Iamerge found his way back to the warmth of the fire and the attentions of the monks.  Hebrews saw him first and quickly saw to his cut.  Iamerge was relieved there were no questions, but Hebrews’ curious glances built a need in him to confess.

When he could stand it no more he blurted out, “I couldn’t bear to see Conal die right there beside me, I don’t know why.  I ran off and got tangled in the brush.”  The heat on his neck wasn’t from the fire.

Hebrews’ brow furrowed in thought, “Is that the fellow who had his legs crushed by the ox cart?  I think he is well as can be expected.”

“Surely not, he was all blood and bandages and slipping off to sleep, I thought forever.”

“Not so.  God is good.  He slept for a bit, but he woke as we sang office and I brought him some strong birch tea.”

Perhaps a god who would let a man so mauled live was not so kind as all that, Iamerge thought to himself but said, “That is good news.”

“Perhaps you can see him, if you like.  He asked after you.” Hebrews’ smile was guileless and without reproach, but Iamerge wondered if he in fact intended to heap coals of guilt on his head for abandoning the man.  Whether he meant it or not the effect was the same, Iamerge was guilty.

“I will,” Iamerge allowed.  He began to rise and Hebrews was standing beside to help him up.  “Thanks.” Iamerge turned away as he spoke so he wouldn’t have to see Hebrews or be seen by the man.  His face was hot with embarrassment.

Fortunately, the blue light of Spark hid the color on his face.  Gospels caught him to hand him two bowls of gruel and asked after the bandage on his head.  He had to admit to his cowardice again.  Gospels seemed unfazed and directed him to take the other bowl to Conal as if the monk hadn’t heard him say that he’d run off into the night to avoid the man.

The blue light made Conal look ghastly.  His eyes closed, Iamerge couldn’t believe that the mangled man wasn’t dead, but after a pause to stare, Iamerge saw that Conal’s chest was rising and falling with quick shallow breath.

“Is that breakfast I smell?” said Conal in a weak voice.

Iamerge was pretty certain he jumped, but Conal’s eyes were closed and he rallied well enough, “Yes, I think Gospels made it for us both with his own hands.”

“Truly?” murmured Conal, blood shot eyes opening and a smile spreading across his haggard face, “Did Gospels really do that?  That’s nice.  Thanks for bring’n it Iamerge.”

Iamerge wasn’t sure what to do.  He had never been a nurturer, not naturally.  He sat down awkwardly near enough to feed the other man, he assumed he would have to and fretted about how one should do so.  Before he could set his own bowl aside and take up the spoon, Conal reached for the nearest bowl and balanced it on his chest with practiced ease.

Conal winked, “I lost my other arm years ago.  I’ve got pretty good with the one.” With not another word the one armed man began to eat eagerly.

It was dark in the scrub tree grove that slowed Iamerge’s headlong plunge.  This, this of death is not for me.  I’ve died a dozen times and never felt the bite.

There was a breeze that ruffled the woody firs, Iamerge turned and looked.  The Wanderer, tumbling as it went, fled away like he had.  The darkness all around him felt oppressive despite the moon wind.  He stopped to look up at a sky full of stars.  Why should I flee what may never touch me?

In the night the chanting of the monks came to him out of darkness, “. . .God, who searches minds and hearts, bring to an end the violence of the wicked and make the righteous secure. My shield is God Most High, who saves the upright in heart. God is a righteous judge, a God who expresses his wrath every day.  .  .”

Was this destruction and death the expression of an angry God?  And where?  Where, out in all that dark, is a god.  I see a little light, glittering points of beauty, but where is God?

” . . . He who is pregnant with evil and conceives trouble gives birth to disillusionment.  He who digs a hole and scoops it out falls into the pit he has made.^”   Iamerge chuckled to himself.  He sat among the needles and litter.  I wonder if a pit might not be preferable to death, a safe place.  I should dig a hidee-hole. 

The chanting rose, recapturing Iamerge’s notice, “I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness and will sing praise to the name of the LORD Most High.”

Iamerge sat breathlessly.  The silence made him fidget and he would have rose and walked back to the fire if he’d been sure of the way. 

Then low and slow the monks began again, building quickly, “O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens.” Iamerge turned to the sound.  He could see nothing of the firelight.  He clambered to his feet, feeling as he began to walk to the sound.  “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger. . .”

