Iamerge stepped out into the day and closed the guesthouse door behind him.  He was more than a little disappointed that Rhuary UiBirlinn was nowhere to be seen.  Another opportunity squandered, he thought.

Nothing to be done about it.  I’ve things to do anyway.  Iamerge headed for the refectory.  The wounded men were waking, and along with herbal remedies to deal with their pain would be a their need for food. 

Fortunately, the monks had done a good job supplying that need after a bumpy start.  At first, they counted up mouths and imagined they need only supply that much more, but the monks of the Biblious Monastery kept themselves on very short rations.  Wounded men needed much more, not just to feed them what they were accustomed, but also more to fuel their recuperation.

Iamerge had benefited from this realization.  It was a benefit of being with the wounded that he was fed like one.  The monks were unstintingly generous as soon as they realized their error.  Iamerge expected that there would be ample food waiting for him in the Refectory.

In a community without doors one hears things.  It wasn’t long before Iamerge began to hear urgent words.  It seemed that the meeting between Gospels and UiBirlinn had moved indoors and the refectory had become the conference room.

It was awkward, but Iamerge decided he might best be served by hovering near the door while the conversation continued.  It was not difficult to hear Rhaury UiBirlinn, “This hill of yours is indefensible as it now stands. . .” Perhaps my opportunity is not gone, Iamerge thought.

“We do not need to defend it, this place is the Lord’s,” said a voice that Iamerge guessed was the new abbot.

“Master UiBirlinn, you needn’t worry about us.  Our lives are in God’s hands.  If we die we gain reward, if it is for Christ’s sake.  Every man of us is commited to it.”  That seemed to be from Gospels.

“What madness is this?  If you mean to commit suicide, go find the monsters.  I am sure they will oblige, but do not provide the meal that brings them to my gates.”

“We do not wish death. . .” began Gospels, but the new abbot spoke louder.

“For a chance at martyrdom we would indeed count ourselves blessed, every man of us.  We do our duty before the Lord, and if He will offer us this cup of martyrdom then how can we refuse?”

“You are mad then.  These are not devils to tempt you, they are monsters who will eat you.  If you think defeat at their hands will be some honor, you go to them, but you will do nothing but feed them.  You will gain no honor, at least nothing that I would call honor.” Iamerge thought about stepping in, but then UiBirlinn continued, “Is the cow honored to be roasted, or the hog blessed bacon to be?”

“It is not that,” spoke Gospels, “ just, all things, even something that might seem senseless or tragic, can be made into good by our Lord.”

“That would be some trick, that.  The lot of you killed and consumed and that to the good?  Will you sour in their bellies and so bring them down?  Wear thee hemlock and nightshade as you go, for eat you they will.”

“Pardon us Master UiBirlinn.  We take your point, I think, but you do not know our Lord.”  Gospels had a way of speaking that could silence you with a whisper, his very softness seemed to make his words more potent, “At one time we had plans for a tower.  It was to house our bells, famously, the very ones for which the town is named.  Perhaps we should consider making a tower to hold us safe as well as to house the bells.”

“It seems to me too late for that sort of effort. . .”

“Indeed, it was half a century ago that the plan was abandoned Gospels.”

“True, and yet our guesthouse is the foundation of that tower and the bells rest in vaults beneath it.  If God provides this extremity, perhaps he can provide the stone masons and crafters to make us a tower now that we need one.”

“Do you imagine that it could be so, brother Gospels?”

“Give glory to God brother abbot.  His timing is not man’s timing nor are His thought my thought.  Still, I have long wanted to see those bells installed, and if God will have a fortress, perhaps he will provide it and home for my bells as well.”

“If you find stone-masons then you’ve found a rare thing.  I need such myself.  I plan to raise a wall above the current palisade, but at low tide an army could walk around the fortifications near the water.  I need to extend the wall into the bay or perhaps build a wall across the dockside and fortify the wharf.  Either way I’ll need stone work if it is to be done right.”

“Are you going in?” The question from behind nearly made Iamerge jump out of his skin.  Iamerge whirled to find brother Corinthians behind him.

“I hadn’t yet decided,” he managed, but Corinthians seemed unaffected by his eavesdropping and he calmed.

“They ran me out, or rather invited themselves in and started all that and I felt the call else-where.” Corinthians smiled, “I expect you’re looking for the victuals for the wounded and the pain mendicants.” a look like concern drifted across the old man’s face, “What do you imagine they are on about anyhow?”

