Anderstone Tales: The Lantern

Nightingales sound the dirge of the sun’s death. A wavering voice sings to keep his heart and lantern glowing, its body walking a lonely cobblestone road:

Lantern light,

Stay my light,

Shelter me from darkness,

Banish him,

Who would dim,

This Godly beam,

My lantern light.

Lantern light,

Shine my light,

As Christ did Easter morn’

Blind death’s source,

And pale horse,

Without my light,

All is darkness.

Thomas needs to provide for his family. He never thought it would come to grave digging at odd hours. He could not work it during the day. He was a tailor. Besides, it would scare the children.

The plague was God’s wrath. He knew that. All of Europe knew that. All of Europe also knew what thirty dead corpses smell like rotting in the street. Death’s aroma was potent, as fifteen deceased from this week were packed onto Thomas’ cart before he set off for the cemetery. A crudely knotted rope looped its way around the wagon to secure the cargo on the bumpy roads he would encounters. I wish I could give each one their own procession. They will all be in the ground soon enough. Better keep moving.

The new graveyard was about two miles outside the city limits. Since Thomas’ horse was with his wife at her sister’s house a town over, he had to pull the cart himself. Since he had no free hand to hold the lantern he had to make due with tying a cord around his neck and let it sit there. As he goes along, it bounces gently off his empty belly, creaking like a rusting door hinge.

God should have made me an ox. He chuckles to himself. He has arrived. The new cemetery was old farmland not in use anymore. It was not a place to bury the lifeless, but the plague brought so many to an early grave that his village’s graveyard was almost full. That is why the lord was offering extra pay for coming out there. Perhaps I can pay a guard to accompany me next time. Thank you, God in heav’n, for not allowing your servant to come to harm. He blesses himself.

Thomas stops his cart. He can barely see anything around him. He tries not to think about the darkness that could engulf him, should his meager lantern’s light go out. He removes the lantern from around his neck and puts in on the seat of the cart.

“No- No- No!” he shouts into the night. “It must be here. It must. Please Lord, please.”

He began mutterings of prayers to the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, Mary, even his deceased brother, Mattathias; all half-finished, all uttered in desperation. He has left his shovel at home.

He falls prostrate to continue in prayer, clawing his nails into the muddy earth. It had rained heavily earlier that day. He sits on his knees examining his hands, a half-crushed cockroach squirming in him palm. I thank thee, God, for such a rain. Allow me to be swift in this. Thomas begins digging his first grave.

Minutes, then hours pass. He digs two shallow pits and is up to the elbows in mud and grime. Exhaustion is embracing him. He lays two children from the cart next to each other and blesses himself. Brothers, I think. They look so peaceful. He picks off the cluster of maggots that had begun to devour one of the boy’s pus ridden eyelid. He spends the next half hour blanketing the children in earthy sheets. Only thirteen left.

Thomas hears the clicking of hooves on the nearby path. Instinct tells him to hide behind the cart. He does. His heart is a drum. Highwaymen. It had to be. He hears the whinnying of a horse. They are nearer now. The sound of boots to mud come next, sloshing closer and closer to the cart full of corpses.

“Anybody there?” questioned a boyish voice.

Thomas did not dare move an inch.

“I see your shadow, sir. Come out. No harm will come to you.”

What kind of criminal announces himself and then says they will not hurt me? Desperate.

Thomas was panicking. He prays a prayer of mercy to his forgiving Father and then musters his strength to tip the cart over. The woods makes a groaning sound as it lurches and finally capsizes. The cart itself falls a few feet short of its desired target, though a few pale bodies do spill out to kiss the wet earth.

Thomas does not know this, however. As soon as the cart begins to lean and gravity takes over, he begins to run. He cannot see his hand in front of his face. Terror has gripped him tighter than sin’s hold on mankind. He has forgotten his lantern.

He runs for a minute or so until he hears it. The trotting of hooves getting closer and closer behind him. Save me, oh God. Sa-

Thomas falls, tripping over some loose stone. He turns over. A man holds a lantern atop a sickly horse so that he is visible to Thomas, around his neck- A cross? His simple brown attire, told Thomas one thing that allows him to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Are you alright, friend?” he asked, gently.

“Y-yes.”

“I am sorry I frightened you like that.”

“It is… quite all right, friar.”

Thomas rises to his feet.

“Why don’t I help you, hm? You can come back to the abbey with me. We have plenty of space there for these poor souls to rest. You can stay the night.”

“A-are you sure? Is that not-?”

“Not a problem, I assure you. My fellow brothers would not mind at all. What men of God would we be if we turned our backs to those who needed it?” the man said, reaching out his hand.

Thomas took it without question. The friar helps him onto his horse. Thomas was amazed that the brittle horse could carry its own weight let alone that of two men. Soon they were back at the field with the overturned cart. The friar helps Thomas put each back into the wooden vessel with great care and interest.

“You ride my horse. I’ll put the cart.”

“No- I…”

Thomas was tired. He could not say no, not honestly. The two begin the trek to the abbey. Thomas did not remember there ever being an abbey in the area, but this was a friar. He can be trusted.

“We’ll soon be there, friend,” he says to Thomas.

“Oh… good,” he replied almost nodding off on the horse.

“Wait,” says Thomas, “Where is my lantern?”

“We must’ve left it in the field. I’m sorry. I’m sure there’s a spare or two at the abbey we could give you when you leave.”

“No- no… I need my lantern. It was blessed by the bishop.”

“I’m sorry, friend. It must’ve snuffed out when you ran off.”

“I- I… I need it. It- It keeps me safe from… from-”

“From what?”

“The Prince of Darkness.”

“I can bless one for you when the abbey, all right?”

Thomas nodded. He was too tired to keep talking, heartbroken over his lost light bearer. They arrive at the abbey greeted by torchlight and hooded men in brown robes and bare feet. The friar waves them as they pass through the gates.

“Come here, brothers.” he says to two men in the courtyard. “Take this cart and do the Lord’s work.”

They take the cart from him and the friar leads Thomas inside.

“Thank you, friar, for all your kindness.”

“Please, call me Israel.”

“Thank you, Friar Israel.”

The torch lit foyer was soothing to Thomas after his long journey into the night. Friar Israel leads Thomas through a hallway and down a staircase. The friar looks back at him as they descend.

“Whe- You have the most interesting eyes.”

“Um thank you, Friar Israel.”

“Sorry for the oddity of the complement but I hadn’t noticed until just now.”

“It is fine, nothing odd abou-”

“Truly a gift from God.”

“Yes, yes. All good things are.”

“You know, we should get you that lantern now, hm? In case I’m not here when you wake up in the morning.”

“Oh, um, yes that sounds good.”

“Back up the stairs then, friend.”

They ascend the stairs and go back through the hallway they came in. This time, the friar leads them down a staircase that offshoots left of the main entrance. The descent takes minutes, a torchlight spiral staircase leading them lower and lower into the bowels of the abbey.

“Quite a long staircase,” said Thomas. “Is this where you and your fellow brothers sleep?”

Silence, his reply.

They reach the bottom and they are in a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Thick iron doors line the walls. A looming figure leans against the entryway. He is not in a habit; rather, he is ironclad.

“Brother Judah, see that my friend finds a lantern.”

The man nods and bids Thomas forward.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, friend,” says Israel to Thomas.

“God bless you,” he replies, as Israel turns to leave.

As he ascends the staircase, his voice echoes, sounding more monster than man:

“Welcome to Anderstone Abbey.”