The Healer, page 25
An unexpected rush of compassion engulfed Chris. Instantly, he knew what he must do next. It was the right thing. He removed the Dial and gently placed his other hand over his cellmate’s forehead and bad eye. Focusing on Ezekiel’s damaged eye, he imagined the scar tissue dissolving, the iris and lens healing, and his eyesight being restored to normal. He prayed with all his heart that forgiveness and healing would come to this kind old man. “Yours is not the devil’s eye; it is the eye of the penitent,” he said reverently, barely above a whisper. “Be healed, Ezekiel. Through faith thy will be done.”
Chris felt an intense, sharp burning in his left eye. He recoiled and covered the eye with his palm, trying not to cry out. Then, as quickly as it came, it passed. He stood and moved carefully to the cell door, feeling inexplicably unsure of his balance. Flanders opened the bars just enough for Chris to exit then closed them again.
Moving down the dimly lit causeway, Flanders glanced at Chris and frowned. “Did you contract pinkeye or take a punch out in the yard?”
“Neither. Why?”
“Your left eye looks very painful. It’s all red and swollen like.”
Chris shrugged. “It’ll pass.”
Chapter 53
Chris did a double-take when he saw Father Llewellyn and Michael sitting in the warden’s office.
“Christian, my lad,” Llewellyn sang, standing. “Bless my soul, you sure do find the strangest places to land, don’t you, son. I never know where I’m going to find you next.”
“It’s good to see you, Father. You too, Michael.”
The linebacker smiled briefly.
“Did you enjoy your stay in His Majesty’s prison?” Llewellyn asked dubiously.
Chris glanced at Flanders, unsure of what to say. “‘Enjoy’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind, but, um, I guess it was okay. Food could be better.”
“So I’ve heard,” Llewellyn laughed. “Right then: change out of those silly pajamas, and gather your belongings. It’s late, and we’ve a long journey home, yes?”
Chris looked to Flanders again, this time for instruction.
“He’s correct, Mr. Pendragon. You’re free to go.”
“Okay, um . . . thanks,” he said in confusion.
The warden folded his arms and offered a weak smile. “It seems the good Father here has been beating the halls of justice in your behalf. He contacted the head magistrate, the Right Honorable Lord Wellington, and asked him to review the case.”
“Which he was more than pleased to do,” Llewellyn interjected.
“Quite. Anyway,” the warden continued, “Lord Wellington has ruled that you do not pose an imminent threat to the public’s safety. He has rescinded all warrants for your detention and has nullified all existing investigations except one.”
“Really? Which one?” Chris wondered.
“Suspicion of connection with organized crime in the UK.”
“That’s ridiculous. I—”
Flanders extended a palm, stopping the tirade before it ran amuck. “I would accept the Right Honorable Judge’s good graces and not make a fuss over it if I were you, Mr. Pendragon. Being suspected of mob connections is not a crime in and of itself, but it does carry with it a burden of civil obedience above and beyond the mark, if you get my meaning.”
He understood perfectly. As long as he was in Wales, he would be watched like a hawk day and night. “Yes, I see,” he said backing off, tempering his anger.
“Excellent. The investigation will continue, of course, so do not be surprised to hear from MI5 again. They can be . . . tenacious,” he said with a knowing tilt of the head.
Chris nodded.
“Good. Now, one last thing: please explain to me what all that falderal was when you were saying good-bye to Mr. Athens.”
“Nothing. I just whispered good-bye.”
The warden’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was clear he didn’t believe Chris. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “Since there’s nothing more to discuss, you’ll find your personal effects in the admittance office. You may change into your civilian clothing there.”
“What personal effects?”
“Your watch, your wallet and mobile phone, your passport and some money, I should think. There’s also your luggage and a satchel of some sort the constables confiscated from your rental car. Oh, and a very nice walking staff, I’m led to understand.”
Chris couldn’t believe his ears. He nodded with a blank stare.