Not wanting to reveal what he overheard Iamerge said, “God only knows”

Corinthians beamed, “Surely that is true. He does.”  Being reminded of Providence seemed good enough for Corinthians.  God knew and so he had no need to concern himself.  “Wait here, I’ll get you what you need and be back in a few moments.  Corinthians patted Iamerge on the way by and slipped in to the refectory.

Again I’ve let my chance pass, Iamerge thought.  With nothing to do but wait, he let his attention drift back to the conversation within.

Iamerge could not imagine what to do.  His friend, normally a tower of emotional strength, was devastated and though he could think of nothing to do he was there, witnessing the break-down.  Finally, reflexively, Iamerge reached out and patted the man on his shoulder where he lay.  Conal seized him with his one good hand and wept and wept.

Iamerge might have run, but anchored by Conal’s iron grip he could not.  He sat and desperately tried to think of what to do.  At last Conal’s grip loosened as his sobbing subsided.  When Conal finally released his hold completely Iamerge felt relief and yet, strangely, a sense of loss.  He reached out and patted the man as he’d done at the first.

“Thank you Iamerge, you’re a true friend.”  Conal whispered, then he lay back and covered his tear reddened eyes with his arm. 

“If there’s anything I can do. . .” Iamerge offered.

From across the room a gruff voice called, “What do I need to do to get something to eat in this place?”

Iamerge and Conal both burst out laughing.  Iamerge punched Conal gently on the shoulder before he rose and was treated to the same old twinkle in his eye that he’d come to expect from the man. “I’ll have to see if the hungry monks have left us anything.”

“I need bark tea!” came a quavering call from another quarter, pain evident in the voice.

“I can get you some cold,” called Conal. ”I’m sure the brothers will bring hot later.”  Conal and Iamerge exchanged smiles and went to their duties, self imposed though they were.

“What am I going to do, Iamerge?” Conal choked suppressing tears.

Iamerge had never been personable in the normal sense.  He had always had too much to hide, but a few times in his life he had allowed personal relationship to worm its way past his defenses.

Daniel, the Jew, was one such, he had been mentor and father figure to a young Smoke when he was moving from the street life into the life of a caravan trader.  Daniel had taught him about mathematics and reading.  Jaleel, the guard captain, had tested, trained, and been a sort of older brother to him, a protector and advocate.  What he knew of fighting he had learned from Jaleel.  Alphaz, the tall, had reminded him of how to sail the seas and what trading can mean, had given him his first command, and treated him as the son he never had. Gospels, the former abbot of Bellton, had saved his life.  All these men, so influential, how then had a one armed man become his friend?

Iamerge went to his friend.  “I don’t know what we are going to do Conal, but don’t worry.”  Iamerge marvelled that Conal, though horribly wounded, could remain positive and even cheerful despite the adversity. This of Niamh was destroying him. “What do you want to do?”

Conal seemed to rally with something concrete to think about. ”I’d like her to have a good life. I want her to be happy.”

“But what do you want to do Conal. You want good for Niamh, but what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? Do you think I don’t know that I’m ruined, as a man, as a husband? I can believe that God could love what’s left of me, the Lord who needs nothing of me, but what woman could?” Conal’s face hardened, “I don’t want her to see me like this. I want to be a brother here where there are no women. No women to see me.”

Conal collapsed back onto his pallet and moaned, “How can I see her like this?  I’ve nothing left, she deserves much better.”

“I can tell her that you can’t see her yet, but you know Niamh, she will be out to see for herself sooner than later and that’s nothing I can stop.  She will.”

Conal lay still, he nodded to let Rhaury know he’d heard, but made no further move.  Iamerge saw a tear run down Conal’s face, past his ear and onto his pallet.  Rhaury reached out and patted Conal, a familiar and kind gesture that surprised Iamerge almost as much as learning that Conal was married.

“Well, the other fellows seem to be sleeping, I’ll have to see them another time it seems.  You think about Niamh and get word to me when you’ll see her.  But if it isn’t soon, expect to see her at your door.”

Rhuary turned and made for the door, his business finished apparently.  Iamerge scrambled to follow, “Mr. UiBirlinn, a word.”  UiBirlinn was already out the door, but he paused and turned back, holding the door.  Iamerge followed him out and Rhaury closed the door behind them.

“It’s hard to see men you command so. . .” UiBirlinn shivered and glanced back at the closed portal, “I might not have come except for Niam always being at my door asking after Conal.”  UiBirlinn kept his eyes on the door, looking away from where Iamerge stood.

