Anima et Forma

Episode 18: Memories

"Do you remember the knock?" Gregory looked down on their flock from his podium crate. Six of Brothers stood shoulder to shoulder–Murph included–packed tight in the little cellar. Ardwin stood beside Gregory as his lieutenant, with a black feather pinned to the chest of his robe. "We adjourn the first meeting," Gregory announced. "Go now, brothers, and return to your duties. Remember, our next meeting will be on the same day next week. If you forget the secret knock, then you won't get in. So don't forget!" The other boys shuffled up the steps and out the cellar door, spilling into the garden.

"That went well," Ardwin said.

Then, he woke up.

"The death of a child comes with the birth of a secret," his torturer whispered in his ear. Elvish hands cradled his cheeks. Ardwin struggled to break free of the thick leather straps binding him to his chair. "When we learn to keep secrets, we have a world all to ourselves. A world where we are the gods who make or unmake reality. But that is simply arrogance."

"Stop!" Ardwin shouted. "Stop! No More!"

"You can't hide from God," the woman assured. Ardwin felt her fingers pressing against his cheeks, harder and harder. Her thumbs viced his temples, digging deeper and deeper. An electric shock raced through his body. His every muscle spasmed. He plunged into another memory:

"I don't remember the knock." Murph scanned the grass with his eyes.

"That's okay." Ardwin nudged Murph's shoulder with a fist. "I'll let you in this time only because you're you. Come on."

"That's not fair!" Percy, a boy with a bowl of brown hair lying flat against his head, cried. "Rules are rules. It shouldn't matter who you are. The rules have to be the rules!" Others supported his objection with similar cries of their own.

Gregory stomped up the stairs, pushing past the other boys. "He's right, Ardwin. You and I made the rules. You know them."

"What?" Murph's thin brows furrowed.

"This is stupid!" Ardwin shouted. "If I made the rules, why can't I decide when to break them?"

"Perhaps we should ask our king? Or the High Exemplar?" a shaky old voice spoke. Brother Murphrey spun, looked at the newcomer, bowed his head, and backed away. Father Callum walked into view, peering down the slanted tunnel and into the stairwell of disciples. "The men who write our laws should be the most devout when adhering to them and should not cry when those laws are used to prosecute them. That way, those beneath may follow in his example. Wouldn't you agree, Brother Gregory?"

Gregory glanced at Ardwin, then to their Father. "Y-yes," he stammered, looking to his feet.

Callum nodded his head slowly. He passed Ardwin a glance with his beady black eyes, then turned and hobbled away, disappearing by a hedgerow of roses. Are we not in trouble? Ardwin looked at Gregory, who was just as confused. "Well," Ardwin said. He turned to Murph. "Sorry." His world turned black. Ardwin felt the pain first, then a sensation as if he were falling. With a great tug, he was torn from that old reality and shoved into a new one.

"You can learn," the Elvish woman released his head, which fell forward. His whole body ached as if a herd of horses had stomped him. His head pounded.

"Stop," he whispered. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"It's strange what the body can remember, isn't it?" The torturer walked around his chair. "Pain lives on as a memory. It's always there, lurking beneath the surface."

"Why?" Ardwin pleaded.

"That's how God made us." She assured with a voice full of grace and benevolence. She knelt beside his chair and placed a soft hand on his arm. "So that we may learn from our mistakes. Place your hand on a hot stove, and you are less likely to do it again. It's simple but effective, like God's most brilliant creations." The elf stood. "We are done for the day, brother. Go and meditate upon our discussion."