He shuffled forward, waving his hands before him in the blackness.  A root seemed to grab his foot and he pitched headlong into a low bushy tree.  He stumbled and tried to catch himself, but tangled in the branches he went down hard.  Iamerge struck his head and saw stars of a sort.  He rolled over, stunned, and saw above him the stars of the sky.

*  *  *

Conal lay in pain. His legs ached from well below where he knew they now ended, from phantom feet all the way into his belly.  He wept, but not for the pain, he wept for joy at the sound of the monks chanting their prayers to the LORD. 

He gazed at the beauty of the heavens through the blur of his tears.  The brothers began again, “O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”  My lord too, now.  

“You have set your glory above the heavens.” Above even those stars? I wish I could sing like the brothers. “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.”

I’m ready to die, I could go now and happily.  What use could I be, that the LORD wants me? ”When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” 

In the dimness of the firelight, Conal seemed to hear a still small voice, or he simply knew in his soul, “You will live and you will serve me well.  I have loved you, Conal, from everlasting.”

The brothers sang, “You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.  You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet:  all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.”

Then I will serve you all my days.  Conal’s spirit sang with his brothers, “O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

*  *  *

Iamerge’s mind whirled in chaos and fear, It was stupid to run out into the night.  What was I thinking?  Weren’t their corpses he’d seen, men who had fallen to those beasts?  Why did he fear to see that man die with him sitting helpless beside?  What was so hard about that?

Iamerge looked up and saw a shadow blocking the stars.  He cringed, fearing the beast-men.  The Stranger only, He thought, around its rim was the dim light of the three stars of Tir na Nua, but the Stranger kept most of that light sending only a little back out to be seen.

Iamerge got to his feet with care now.  His senses were alive.  Realistically, it was unlikely that those things would return.  Then too, he was not far from the men.  Conal’s death had un-nerved him and then stumbling in the dark had brought panic.  He was fine and would be fine. Soon enough he would see his way clear. 

Iamerge felt something on his forehead, he made to brush it away and his fingers came away wet.  He was bleeding.  “There now, I’ll not escape this foolishness without embarrassment,”  He said in the night.

In the dimness he felt something at his feet.  He reached down and his probing fingers found a long branch, like a staff.  He grasped it and used it to return to standing.  Iamerge’s head ached abominably, but the rough wood in his hands was a comfort.  He felt less vulnerable.  Now nothing left but to find my way back.  then I’ll add myself to the wounded souls around the fire, he thought.

Again he heard the monks chanting, “I will praise you, O LORD, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders.”  It was a matter of minutes fumbling in the dark and he saw the glow of the fire before him and the blue light of Spark lightening the horizon,

“I will be glad and rejoice in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High. . .” the brothers sang as Bright, the blue star, rose.

A shadow passed close and Iamerge woke disoriented and a bit confused.  “Iamerge?” a voice said.  Iamerge opened his eyes and was blinded by the sun, lower now and shining directly in his eyes.

Blinking, he threw his arm over his eyes, “yes, I’m here.”

Seeing Iamerge’s discomfort, Gospels moved to his side, “I didn’t see you after Teirt, and I was afraid you’d left us. . .” Gospels seemed to run out of words or pause to consider, “. . .I had hoped to ask you about what you meant to do.”

Iamerge probably shouldn’t have been irritated by the monks prying, but the muddle he’d made of his morning angered him too much, “What, am I not allowed to leave this place? It’s really none of your business what I do.”  He instantly regretted his pique, but it was too late, the words were spoken and he saw Gospels harden at his harsh words.

Before he could speak to take back what he’d said he saw the battle on Gospel’s face and then, remarkably, a sheepish smile grew where there had been wounded pride, “You are quite right my friend.  I . . .  I have the habit of command from when I was Abbott you know.  And now, perhaps for pride, I’ve imagined some work that the Lord has for me through you.  I apologize.” 

Iamerge imagined he must have looked like a stranded fish, gaping and gasping, but before he could even be gracious enough to apologize himself or even to accept the one offered, the older man plunged on, “Might I sit with you Iamerge?”

“Certainly, oh please do.  I only meant. . .   I didn’t mean rather. . .     This morning did not go as I’d planned.”

Gospels plopped down beside him with a little groan, “Indeed, I was just surprised that you had business in the town.  And too, very happy that you’d returned seeing that you did.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you Gospels, you’ve been so kind to me.”

“Yes, and brought you here and abandoned you.  It was about that which I wanted to talk to you.  As it happens, though I return as one of the brothers here. . .  Well, I’m not.”

“No?”