The conversation had made another odd turn leaving Iamerge without an easy way to broach his subject, desperately wanting to bring the conversation around to his hold stake.  The awkward pause widened, “uh, well none of that is your fault.”

“No? Perhaps not, but in the end they are my men.  I did not anticipate these creatures, monsters, demons, whatever they are.  That’s why I advise you, the monastery, to invest in strong doors.  I doubt those monsters will be satisfied with raiding trade caravans.  In fact, there are likely to be no more of those while this is at issue.  Without caravans to attack they are likely to come looking for plunder, perhaps they but wait the day.”  Rhaury turned back, looking at Iamerge with intensity, “What do you think?”

Iamerge wrestled with the question and how he might turn it back to his hold stake, “I hadn’t thought of that. . .” He began, but he didn’t get to add to that ambivalence before Gospels arrived and Rhuary turned away to greet him.

“Ah, master UiBirlinn,” called Gospels.

“Gospels,” greeted UiBirlinn, “You look well.”

“True, I’m not dead yet.” Gospels nodded to Iamerge before stepping closer and smiling up at Rhaury UiBirlinn

Iamerge cursed his stupidity, he’d waited too long and missed his chance, he stepped back into the periphery, wondering how best to make a graceful exit.

“Well, I came to see my men.  As I was telling Iamerge here, I’m sure many men survived because of your care.  I’m grateful, of course.  Thank you.” Rhuary cleared his throat forestalling Gospel’s response and plunged on, “More to the point though, you’ve helped them, perhaps you should look to your own safety as well.”

Gospels looked puzzled, “In what way”

“Doors wouldn’t hurt, some sort of defensible position, what if the kind of monsters that tore up that caravan came against your monastery?  I shudder to think of the carnage.”  Rhaury glanced away toward the town, but the guesthouse and the hill too would have blocked his vision.  “We are trying to make the town more defensible, beyond reinforcing the walls we are adding strong-points along it and closing and guarding the gates at night.  Surely you need to make such preparations, abbot.”

Gospels smiled thinly, “Thankfully I do not carry that responsibility in these dark days.  I do appreciate your concern, but we have protections that you do not know.  Our God will supply all our needs, even if it is needful that we die martyrs for his cause.”

“That would be a very great waste and confirm much of what my mother has said of your order.  She is not very complimentary I fear, but if you would not protect yourselves for your own sake, I would beg you to consider the good you could do the citizens of the town.  If war comes, as I fear, we could use your healing hands much more than your martyred corpses gloriously scattered around this hill.  There will be death enough, I think.”

Iamerge slipped through the doorway into the guest-house.  Mostly he wanted to think, and think hard about how to speak to UiBirlinn about his hold-stake and further, from the conversation going on outside, it was clear that he ought to consider getting far gone from this place when he’d secured what was his.  But when he looked up, Conal was sitting and looking to him.  Iamerge knew that time to think was hard to come by and that Conal’s need would not allow it yet.

Succat trudged doggedly northward along the ever diminishing trail that led to the Ribbon-wood and the Lianhan Shee.  His spirits were low, dampened by the rain, and fear that he was not up to his task.

The trail was rain slick beneath his feet, his white woolen robe was soaked, especially the hood in his eyes, and his thick woolen stole felt like iron around his neck. 

Succat was sure his quest was of God, but the powers Lianhan Shee were legendary.  It was said, by those who had never seen her, that if you could not resist the Lianhan Shee, you became her slave forever.  Of those who had seen her, there was no witness living.

Miserable, Succat approached a daunting hedge of woodland.  He shivered as the darkness resolved itself into mighty trees rising into the mist. Between the imposing tree trunks there seemed a way, a way into darkness, a fearful way. 

Doubt assailed him.  Phillipians, his soul friend had warned him against this quest at the instigation of Exodus, the abbot.  Without their blessing he felt isolated and alone. 

“Lord God, I know this quest is sent of you.” Succat fell to his knees in the pouring rain, “It is written, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, but I doubt myself.  Please me, I am weak.  Give me your peace, I am in fear.  I doubt. . .” The rain hammered down without relenting, Succat despaired, “Lord, be with me now, I need you.”

Leaning heavily on crozier, his staff, Succat clambered to his feet.  He was stiff from the cold, shivering from the soaking and from fear. Clutching his crozier for comfort he made his way into the mysterious wood. 

