Chapter 14 - Pt. 2

Daelia collapsed onto her bed, not bothering to even remove her dress or shoes. After leaving the chapel that afternoon, she had returned to the kitchen and worked hard through the feast until the early hours of the morning arranging food on platters, stirring pots, washing goblets, and running to and fro completing tasks for the cook. Even now, when she knew that she only had a few hours to sleep, the turmoil she felt gave her no peace and she remained awake for a long time.

Her mind was still reeling from all the things she had learned in the dark shadows of the forgotten sanctuary by the young, blind man who lived as a prisoner but who spoke like a philosopher.

In the chapel when Daelia had first spoken the name of Deus aloud, Rouen had started at the word as though it had bitten him. He had demanded of her that she tell him everything she knew about the God she claimed spoke to her. Astonished at his seeming familiarity with the name of her God, she had stammered, unsure what to say other than, “You know of Deus?”

“Yes, yes, but what do you know of Him?”

I know only what my parents taught my brothers and sisters and I.”

“But what was it?” he said impatiently.

Rouen took the bread and cheese she placed in his hand and began eating as if starved. Meanwhile, Daelia struggled to recall the things she had learned as a child. “Deus is the all-powerful One who created this world…who… loves his creation, and who holds all life. Also, in response to his love and care…we are to live out lives in constant devotion to Him and His will.”

“And what is His will?”

Why was he asking her this? “I suppose…for us to love him, each other…and live as He would have us.”

“How is that?”

Daelia was fumbling about in the limited experience of her faith for an answer to his probing question, “To be…uh…to…” She paused again; Rouen’s dark eyes were piercing through her face as though they looked right past the visible world around him and right into her soul; the feeling unnerved her. “I suppose we are to live our lives in the same love, care, and forgiveness that he shows to us?”

Her answer had come out sounding more like a question. She could almost feel the heat of the fire that suddenly came into his sightless eyes. “And when He shows neither love nor evidence of caring? When you are betrayed by the very one you gave yourself to serve?”

Her heart jumped into her throat, not at the bitterness in his voice so much as the question itself; a question she had never allowed herself to even consider let alone speak aloud.

Daelia was struck silent; she had no answer for the blind young man who sat on the pew in front of her, hurting with a wound deeper than she could understand. She had no words of wisdom or comfort, nor could she scold him for the implications of his. To hear her own insecurities voiced in the cynical questions of a stranger—it frightened her.

As she sat staring at her hands folded in her lap, Rouen turned to feel the pew beside him until his hand came to rest on a small book that he had set there. He picked it up and thrust it in her direction, “This book may be of interest to you. Can you read?”

Understanding the rarity of literate servants, she took no offense at the question, “Yes, I was not always a kitchen maid. What is the book?”

“It is the Liber Veritatis—the Book of Truth—the writings of those who lived long ago, the men who founded this city. Those who held to the principles described in this book were called the Béata—the happy or the blessed. The first half of the book are the writings of the Béata fathers, the last half is a history of Parsaena.

She took the thick book in her hands, admiring the gold designs that covered the ancient leather binding. Her heart pounded and her mind swirled with questions.

“Several generations ago, this book was the most treasured possession in all of Parsaena. Now it is a relic of an age long passed; a collection of beliefs that have been altogether abandoned by her people.” He paused. “I had no idea that there are others out there who still believe in the old ways,” Rouen spoke with wonder in his voice, a thought that echoed Daelia’s own, “I thought I was the only one who remembered that there was ever a God named Deus.”

“And I have never heard anyone outside my own family speak of having similar beliefs,” Daelia added. “Although, when I first arrived in Parsaena and was staying with a baker named Sealen, I was warned by him to be silent about Deus when speaking to others. I asked him why, but he would never discuss it with me. He only said it was dangerous.”

“The baker was right. To speak of any power higher than the governor and his evil master would put your life at risk; for in this city, Severus is god.”

They sat in silence for a moment as the idea slowly sank in. Rouen was staring at her with such intensity that it seemed for a moment that he could actually see her.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

In response, Rouen lifted his hand and placed it atop the book that she held cradled in her lap. His forefinger tapped gently on the cover as he said, “I am here because of this book; because, at one time, I believed the things that it said and tried to act upon them.”

“But if this book has caused you so much pain, why then do you keep it in your close possession?”

He shook his head slowly, “I don’t know. For some reason I cannot bring myself to part with it. Though I no longer believe in the God of the Beáta, this book contains the plans and rules that Parsaena was built upon. Now, because the teachings of the founders have been ignored for so long, this city has become as dissolute as the men who rule it.”

Suddenly, Daelia began to understand, “And you tried to right things, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Rouen’s face hardened and he sat up straighter, “It accomplished nothing. In the end, they always silence anyone who stands in the way of their plans. You cannot make people hear something who do not wish to know. The nobles of Parsaena chose a long time ago that they would rather have happy ignorance than the responsibility that comes with knowing the truth.”
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Now as Daelia tried to sleep, those words haunted her. She remembered Sealen and Finneas, forced to leave the city because they could not pay the impossible taxes. She recalled the faces of the children and old men in the streets who begged for scraps of food, and of the empty homes left abandoned after the people who lived there were dragged away to work in the governor’s fields or to prison.

Her throat constricted when she thought of the lavish tables, fires, and finery set forth every evening so that the nobles could dine in luxurious comfort. At this rate, the entire city would soon be enslaved, and people like Livea and Eliam Vitalis would continue to feast as Parsaena fell.