“No, I was the Abbott.  Then I abandoned my post on my personal quest and left many problems.  And no doubt the Lord would have sorted out all that in time, but my return has done nothing to further healing and much to hurt it.”

“I see. . .”

“In part perhaps, but the rest of it is that I am convinced that God led me to this seeming madness that I might be the instrument of your salvation.  In this I may be engaging in pridefulness. . .”

“But you did save me.”

“No.  No Iamerge.  In truth I was there to see it, but it was the hand of God that plucked you from the flood.  I see that.”

“How can you say that?  I would have died, if not drowned then starved, or of the cold.”

Gospels smiled, “No, I believe that the God who created the world and upholds that creation by his will could uphold you.  Out of the sea, out of hunger, it matters not.”  The old man laughed and leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed, “And so here I am and again I do not know why.  I pray thee God, please show me what to do.” 

Gospels seemed to fall into reverie or sleep.  All this was strange to Iamerge though it reminded him of time he had spent with the old Jewish book-keeper who had taught him letters and opened to him the world of books.

“Look, Gospels, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I expected to be able to get a small amount of money, some seed money to begin again.  I would never have left without saying good-bye.  Or left at all, I really don’t know what I’m going to do.  In fact I thought I might be able to repay your kindness to me.” Iamerge glanced over at Gospels to see if they had had any effect, he doesn’t believe a word I am saying and why should he?  I’m not sure what I would have done then and I don’t really know now.

“Before it seemed so easy.  I thought I would sail into the port, get my money, and begin a new life, but all that has changed as you know.  I’ve no boat, the money is in doubt, and the man I went to meet is dead and his son nearly ran me down riding out of town to some emergency.”

Gospels seemed to come back, he looked hard at Iamerge, “What sort of emergency was this?”

“I’m not really sure, I think it was an attack on a trade caravan, at least that’s what Jim Cooper thought.  It was he who pulled me out of the path of the riders returning to town and the one who told me that Rhaury Ui Birlinn rode back out with a small army of guards to see to it.”  Gospels clamoured to his feet, obviously agitated. ”Gospels what is it?” 

Gospels put his fingers in his mouth and shrilled a whistle that made Iamerge’s ears ring.  A young monk working in a field nearby rushed toward them.

“Not much to tell.”  Iamerge’s mind raced as he thought over what he should and shouldn’t tell.  The best course always seemed to reveal the least, “I washed up on the Skellig and Gospels was there to pull me out, care for me, feed me, such as there was on that bleak place.”

Jim Cooper nodded, knowingly, “Tis said there’s naught to eat and the saints perch there for months living on water and sea foam, then there’s some who say that their god gives them food, and others that say that they’ve a fat larder there and since they don’t eat here its there they go to eat.”

Iamerge laughed, “Well, as to the larder, I saw none, I ate no sea foam, and Gospels gave me bits of dry fish, some little leaves of green herb, and sometimes raw egg of sea birds on the isle, if it was his god that gave him that to eat then he isn’t a very generous god.”

“You make it sound like there is no fuel at all, nothing to burn.”

“Unless you can make wet stone burn there is naught of that at all.”

“Incredible, how did you live?”

“How did Gospels live before I came?  I’ll tell you I’ve never slept better than I did in their guest house last night.  Not because of any opulence, just not the austerity of the rock.  There are five men out there now.  I don’t know why they do it.”

“No wonder they have produce and more to sell, they don’t eat any of it,”  said Jim Cooper to himself as much to Iamerge.  “What do you know of their god?  I confess, they don’t have much truck with old Jim, but I’ve heard their bell and I’ve heard their weird singing a time or two.  They seem virtuous, but I’d say men that virtuous can only get in the way of a man’s business.  In the end.”

“To tell you the truth I can’t speak to the beliefs of the monks like Gospels, they are new to me as well.  But I can’t say anything against them, they seem virtuous, generous, and good to a fault.  I do take your meaning though, I think.  What’s a man to do who can’t live up to such a standard?  What must they think of those who don’t live as they do?”  Iamerge took another drink from his cup and cleared his throat, “Still, if I understand them, they serve the same God, the Lord they call him, who is served by the Jews that I knew quite well.  It seems to me that they are similar in their kindnesses and that it is their Lord who commands it of them.”

“So, these Jews grew food that they did not eat as well?”

Iamerge laughed at that, “Oh no, not so.  The Jews were adept at trade, at numbers, at drawing value from a thing.  It seems to me that the Jews took part in the blessings that their Lord brought them.  The monks like Gospels are prospered and they choose not to partake, indeed they take pride in denying themselves.  I can’t say if it is their Lord that demands that privation of one and not the other or what the truth of it is.”