The rain abated immediately.  Beneath the trees, the air seemed strangely close, warm and dry.  the way was lit by a strange glow that did not rise much beyond where he set his feet, but it guided his steps and kept him from crashing into the giant trees that loomed all around.

Succat felt the light brush of things he feared to know.  They might be cobwebs or dry tendrils of moss, and he chose to ignore imagination that paralysed him with fear. Thus he travelled through darkness with light at his feet, until he stepped into a meadow.  Above him shined Bright, the great moon, glowing in her three colors of red and blue and yellow.

God be praised, He thought, Free of the wood and the rain too.  Succat looked up at a normal sky with stars and moon, and as he watched, the Traveller tumbled across the sky.  All seemed well, but then he chanced to look across the little clearing.  He was stunned.

A radiant woman stood at the edge of the meadow. She seemed to gather every bit of light from the moons and cast it out in scintillating brightness.  Her dress was modest, but plain fabric could not contain the sensuality of the creature, the Lianhan Shee, for she was beauty in every line and curve.

With growing fear, Succat recognized her, formed of his fondest imaginings, the image of the abbess of Kirnarven, but voluptuous and fertile, as if she were a courtesan or goddess of love and not an ascetic of a holy house.  The coal of his doubt was blown into flaming fear.

“For what have you come, oh man?” Her smile was inviting, or mocking, or enigmatic.  Whatever, it was utterly enticing to Succat.

The hard wood of his shepherd’s crook, brought him back to his duty. I am bound to God’s work and seeing her only shows it more necessary. If I am fuddled by her how much more a young man? They are helpless against her wiles.

He lifted his crozier in both hands and held it as a weapon, as a shield. “You have no hold on me,” he lied, “you will cease your foul concourse with the men of the village.”

She looked bemused. “Is that truly what you wish to say to me, oh man?” Her laugh was like a tinkling of silver bells, “It is late, and you are weary. I will forgive your harsh words this once.” Smiling she turning away into the deeper wood. “You will find rest, and then we will talk,” and then she disappeared taking the faery light with her.

Succat quaked with fear.  I’ve faced the Lianhan Shee and given my warning, perhaps that is enough.  For a moment he hoped it might be true, but he knew it was not.

The abbot’s edict returned to mind, and it yet rankled.  Succat would rather die than give abbot Exodus the satisfaction of being right, but would he risk his immortal soul?

Shame struck like a blow.  Was this quest nothing but his need to prove the abbot wrong?  He should flee now if this was only a sop for his pride.  No, there was much more to it, the widow Alban came to mind, her tears for her son, Gerald, struck down when it seemed he’d overcome his sickness.

Stopping the Lianhan Shee was the Lord’s work.  Succat knew he must stop the beguiling creature from making tatters of men’s lives, and for Gerald she led to his death. Still, having met her, Succat feared failure even more. 

“No, I can do all things” He reminded himself, In Christ even Succat, the monk who never mastered a book, even he could face her.

How long he warred with himself he couldn’t say, but when he looked for the Lianhan Shee, she was gone.  The forest was again cold, dark, and foreboding.  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” he reminded himself and followed her deeper into the blackness of the Ribbon-wood.

Again his path was lit with a soft iridescence. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path,” Succat quoted, feeling a bit smug until, with a sick twist in his gut, he realized that this was more likely sent by the Lianhan Shee.

The sound of rushing water grew until he came upon a lovely brook.  The light was more pronounced, a phosphorescence that bled from the moss bearded trees, and even from tiny floating things high above him.  It was a wonderland of soft light in, yellow, pink, and blue.  He drank from the brook’s cool water. Weariness came over him and he barely lay down upon a carpet of soft moss before sleep claimed him.

****

Succat woke to bird song, and sunlight filtering through leaves.  He felt energized, in fact, Succat could not remember ever feeling better than he did after a night on the mossy brook side.  The pastor almost leaped to his feet when his custom was to work the stiffness out slowly.  Here in the Ribbon-wood he felt spry as a callow youth.

Succat saw a riot of flowers filling the border of the clearing, and with a start he noticed berries, ripe to bursting, all around.  It isn’t possible, ripe berries in Spring?  It almost seems I’ve slept all through Summer.  Succat wondered as he sampled the juicy profusion and found it all good.

Shaking his head, he bent down by the stream, splashed his face, and washed his hands of the berry stains.  He drank deep of water cupped in his hands.  staring into the surface of a deep pool, Succat was shocked to see his image on its glassy face.  He hardly recognized the man staring back.

