kiss his ring, even as I could not see that the guard had moved to strike me from behind.

“Stay your hand!” the bishop ordered. “What have we here? A search for knowledge at any cost?”

“Only a fool who seeks to serve, Your Excellency!” My tears were so copious that if I looked at him, I imagined he would send me off straight away. He laid his hand on my head.

“Thomas, I'll inquire about your character. Send me your references and bid me a good day!”

#

I had to work while I waited. Luckily for me, I had learned a trade as a metal scavenger. It was considered a low occupation, but it was necessary since the metal that never rusts could no longer be made and was highly prized. However, my unusual request made people suspicious of me. Even the scraps I found in the well-combed hills and valleys surrounding Urhan fetched such low prices that I began to starve. Being without family and friends in any place was inviting death into your life. I hoped I would not have to wait long for the bishop to answer!

When news came that the bishop had approved my request, I now had a servant, David, a protection seal on paper, no less, and a stipend. The bishop’s generosity quite shocked me. Was he an antiquarian? Even if only in secret? I couldn’t account for my good fortune otherwise.

We hastened to start our journey. David was young—only sixteen—yet enthusiastic and uncommonly curious. When I told David we were off to Bradwell, he jumped for joy! I warned him to conserve his strength. It would be a long and challenging journey, even for one like himself. Besides, he was to support me, such as I was.

Upon leaving Urhan, David removed his sandals and shook the dust off them, motioning me to do the same.

“A curse on any who did not help us!” he shouted with glee.

This made me angry. “You hardly know what it is, you ask!” I said. "We have nothing but what we carry—nothing at all. It could be that a curse has been laid on us! Mind your place, boy!”

David’s eyes fell, and he began to weep. “Forgive me, Father, he said.

"It is your youth and inexperience that speaks," I answered. "The world is larger than we know!"

#

We arrived at Urhan Station, a smaller community composed almost entirely of humbler folk, primarily farmers. I was not incardinated anywhere in the Urhan region. I thought it proper to approach the local magistrate to inform him of our presence and request leave to be accommodated for at least one night, perhaps two. Upon reviewing my documents, I was permitted to stay, provided I sought provisions in the local market and remained at the local inn. This I was happy to do.

Thank God news had not spread about my mission. It was a relief to be treated courteously for once, and I relished the opportunity to rest and regain my strength.

David was enraptured by the many sights of Urhan Station, which he had never visited before, even though it was only twenty miles from where he lived.

“Father, shall we hear Mass today?” he inquired.

“Certainly!” I replied.

We soon happened upon the parish church, a quaint, quite old stucco and wood structure dating back to the earliest days of the Urhan region’s reconstruction. Even today, the church outshone the other various dwellings, which were much more bare and plain-looking. A bell rang out, calling the populace to prayer. The church was soon filled.

I was struck by Father Bruno, the priest who said Mass. His intensely blue eyes and reputation for knowing people's sins without being told drew many visitors for confession, even from Urhan proper. I feared he would somehow know of our mission, so I hung back in one of the back pews.

When Mass was over, and we had finished our Thanksgiving prayers, he strode right to the back of the church to see me, calling me by name, although we had never met.

“Father Cranwell! Know you, not your duty! To serve God! It is not your place to seek that which God has destroyed!”

He said this so loudly that David prostrated himself at his feet, weeping and begging forgiveness. I was stunned, and when Father Bruno had left, and I regained my composure, it was plain that we would have to leave Urhan Station; the sooner, the better.

David wept incessantly. On the one hand, he knew he might fall prey to ruffians or dire circumstances, being alone without my support. Yet, given his religious upbringing, he could not ignore Father Bruno's words, and I would not contradict a fellow priest, so I released David from his obligation to me.

I did this with a heavy heart, wondering if I would survive long enough to arrive at Bradwell without David’s support. Yet I had to think of what was best for the boy.

“You are free to leave,” I said as we left Urhan Station.

“Where will I go?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a family to return to?”

“Family? My family is the church. I am an orphan!”

With this, I stopped to look at him. David was in tears again. I was nearly beside myself with grief, too. It was clear that he could not make a decision.

“Come with me, and you will no longer be an orphan but a son to me!" I said, wiping both his and my own tears.

#

We were quite clearly approaching the badlands. Strange, disfigured animals approached us, peering out from the undergrowth. David readied his slingshot, and I, my staff.

"I could hit one!" David exulted.

"Let us pass by the side," I answered. Thus, we took detours through thick brambles to avoid these "denizens of hell," as the common folk called them.

The road, too, became more rutted and overgrown. Signs warned us not to go further, though the further we went, the more rotted they appeared, like the people who erected them had passed on or failed to maintain them.

We had to sleep in the open air in a shelter we could make from branches and sticks. It began to rain. I had heard of the constant rain in the heart of the badlands, soaking you through and through. We knew not to drink from the fetid swamps that threatened to overwhelm the road, which now resembled more of a simple path than a road.

"Is God punishing us?" David asked after a tough night when I coughed more than I slept. "Isn't it clear we shouldn't be here?" he continued. He was throwing stones into the swamp, a look of defeat on his face.

"Hush now and trust," I said. We have not come all this way to die now!"

