The Seer and the Scribe by G.M. Dyrek Page A

such wicked things, and she wanted to remind God that he was not himself the past year. Could God remember a man’s soul before it was spit upon by a demon’s sickness?
    Sophie couldn’t sleep, though she pretended to do so. Patiently she waited until everyone else went off to bed before quietly reaching for her tattered cape. So that no one could hear her footfalls, she slipped on her wooden clogs once she was safely outside. She then turned her back to the Infirmary and followed the moonlight as it directed her path to the church. She shivered uncontrollably as she entered the cooler sanctuary. Women were strictly forbidden to enter the church after Compline. Tonight, she didn’t care.
    It was much smaller than the Mainz Cathedral but imposing nevertheless with its looming ceilings, frescoed walls, and high, leaded-glass windows. Even on such a bitterly forbidding night, God’s house at that moment felt more welcoming and familiar to Sophie than the harsh world she’d left outside. Its serene stillness embraced her trembling soul and stilled her wayward thoughts. The stones beneath her feet smelled comforting, of lingering incense. After spending a year traveling, dare she allow herself to feel she had returned home at last? She knelt on the small knee bench and folded her hands. She had witnessed many ceremonies and knew she needed to make a vow 42 , promising to the Almighty her commitment to furthering His Kingdom on Earth for saving the soul of her Grandda.
    The alcove 43 was dedicated to the memory of Saint Peter, the founding Saint of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Surely Saint Peter would understand her suffering and intercede 44 on her behalf.
    â€œUnworthy as I am.” She prayed in earnest, knowing very well that her presence before the altar might be interpreted by some as blasphemy. “I beseech thee, Saint Peter, to call to mind that sickness my Grandfather suffered. Pity me for my spirit is anxious. Thou, who art standing on the eternal shore, behold my dearest Grandda. When all others abandoned me, he stayed. Place him where light abides and life reigns eternally, and I swear to serve the Lord God Almighty with my gift cheerfully all the rest of my days.” Sophie breathed a sigh and knew the enormity of what she had just promised. Not many servants of the Lord, no matter how enlightened, would accept a stone-carver so young and especially one that is a female.
    She opened her eyes when she sensed a movement in front of her. There, in front of her, stood Saint Peter, glaring down at her as if she were a boil on the end of his nose. In the half-light she saw that he was alive and fully dressed as he once was, as a poor fisherman and not the revered saint. He watched her silently a moment longer. “Did you take my lamp?” he demanded. “I couldn’t see a thing down there.” A cold force emanated from his body.
    Sophie stood bravely despite the tears brimming over in her eyes. “Please,” she pleaded, “keep searching for my Grandda. Turn away thine anger, and have pity on thy servant’s frailty. Deliver him, O Saint Peter, from the malice of the Devil down there, and from all sin and evil, and grant him a happy end for thy loving mercy’s sake.”
    In a flash of insight, the man who Sophie addressed as Saint Peter muttered, “Go, child, and speak nothing of this to anyone.” He waved her off with his hand.
    Sophie hurriedly left the Saint behind her in the sanctuary, feeling only a sense of secrecy and discordance emanating from him. There was doubt, too, as a disturbing awareness washed over her. Maybe what she had encountered was not supernatural at all. She would have to ask Brother Volmar; he would know if it was, she thought.

CHAPTER 12: THE DEVIL IS STILL AFOOT
    Clearing Outside of Disibodenberg Monastery Before Compline
    Volmar sunk his hands into the sleeves of his robe and stood alone in the clearing under the old yew