“You look well after your rest,” said the Lianhan Shee. “Are you hungry? I’ve brought something to break your fast.”

Succat spun to face the Lianhan Shee.  In the light of day she might have been any other human woman.  But looking at her, all he wanted in the world was to crush her to him, to kiss those perfect lips, and. . .

He turned away, though it was the last thing he wanted. “You want to possess me,” he managed. “And I would be helpless, but the Spirit of God strengthens me.  I did not come to tryst with you, Lianhan Shee.”

“That is not my name.  Not to tryst, what then?”

“I came to stop you.”

“Stop me? Why should I be stopped,” She laughed, “I stay in my place, I do nothing but good.”

“You are deceitful. . .”

“Deceitful? I break no promises, I tell no tales.  Who has deceived you?  I promised rest, which you’ve had.  I’ve offered you breakfast.  Do you mislike my bread?  Are the berries in your beard not to your liking?  You all come to me and not once have I deceived. . .”

“So! When Gerald Alban came he asked for death?” Succat accused, “No?  Well woman, if he was not deceived by you, why is he dead?”

“Gerald?  The sick boy?  I did him no harm, I would not.  I healed Gerald Alban, just as I healed you.”

“Like you healed me?” Succat was puzzled, “What is this?”

“Simple truth, I do no harm.  You feel that I can do what I say, for I healed your many hurts.  Gerald could not have walked home without my help, and you accuse me.”

Succat was undeterred, “What face did you show him? This one?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not?  Ah, this face is for me. Gerald saw another, a face so he would love you.  Is that not so?”

“What you are accusing. . .”

“You, Lianhan Shee, always show a perfect face. For Gerald, a face stolen from his dreams, and a different perfect face to every man who comes.”

“They want to give me their essence and they are comfortable with. . .”

“Comfort is it? You make them lust and then you suck out their life.”

“I never do that.  I heal them of their hurts.”

“Oh, but what an awful price, eternal wanting you.  Is that not so Lianhan Shee?”

“Don’t call me that name you despise. You talk of wanting and stealing life, but I never would.”

“Said the pretty face, in form and manner to drive a man mad.  Does eliciting lust, please you?  Does it flatter you that they would die to love you just once more?”

“I don’t understand.”

Succat stared at her, she was rigid with anger, but beautiful nonetheless.  He was sworn to chastity, a pastor among his flock, blessedly free of desire for years, but this creature brought stirrings so deep and frightening he did not know what to do with them.  It made Succat angry.

“Don’t understand?” he spat, “Yet you show me this guise, this, this flesh.  I know you are false, still I, a man of God, would ravish you.  Don’t you understand?  Truly?  Can’t you read my mind?  Isn’t it our thoughts you use to make the perfect flesh to taunt a man, to tempt me?”

Anger flare in her eyes, “I don’t understand you Succat. You talk and talk.” The Lianhan Shee strode toward him, careless of herself and the way her clothing strained against her and how each step moved her in ways he would never forget.  He was only human, he reached for her, but she had already grasped his head in her hands, “Then show me what you want of me Succat, so I will understand.”

Succat thought she was offering herself to sate his lust, but in this he was frustrated.  Her touch paralysed his body, but it unleashed his mind to show her everything he wanted in humiliating detail.

His lust, set free, shocked Succat to his core, and the Lianhan Shee was no less shocked.  She recoiled, trying to cover herself, as if she had not seen that he had imagined her completely.  “I would never want that!” she shrieked and struck him so hard that he fell in a heap.

Succat wept for the shame of his lust, for his defeat, for failing his Lord and his people, and he wept for the ruin of his life. The Lianhan Shee had won and his soul was forfeit, owned by the faery woman.

In growing horror, Succat realized that he was weeping too, for having wanted the demoness, though it was his ruin, he still desired her.  She would never give him what he wanted. “I would never want that!” she had said, words that were a final dagger in his heart.

Cold rain brought him back to his senses.  The mossy carpet was gone, so too berries, the flowers, and everything but the bleak bones of the trees.  All that remained of the wonderland of the Lianhan Shee was the rivulet dancing over the rocks. Had it all been a dream?

Was the healing gone with the mossy bed?  The deep pool revealed nothing, the rain ruining it as a gazing glass.  Despite failure, Succat felt strong. Looking down, Succat saw a younger man’s hands without the rheumatism that had plagued him.  He clambered to his feet without the ache he would expect.  The comforts were withdrawn, but not his healing.  