“Traditionally, I give departing inmates a stern lecture about the purpose for laws and civil obedience; of being a benefit to society rather than a burden, and so forth. But I trust you understand these principles of common decency,” Flanders said, nodding toward the stitched saying behind his desk. “Suffice it to say I will be greatly disappointed if you return here as a ward of the crown, Mr. Pendragon.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied sincerely. “So will I.”
Flanders offered his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pendragon. I know Mr. Athens will miss your company.”
Chris returned the brief shake. “He’s a good man.”
Flanders moved to his office door and opened it. “Stay a good man yourself, Christian. And as a word of personal advice, stick to your chosen calling. You’re not much good at being a criminal.”
A guard escorted Chris, Llewellyn, and Michael to the admittance office. Chris’s civilian clothing had been cleaned and pressed. He changed in an exam room, feeling instantly freer being out of prison garb. At the processing counter, a clerk handed Chris a Release of Property form. Chris compared what was listed on the form with the items on the counter. It was all there. He reverently took Nick’s staff with both hands. It was more beautiful than he remembered. Holding the cane snuggly against his chest, he felt a tide of serenity wash through him. Although he knew the cane held no spiritual powers or magical faculties, he nonetheless sensed virtue surrounding it. Closing his eyes, he offered a quick, silent prayer of thanks.
As Chris handed back the completed form, the clerk slid a form toward Michael. The big man frowned.
“What’s all this then?” Llewellyn asked, craning his neck to look at the paperwork.
“Employment application, Father,” the clerk said. “We need blokes his size in here, ya? I’m only five foot six, see. Inmates won’t give me time of day like, but they’d do whatever he says without batting an eye.”
Chapter 54
“How’d you know I was in there?” Chris asked, settling in the backseat of the Subaru.
Llewellyn sat next to Chris, and Michael squeezed into the driver’s seat. “Dr. Ingledew told me, of course. She called to say my car was still at hospital and someone needed to collect it. She said you’d been arrested. So, naturally, I called the authorities in Monmouth straight away. The detective with the spectacles—”
“Westcott.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Detective Westcott explained that he’d transferred you directly to His Majesty’s Prison in Cardiff. It’s a bit out of the ordinary, yes? But he claimed some obscure precedent allowed for it. He was in fear for the public’s safety, bless his soul.”
“Yeah, I’m a real menace to society,” Chris said, staring out the window, taking in Cardiff’s weekend nightlife. “Did Kathryn say anything else?”
“Kathryn? Oh yes, Dr. Ingledew. No, she merely passed on the news of your arrest by Detective Westcott.”
“When did she call?”
“Oh, long about suppertime, I should think. She did not sound happy, Christian, if that’s what you’re fishing for. She was concerned. I heard tears over the line, for sure an’ certain, I did.”
Chris scoffed loudly. “I take it she neglected to tell you she was the one who turned me in.”
Llewellyn frowned. “Oh aye? No, that crumb of information was left out, I’m afraid.”
As Michael turned east onto the M4, the weekend traffic thickened. The night was clear and dry, but the big man clenched the steering wheel as if driving through a blizzard. He was visibly anxiety-ridden by big-city driving. Chris considered offering to take the wheel, but he was too preoccupied with his own distracting thoughts.
Forcing thoughts about Kathryn aside, Chris asked, “So how did you get me out?”
“Ah yes, that. I tried calling the prison directly after I received no help from Detective Westcott, but they wouldn’t patch me through to anyone in authority. So rather than continuing to beat around the bush, I got on the horn to Alfred.”
“Alfred?”
