Lawrence Harding
Brother Demetrius rubbed his hands together nervously. “I thank you for this honour, father,” he stammered. “But I do not feel remotely worthy.”
“Nonsense.” Abbot Erkenwald smiled kindly. “I can think of none more suitable to take on the library now that Brother Matheus has passed. That is why I have chosen you.”
Brother Demetrius bowed. There would be no arguing. He had vowed obedience, after all. “Then in God’s name, father, I will do my utmost to live up to this house’s reputation.”
Abbot Erkenwald nodded slowly. “Yes. I was coming to that…” He rose slowly to his feet. “Come, brother. Now that the library and scriptorium are your domain, it is time that you knew all of its secrets.”
Brother Demetrius followed the abbot to the library. He had spent many happy hours there under the watchful, bushy-browed eye of Brother Matheus, his fingers stained with ink and his eyes straining to perfect every pen-stroke. The monastery of St Abbas was known for its prolific library, and was generous in its sharing of knowledge. Books flowed from the scriptorium at a rate unmatched by any. It could have been a source of pride, if Demetrius and his brethren had not watched their hearts carefully.
And yet this place he had spent much of his adult life in had secrets? This did not sit well with him. What could have passed him by, when he was poring over his vellum, doing God’s work?
Abbot Erkenwald led him through the silent scriptorium. It was between the hours of Vespers and Compline, and so they were alone. It was too dark to write. Even so, Abbot Erkenwald looked around carefully before pressing a spot on the wall that opened a door that Demetrius had never seen before. “Come,” said the abbot. “There’s no need to be afraid.”
The passage behind the door was long and narrow. After what seemed far too long for Demetrius, they reached a door. Demetrius could hear sound within – the scratching of pen against parchment. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Something here felt wrong, if not profane.
“Just a moment,” muttered the abbot, fumbling with the lock. “Ah, there we are!” He opened the door and gestured to the centre of the chamber with a smile. “This is our most precious secret – Brother Lazarus.”
Brother Demetrius barely stifled his cry and immediately crossed himself. At the centre of the chamber, at a table piled high with leaves of vellum, was a corpse dressed in a faded habit. It had clearly been there for some time – the flesh had all but withered away, the scalp was dotted with mere clumps of hair, the skin was drawn back rictus-like across the face. Only the eyes were alive, glowing with a fierce intensity as Lazarus gripped a pen and moved it from ink-pot to page with rigid precision.
“Do not be alarmed,” continued Abbot Erkenwald, mildly. “Though at first I reacted much the same way as you. Brother Lazarus here is our elder by far, and has done more to spread the learning of our house than any. His work in the name of the Lord is impeccable.”
“Father abbot,” breathed Demetrius. “He is dead.”
“Technically, yes. He has been so for some five hundred years, now. He was librarian before you, and several others of course. He simply… refused to give up his calling after death. Exorcisms of all kinds failed to lay him. So we decided to trust in the Lord’s miracle and let him continue.” He closed the door. “Let us leave him to his work. He needs no rest, nor food, and his eyes do not tire. So long as we leave him books to copy and the materials, he cannot be stopped in his vocation.”
“But father,” cried Demetrius, “is this right? Should his soul not be allowed to move on to Heaven?”
Abbot Erkenwald smiled wryly. “I rather think he is already there, in his own way.”
Demetrius took a step back and looked at Erkenwald suspiciously. “Surely such a position is heresy, father?”
“Perhaps.” Abbot Erkenwlad shrugged. “But if it is, then that is between him and God.”
Author’s Note
This story was part of the 2021 #MonstrousMayChallenge. The prompt was “The Undead”.
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