Shrugging, he stooped to take up his crozier.  He traced the hook and cross with new fingers, but Succat remembered old responsibilities.  He’d failed, but what could he do but return?  Feeling devastated in spirit, but new in body, he headed South through the dreary wood.

As he walked, the new strength in his body brought euphoria.  Without thought, Succat broke into a run.  Whatever else, this battle was over, he had never felt better in body, and youthful exuberance banished his spiritual malaise.

Succat broke out of the wood into a clearing at a ground eating lope.  A man sat on the wet ground, his body was emaciated and his eyes looked feverish with need.

Succat skidded to a halt before the creature.  Succat marvelled that after a handful of breaths his breathing was normal.  “Who are you, and how came you here?” he asked.

The old man regarded Succat from his low place in the mud. “Do you not know this face, Man of God?”

Succat frowned in recognition, “It is the guise of the Fear Gorta you now wear, Lianhan Shee.”

“Lianhan Shee was never my name, a pleasant face for pleasant conversation only, curiosity’s face.  Now I hunger to know, I must know. This face, hunger’s face, is appropriate.”

“I have no alms to give you.”  Inspiration came, “Here, take this crozier”  Succat tossed his shepherd’s staff before the Fear Gorta.

The stick figure man sighed. “It is not your walking staff I desire, Man of God.”

“What then?  Should I thank you for healing me?  How did you?”

“Tis’ easily done, I see in you how you aught to be.  I fix what has gone wrong.  I confess I find your kind endlessly fascinating, you and all the myriad life you brought, so perfect and yet so damaged.”

Succat stared at the old man in the mud, “Thank you for not taking the healing from me. . .”

The Fear Gorta waved away the words with an impatient hand, “I do not require thanks.”  The old man turned his intense stare on Succat, ”I need to know.  You spoke of your god, but you were so damaged, so in need of healing, how could your god be Creator of All.  Yet I know there is but one author of life.  How can this be, oh Man of God?

Succat laughed without humor, “It is age, we grow old and die, it is the curse of sin.  As it is written, Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment, so Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.”  Succat shrugged,”And so I wait, and I die.”

“You will cease to be, like you say Gerald has?” Succat nodded but the Fear Gorta was not finished, “and this Christ of whom you spoke, who was he to die for this curse.”

“He is God, and He was a man too.”

Before Succat fully realized his danger the Fear Gorta seized him by his robe.  Succat struggled, but he could do nothing to free himself from the fanatic grip.

“This can not be the Creator.”  The Fear Gorta desperately searched Succat’s face. “Why would he do it?” 

“Unhand me!” but Succat needn’t have asked, the bag of bones had already released him and was weeping uncontrollably in the mud.  Succat backed away slowly, hoping he might escape.

Succat fled.  He ran as fast as he could, hoping the Fear Gorta would let him go.  Ahead he saw a stream of water, fast flowing, that he’d crossed on his way.  by was an apple tree in full bloom of Spring.  Succat hadn’t noticed it when he’d crossed before.  He slowed at the strangeness, he stopped dead when he saw the man of hunger, the Fear Gorta, step from behind the tree.

“You’ve forgotten your staff.” he said simply, but there was nothing simple in the creature.  Stretching out his hands, stems of apple wood grew from his palms.  As Succat watched, they wound about each other and grew into the shape of a staff.  The wood stretched and curled and it grew.  More and more the living thing took the form of his crozier even as it budded, broke into flower, then leaf, and finally dropped yellow leaves over the white flower of its blossoming.   

The Fear Gorta handed Succat a crozier of intricately knotted apple wood.  “Why do you carry this, Man of God?”

Stunned, Succat blurted, “It is my office.  I am a shepherd like the Lord Jesus was, I have gone out into the world to preach.”

“Why do you do that, Man of God?”

“Because He commanded it.  It is written, go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature baptising them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Where is it written? I must know.”  Before Succat answered, another idea seized the old man.  “Here is water, why might I not be baptised?”

A hundred objections burst on his mind, but in the end, the need on Fear Gorta’s face drove Succat to his waist in the pool with the withered old man. 

Succat intoned, “Our Lord commanded: baptise them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.  It is in that name I baptise you, Fear Gorta, Lianhan Shee. . .”

“I am The Mind of the Ribbon-Wood.”

Nodding, Succat lowered the man beneath the water, but when he would have brought him back up, there was naught but a drifting of orange mud carried away on the current.