“Yes, the Right Honorable Lord Alfred Wellington. I didn’t always minister in Trellech, my son,” he said, patting Chris on the knee. “Before I was assigned to the Church of St. Nicholas, I was an assistant churchwarden under the Archbishop of Wales in Llandaff Cathedral. There, I became good friends with Judge Wellington, as that is his place of worship, yes? He’s quite the man’s man, I must say.” With a lopsided grin, he cocked his head to one side and chuffed. “It’s a good thing I’ve vowed to uphold the secrecy of the confessional. As God is my witness, some of the sins I absolved would make a sailor blush. May God forgive the man his weaknesses,” he whispered, still grinning, crossing himself twice. “Anyroad, Alfred felt he owed me a few favors—which he didn’t—but I cashed one in nonetheless.”
“Ah. Well, I’m glad you did,” Chris said, returning his attention to the night scenery. He watched the passing cars and cities with veiled interest. The brightly lit industrial and urban sprawl of this part of the country was impressive but somewhat disheartening. While much of the local history and lore was preserved, Chris felt it couldn’t compare to the placid, bucolic nature of rural Wales. He was certain Father Llewellyn felt the same way.
“I take it you didn’t care for the big city? Is that why you moved to the Church of St. Nicholas?”
Sudden glistening shone in the vicar’s eyes. He drew a quick breath to compose himself and released it slowly with a warm, soft smile. When he spoke, his words were mellowed with deeply rooted emotion. “No, my son. I requested the transfer because I too have been blessed to have met the Beloved Saint.”
“Wait—you’ve met Nicholas Tewdrig? But I thought you hadn’t.”
“Never said the like, now did I? He came to me once, many, many years ago. The long and short of it is that he cured me of a vexation that was sure to take my life.”
“What vexation?”
Llewellyn gave him a look of fatherly admonition. “That’s between St. Nicholas and myself, isn’t it now, Christian.”
“Sorry,” he said, duly chastened. “So in essence, he . . . healed you?”
“Aye. He showed up when I needed him most, laid his hands upon me, and then left. I’ve never seen him since, though I’ve spent myriad hours searching for him.” He scoffed derisively. “I am truly ashamed of the number of days—nay, years—I’ve wasted that could have been used in the Lord’s service. In truth, I hoped he might someday return to his chapel so I could thank him properly; but, alas, he never came—leastwise, not that I know of. But I did learn many wonderful things about the man, yes? He was a saint, called of God, for sure an’ certain, I can tell thee. Oh, the stories I could share . . .” He drifted off as if daydreaming.
After a moment or two, Chris prompted, “And . . . ?”
Llewellyn wiped a tear from his cheek. “And then I met you, my son; which I consider the next best thing, if you’ll take no offense to the notion.”
“Of course not,” he said, wanting a more detailed story but sensing now was not the time to ask. “So . . . what happens next?”
“Next I suggest you take a good night’s rest then be on your way, lad, yes?”
“On my way?”
“Yes, of course. You may stay the night in the rectory loft again, but in the morning you’ll need to act sharp in order to catch your flight.”
“But my flight doesn’t leave until Tuesday.”
“Forget about that flight, lad. We booked you a new flight under the church’s purview.”
Chris blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Christian, my son. While you now bear a high and holy calling, yours will not be a life of leisure or bliss. I’ve come to believe that those with the greatest blessings are often those with the greatest challenges. For the present, it would be prudent for you to leave Wales as quickly and as quietly as possible, yes?”
“But why? The judge said I was cleared of all charges. Besides, aren’t I meant to serve as a healer here?”
“The calling of healer—indeed, as one of the Physicians of Myddfai—is not necessarily an indigenous one. The world is full of good people in need of your gift, son, but you should always give it anonymously. Go whenever and wherever you’re prompted to go. As a Vovnik, you’ll soon learn how.”
He frowned. “Then why leave in such a rush? Am I in danger here?”
“Yes, I believe you are. I fear word of your doings has already gotten out. There have been a few strange men visiting the chapel, sitting long hours in their cars, and the like. You may soon be set upon by treasure hunters seeking the Dial of Ahaz and its power. I’ve little doubt Collingswood told his associates about you and his acquisition of the Dial, yes? You need to vanish, as it were, for a time.”
“Vanish to where?”