But I wondered how much more we could take, wearied to the bone from the dampness and privations caused by a lack of food and good sleep, never mind the constant fear of what might happen if we grew inattentive or were unlucky.

After three days, the path abruptly stopped at a ruined habitation. No one was home, and it looked like no one had been there for some time. After my brave words to David, my heart sank. Where to now to Bradwell?

Had I fallen prey to pride? It was Father Bruno's words that echoed in my mind.

I sank to my knees and wept.

I could have died there and then and been happy to meet my maker, poor, alone, a sinner in need of redemption. It was David who came to my rescue.

He bounded into my view even though I lay prone in the muck and filth in those last few steps on the path to nowhere.

“Look, Father!” He helped me up. “Come over here! Do you see it? Up on the hill!”

My poor eyes were unaccustomed to focusing at such a distance, yet I could just make out a building built on a hill. Was it a monastery?

 I could see it shining like a beacon, a bright sheen off what looked like stout walls as we hobbled closer, David supporting me with every step I took.

#

By some magic I had never seen before, the gate to the monastery slid open to reveal a monk dressed in a black tunic. He did not speak, only motioning to us to follow him. A Benedictine? I had never seen one before.

The monk’s tunic hung loosely over his body, stopping only at his ankles. He wore a rectangular piece of cloth over his shoulders called a scapular that appeared to be made of wool. When he turned to lead us to the community, I noticed his cowl limp and unused, the sun only beginning to make its presence known.

It was an edifying experience to see such calm and serene purpose in this one monk who neither sought nor cared for our taking any notice of him whatsoever.

We climbed some hewn stone stairs to such a height! It was utterly exhausting. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath, but I could still reach a portico, the sun clothed with refracted light through the most marvelous stained glass, again as something I had never seen before. I reached out to touch it, causing the light to fall in a sudden dazzling brilliance as if moved by unseen hands. I wanted to stop and question the monk about how light could be so liquid yet impervious to my understanding!

But he moved ever onward, not looking back.

We reached a stolid door of massive weight, again opening at a mere touch! What I presumed to be the abbot greeted us.

The abbot wore a black cappa, which is a full-length cloak over his tunic. He also wore a ring, which he held out to me.

I collapsed before I could kiss his ring, and from what David told me later, I hit my head on the stone floor, losing consciousness.

#

I awoke in an infirmary, or what looked like one. David was so happy to see me come to my senses. He looked fatigued as if he had been waiting a long time by my side, sitting on a wicker chair next to an untouched tray of food on a small table.

“Eat, father!” he said, his voice catching him unawares like he had not spoken for hours. Then, he cleared his throat and looked as if he might cry.

I had more important things on my mind. “What of the…abbot?” I gasped as I reached for a plain, remarkably shaped glass containing a liquid I did not recognize.

David handed it to me. “He never spoke to me. After you collapsed, two monks carried you here. Will you get well, Father?" he pleaded.

"God willing!" I said. You are so faithful to me; how can it be otherwise?" I joked, but then I frowned. “But there is much to discuss…” I said as I tried to get out of bed.

“Not until you are well!” David commanded. “Eat!”

#

The days went swiftly by. A monk with remarkable medical knowledge examined me. And there was so much food! So much more than I was used to.

Then, several days later, another monk with such bright eyes came to get me. This one was not unassuming or silent. He was talkative, so much so that I wondered if he was a monk or a commoner dressed in monk attire!

“Know you, not your duty!” I exclaimed at one point amid his chatter.

He rounded on me, his confident air dissipating as air escapes a putrid cask.

“Know you, not yours?” he replied. With that, we both fell into sullen silence. He then led me to see the abbot.

#

It was as before. This time, I kissed the abbot's ring and returned to standing before him in what looked like the chapter house, a meeting room where the community would gather to conduct business.

Gazing about, I saw things on shelves I had never seen before. Whether they were functional or not escaped me; some seemed to be parts of other, larger objects. Here and there, you could see these recognizable parts protruding. But I was not given leave to stare at these unusual artifacts for long.

“You and your servant are welcome to stay with us!” the abbot announced. “I have made inquiries, and the bishop of Urhan diocese has vouched for you. The bishop was once a monk at this very place! What exactly have you come here to do?”

“Father Abbot, I wish to conduct research.”

“By all means, let us visit the scriptorium and the library!”

Again, there was light that I had never seen before.

In a wonder of wonders, I was led into the scriptorium, where monks sat at tables reading words that appeared and disappeared on pages filled with light, with no visible candles.

Then, many books in unknown languages were in the library, with pictures not drawn or painted of such wonders as I could scarcely describe! Many of these books were burned, and some could not be read. Still, everything was neatly stored and accounted for.

"Why not let everyone see these wonders," I asked.

The Abbot was taken aback. "Do you believe that the people would comprehend that we were once prosperous, but now we are poor only because of a war of unimaginable fury as if the very wrath of God enveloped everything? This is knowledge for only a select few!"

The Abbot, setting aside his vows, embraced me and continued speaking for what seemed like a very long time.

"You need hardly wonder! Was it not always so? Monks preserved knowledge, whether of religion or not, that would have been lost otherwise in past times. We do so today, as always. Forever, until the end of time itself!"

So began my new life. Father Bruno could remind the people of what went wrong, and I would now discover why.