The Burning Stone

“Ah!” Baldwin’s exhalation made him sound more pleased than surprised as the young woman, not waiting for his answer, moved down over him.



Ivar rolled up and away from snoring Ermanrich, who wouldn’t have woken up if a herd of stampeding horses had thundered past, and scrambled outside before he did that which would brand him forever or at least give Ekkehard another thing to make fun of him for. Mercifully, the moon’s light allowed him to trudge out of the village through orchard and wood until he reached the pyre, although he stepped on more stickers than he could count and his face and arms got scratched up by low-hanging branches.



Sigfrid had fallen asleep and some kindly soul had thought to drop a ragged blanket over him. His thin fox-face, in repose, was so innocent and sweet that at once Ivar’s doubts and desires evaporated and he could kneel with a clear heart. He didn’t know why, but he thought it important that someone pray beside the pyre of that brilliant creature which had killed nothing more than food for itself until it had been attacked by lustful men misled by fearful ones. Certainly it had frightened the villagers who, so they’d said, had come across the eviscerated corpses of deer, but wasn’t it natural for such creatures to feast on meat? Unlike humankind, animals had no liberty to change what they were and how they acted. Even a creature molded by God needed to eat. It hadn’t truly harmed anyone, and maybe it never would have.



Yet perhaps those visions he’d seen rising from the smoke off the pyre had been hallucinations, visions sent by the Enemy. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the beast would have begun preying on the villagers and their livestock. But he doubted it. He had been driven by fear and lust, too; by his own actions, he had helped to kill it.



He wasn’t sure of the time. Unlike Sigfrid and Ermanrich, he hadn’t learned how to chart by the rising and setting of stars when to begin Vigils, but when he heard a distant cockcrow, he began to sing, chanting the night prayer.



“Why do the wicked prosper, Lady,



while the pure of heart suffer torments on this earth?



Why do they who wear violence as their robe and talk nothing but malice



live in glorious wealth, untouched by trouble?”



Aurora came as he sang the Benedictus, and Sigfrid stirred and woke, kneeling to pray beside him although, of course, he could utter no words. They saw it long before anyone came to find them: a tiny red-gold fledgling bird fluttering among still-glowing coals. As the light rose, it buried itself deep among the ashes.



At midmorning Milo came to fetch them, looking angry that he had had to make the trip and a little nervous as he examined the still glowing pyre from a safe distance. “Prince Ekkehard wants you,” he called. “Isn’t that thing out yet? Why do you keep praying out here? It’s dead, isn’t it?”



Back at the village, Baldwin looked utterly exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all. He couldn’t stop yawning, and perhaps the prince would have noticed something wrong, but he was still woozy, recovering from the poppy juice.



“Perhaps Brother Sigfrid can explain it,” Ekkehard was saying as they came in.



Certain members of the village had gathered, come to complain about dreams and disturbances that had plagued them since the mysterious arrival of the beast.



“In truth, good Brother,” said the old crone who seemed appointed as their spokeswoman, “we thought these visions would go away once the beast was dead, but it in’t any different now. Worse, maybe. What does God mean by this? Have we done aught wrong? Are we being punished?”



Ermanrich had grown adept at communicating with Sigfrid, with or without writing, and Sigfrid was so far ahead of them all in his understanding and interpretation of God’s will that they had tacitly agreed to defer to him on matters of doctrine and scripture.



“What is a soul?” Sigfrid asked, although Ermanrich spoke for him. “It is all that we are, and yet we cannot live on this earth without a body. The blessed Daisan wore a mortal body that was inhabited by an immortal soul, for God so loved the world that She gave to us Her only son, that He should take upon himself the measure of our sins. So He came before the Empress Thaisannia, she of the mask, and He would not bow down before her, for He knew that only God is worthy of worship. The empress had Him flayed, as they did to criminals in those days, and His heart was cut out and thrown onto the ground where it was torn into a hundred pieces by the dogs, for are we not ourselves the dogs, who unthinkingly devour God’s treasures in the course of our growling and fighting?”



Baldwin was trying not to yawn again. The villagers present were beginning to look nervous.