“To the United States, of course. You’ll blend in easier there than anywhere else, won’t you now? You’ll probably want to assume a new name and such. And try not to stay in one location for very long.”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d finally accepted his calling as a healer, but he had no indication that would require him to become a phantom from society. What about his job? What about his family? What about a life of his own—a future with a wife and kids? Was he meant to be a vagabond the next two hundred plus years?
“You know, Christian, that Warden Flanders chap is a wise man,” the vicar continued. “He hit the peg squarely on the head about you, for sure an’ certain. You do need to get on with your calling.”
“My calling? It’s beginning to seem more like a burden.”
“Perhaps. But you and I both know it is a sacred gift passed on to you by our Beloved St. Nicholas because no one else but you could carry it, yes?”
Trapped again. If Chris answered yes, he’d be ensnared in the commitment forever. But if he answered no, he’d be discarding a sacred trust. Not much of a choice, he groused silently.
He sat in a stupor the rest of the trip, wondering for the umpteenth time why he’d decided to come to Wales in the first place.
Michael pulled up to the old cottage just before midnight. Chris was desperately fatigued, but he doubted he could sleep. His head hurt from thinking, from speculating on what a lonely future his would be. Exiting the Subaru, he numbly followed the priest and his manservant inside and slowly climbed the stairs to the loft. His luggage was still in the car, but he was too tired to care.
Kneeling, he offered up his soul to God, asking for guidance and wisdom, but mostly for confidence that he would finally understand why he’d been chosen for this life-altering mission.
Chapter 55
“St. Pendragon, sir. It’s time to get up.” The voice from below belonged to Michael.
Chris realized his head was filled with morning cobwebs, but he could swear the big man had just referred to him as “Saint.” He wondered what that meant but knew he’d get scant explanation from the quiet giant.
He trudged down the stairs and sat at the breakfast table. So many uncertainties filled his head it was hard to focus on any single issue. More than anything he felt . . . directionless.
“Why the long face, Christian?” Father Llewellyn asked, pulling up a chair opposite him.
“Just feeling a little overwhelmed,” he admitted.
“A little? As God is my witness, lad, I’d be completely beside myself and would have to spend the entire day in the water closet were I in your breeches.”
Chris smiled at the vicar’s attempt to lighten his mood.
“What are your concerns, my son? Let me be a balm to your troubled soul.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay. What do I do about my teaching job back home?”
“Tenure your resignation.”
He blinked hard. “Then how will I make money? I still have to eat and sleep somewhere, not to mention getting around from place to place.”
“Luke 22:35.”
Chris cupped his head between his hands and massaged his temples. “I should have known you’d answer with something like that. Okay, what does that verse say?”
Llewellyn cleared his throat. “‘And he said unto them, When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye anything? And they said, Nothing.’ It were the Apostles Jesus was speaking to just then, yes? You’re not an Apostle, but you do have a sacred and holy calling, same as the Apostles, do you not? The Lord will provide, son. Trust in him.”
“That’s going to take a much higher level of faith than I have. Money makes the world go ’round, or haven’t you heard?”
“Oh aye. I’m well aware of that. But money for your needs will always be there; it’s the money for wants that people spend their lives chasing.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Father?” Michael said, pointing to his watch.
“Right,” Llewellyn chirped, slapping the table. “Time to gird up your loins, Christian. We said adieu once before, and I found you in prison the next day.”
“It was two days,” Chris argued lightly.
“Whatever. Please try to do better this time,” he said with a wink—but also with a catch in his voice. His attempts at jovialness failed to pierce the profound sadness of this good-bye.
They stood and embraced warmly. “I thank’ee for complicating my life, lad. It’s brought me more joy than you can ever comprehend.”
“Same to you, Father.” Feeling his throat tighten, Chris asked, “Will I ever see you again?”
The vicar’s eyes pooled with tears. “I would love that more than all things. But you must only come if you feel so prompted by the Holy Spirit.”