“It sounds to me that you’ve travelled a far piece Iamerge.  I’ve never heard of these Jews.  Then again, I’d not heard of these monks either ’til I came here.”

“I would have thought to be the mayor of Rat Town you’d have had to be born here.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t born here, nor most of the rats for that matter.  They come on the boats, but I came from Cooperstown.  I’d be there still if there was one.”  For once Jim seemed a bit sad, “Mayhaps again.  But that’s nobody’s business.  Not yet.” The two men fell silent and they sat and nursed their drinks in the cool darkness.

“So, do you think that Ua Birlinn might have returned by now?”

Jim laughed, “Oh you and Ruaridh will get along famously, all business aren’t you?  I’d like to say that he’d be back by now, but I can’t. I figure you’ve got more of a wait than his returning.  Single minded he is, just like you.  I figure he’ll be about what ever took him out of here so fast a bit longer than it takes him to get there and back.  Don’t you?  Jim got up and moved back around the bar.  “A waste of a day I’d say.  Not like to be see’n visitors, since you’re ask’n me.”  Cooper refilled his ale and looked at Iamerge, “Can I get you a refill lad?”

Iamerge sighed, ”No, thanks.  I think I’ll get the lay of the land at least.  Perhaps I can find out a bit more about what’s happened and when I might speak to Ua Birlinn.  My thanks though, for the ale and the conversation.”

“Suit yourself.  Have a look, but come back by if you like.  I might have found a bit out myself by then.” Cooper winked and walked off toward the kitchen, “I do wonder where ol’ Mare has got to.”

Iamerge rose and went up the dark stair and out into the day.

The monks were chanting morning offices and had not yet set out for work so that Smoke, Iamerge he had to remind himself, was free to grab a few bites off of the table in the guest house and head for town.

The yellow sun was tinting the thin veil of clouds in morning colors and the air was fresh and clean as he walked out from the beehives and stacked stone oratories.  Iamerge whistled as he walked toward docks and people and noise of the little port.  He was penniless and in borrowed clothes, but he had planned for nearly this condition though loosing his boat and the things he had aboard was a blow.

Still, he was alive, despite the odds.  He had made a friend, he felt, that would reward him personally and perhaps with the sort of information that had helped him in the past when it had become necessary to shed a life, like a snake sheds his skin, and begin anew.

“Iamerge,” He tasted the new name in his mind and laughed, “odd how chance brings about a path, like this one.  Iamerge.  Iamerge.  Iamerge the Merchant?  Maybe.  Iamerge the scribe?  Iamerge dressed like a monk today.” he thought. 

“I am Iamerge” and saying it made it so.

Iamerge’s beginnings, it appeared as he approached the small port, would be humble.  He had grown up in the stinking narrow streets of a port city, perhaps the largest in the world.  This was far from that in more ways than one on the face of it.

There were a few boats drawn up to the quay.  None of them looked like a trader to Iamerge.  Fishing seemed the mainstay of the harbor though the quay was a little larger than what fishing boats would need.  There were a few large buildings near the stone and wooden artificial spit that reached out into the calm waters. 

As Iamerge approached the town, nodding to the occasional farmer on his way out to his fields, he saw that the fishing fleet mostly used the beach and not the quay at all.  The town ran along the beach so that from the end as Iamerge had approached it had looked much smaller than it truly was.  Much of the town was hidden behind the large quayside warehouses.  The farmers he was passing turned out to be from a community, of sorts, before the town proper, a small attached farm village.

He was somewhat surprised by the lack of interest in a stranger, as he passed, until an old woman heading for the well bid him, “Good morn’ brother,” and he remembered he was dressed in the borrowed habit. Beyond the well there was a low palisade of logs atop a slight bank.  The gates were actually movable parts of the wall rather than true working gates with hinges and bolts.  It looked to Iamerge that they were never closed and stood wide as he walked through into the town.

The yellow sun was a good hour passed dawn and the town, as towns tended to be, was behind the farm village, but was beginning to shake itself from slumber.  Immediately within the gate was a larger than normal house that Iamerge guessed was an inn.  Likely it was cheap and shoddy, relying on its position not its service.  Then too it was away from the quay, which he expected would, anchor a trade district or market square along with the warehouses.  Traders and the moneyed would look for lodging there.  Iamerge walked on.