Dreamer: A Prequel to the Mongoliad (The Foreworld Saga) by Mark Teppo

VERNA, 1224
    T he
oratory and two other buildings of the hermitage were built along a ridge of
mottled rock near the peak of La Verna. The upthrust of smooth basalt served as
the back wall for one of the two dormitories. A small garden was delineated by
a hedge of jumbled stones, a makeshift barrier that mainly served to keep the
capricious wind from stealing the soil. Several goats and chickens wandered
aimlessly about the grounds — the goats, with their thick coats, were not
terribly disturbed by the wind that blew through the rocky terrain of the
mountaintop.
    The
hermitage was home to a half dozen lay brothers of the Ordo Fratrum Minorum — Fraticelli , as they referred to themselves. The mountain had been a
gift from the Count of Chiusi, who had, some years prior, been witness to one
of the spontaneous sermons offered by the titular head of the order, Francis of
Assisi. So impressed by Francis’s rhetoric, he had bequeathed the territory on
the spot. It is a barren place, La Verna , he had said to Francis, and
once you climb past the thick forest that cloaks the lower portion of the
mountain, there is little to sustain a man among the naked rocks of the peak.
    To
many, this gift would have been an insulting bequest, but Francis of Assisi and
his Fraticelli had a relationship with God that eschewed property and
goods — in that sense, the hermitage atop La Verna suited them perfectly. Other
than the buildings themselves, which had been constructed by local tradesmen at
the command of the count, there was nothing of value atop the mountain. The
view — a dizzying panoramic of the Tuscan countryside — was impressive, and a
constant reminder of the sublime beauty of God’s handiwork, but it was ephemeral.
Pilgrims marveled at the vista, and some even attempted to capture the enormity
of the landscape in song and art, but for the local people who lived down in
the valley, a hike to the top of La Verna did not aid them in their daily
labors. They might return refreshed of spirit, but their hands would be empty.
Unlike the Fraticelli , they did not seek out such austerity; rather,
they struggled every day to escape from it.
    The Fraticelli did not go down into the valley very often, nor did many
visitors brave the long hike. The only one who came with some regularity was
Piro, a wiry goatherd who habitually brought a meager assortment of supplies.
The odd time when Piro brought someone else with him was a cause for
celebration among the lay brothers. Simply because the monks eschewed owning
property and goods did not mean they did not enjoy a decent meal now and again,
and an increase in visitors meant a commensurate increase in fresh supplies
from the village below.
    There
were several holy days that the monks celebrated, and around those days, the Fraticelli looked forward to Piro’s visit. On the morning before the Feast of the
Exaltation of the Cross, the monks began to find excuses to wander close to the
old pine tree that clung to the edge of the bluff. The upper half of the tree
had been blasted by lightning years before the monks had arrived, and it had
never offered them any shade, but it was both a notable landmark and a
convenient vantage point from which to observe the trail.
    Brother
Leo, having been at the hermitage since its buildings had been erected, no
longer paid much attention to the younger brothers’ eagerness, but on this warm
September morning as he worked a hardscrabble area of the garden, he gradually
realized all of the monks were clustered around the tree. Brother Leo set aside
his hoe and joined the group, where he learned not only that had Piro been
sighted, but that he had a companion. The monks were engaged in a frenzy of
speculation as to the identity of the other visitor. Listening to them, Brother
Leo was reminded of the flocks of starlings that used to chatter in the shrubs
around the decrepit old building near the Rivo Torto, where he had first become
one of Francis’s