Page 21 of The Splendor of Fire
“Saints—it stinks in here.”
On this they agreed. If he ever made it out of this filthy prison he would first seek a more substantial bath than the small bucket of water he was provided daily for drinking and washing.
“Come.”
Léo hesitated. “Where?”
“Come.”
“Out there?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Come.”
After six months of confinement in the windowless cell Léo could not believe his ears. He took a step forward, and then another, following the official down the long corridor and savoring the feeling of walking in one straight line. The darkness was punctuated by light from the torches on the wall. Sensing no sunlight, Léo disappointedly guessed it was night.
Time had long lost all meaning. When he was tired, he slept. When he was alert, he stayed awake. He marked his daily meal time on the walls, benevolence visits from Father Allen, and when he’d seen Moira, so he could predict when he may see her again.
A few moans echoed down the stone hallway as he followed the red-headed guard down the stairs. Every few moments the man turned his head to look back at him, his expression examining him as if Léo should know who this particular guard was. Yet his foggy brain couldn’t make sense of who he was, or where they had met before.
At the bottom of three flights of stairs the man pushed open a heavy door and motioned him through.
Briny, damp air swept over him, chilling his skin. Damp grass touched the bottoms of his bare feet. His weary eyes drank in the horizon and the storm-tossed sea. Waves broke in choppy ripples. In the heavens, lightning flashed in rapid bursts as far as the eye could see. Wind swirled around him and over his dirty scalp. His senses were overloaded with wonder. A raindrop pinged off his arm. Then another. Then another.
The dark clouds opened and a downpour began. Léo opened his palms against the lukewarm drops and then extended his neck, letting the shower fall over his face.
To the unseen voice, Léo shouted through the storm, “Do you see this? It’s magnificent. It’s your creation. Your wind, your waves, your rain. It’s you. I’ve missed this…so much.”
You recognize me here?
In spite of himself, Léo laughed. “Yes, and it’s good to see you, Lord.”
The guard eyed him from the dry of the prison, a wary look on his face. “Who are you talking to?”
Léo rubbed his palms over his wet face, loosening dirt and smell, then running them through his hair. “I’m talking to my friend.”
Not caring that he looked like a madman, Léo sucked in damp lungfuls of sea air and let the water baptize him. Crouching, he touched mud and grass, then lowered his face and breathed in the earth.
He rose and looked back over his shoulder at the guard, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his spear leaning against the wall. Why had he done it?
Desperate not to miss a moment of freedom he turned back to the ocean. If he jumped, could he swim to Skye? The ocean tossed and currents moved around the shore. No. Not until he was stronger. Maybe not even then.O God, if only.
As the rain slowed, the guard came forward, taking in his soaked appearance. “Maybe now you will smell better.”
Léo smiled and squinted against the mist. “I hope so.”
“I heard you talking to Father Allen about his dream today.” Gales of wind almost drowned out the man’s voice. “His dream about the snake, shedding its skin and slithering to higher ground?”
With Moira gone, and Father Allen’s increased visits to Cràdh, Léo had spent much time with the old man discussing plans to take on new challenges. Although Father Allen had been vague about what these new challenges might be, Léo assumed he wanted to expand the church’s ministry efforts at Cràdh. The shedding snake seemed to indicate that the time was right to take on the challenge, to look for an opening in the rock to climb higher.
“Aye.”
The man looked out over the water. “The dream is telling you it’s a good idea, then?”
Léo chuckled and took a deep lungful of fresh air and brushed his saturated hair away from his forehead. Aye. He had been close to losing his sanity several times. Only the weekly visits and the Psalter had given him peace. The drawing, a window to the world. His son’s face, a reason to continue. Moira’s affection, a hint of what could be. Why shouldn’t every man at Cràdh benefit from Father Allen’s charity?
“The dream does seem to indicate that the time is right. Father Allen has certainly kept me from perishing, from going insane. I think the challenge of expanding his work here would transform this place.”
A brief ripple of something passed over the guard’s face. “The laird made me keeper of the prison this evening.”
