Short story: The Miracle of Theron

[Elias Kalderon]

Hello all. I finally finished the final draft of my story for last year's Scriveners' Contest. Back then I submitted an early version, but I wasn't really happy with it. It has been completely revised and greatly improved.

Comments and critique are welcome of course.

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The Miracle of Theron

A silent figure rested against an old tree, one leg spread, one a little crooked. His robe of thick, black wool was overgrown. A hood concealed his hanging head. With his left hand he clutched a gnarled staff that was rooted in the mossy soil. Whoever he was, he died a long time ago. The forest was claiming him. Still, I wondered whether his spirit was completely gone. I could faintly feel a presence. With my staff’s lower end I prodded him a few times. That is, I mainly prodded ivy and a rose bush. Nothing happened. Upon a closer look, I noticed he was tightly entangled. He couldn’t move even if he had been able to.
“Who tied you up?” I asked.
If someone had imprisoned him, he could be dangerous. Perhaps he could be useful to me. I closed my eyes and focussed on the presence I felt, trying to amplify it. Nothing happened. It occurred to me that this prison might also be of a spiritual nature. In that case I would have to get him loose before I could reach him. I took my staff at its top and unwound the dirty rags that covered it, baring the curved blade. I cut through a few strings of ivy, but they were too many and too tough. It was of no use. Just when I decided to leave and turned my back on him, I heard a ghastly sound, like a whisper in my head. I turned to him again.
“Lucio.”
He said nothing more. For a moment I stood there, wondering why he had mentioned that name. Or did he just answer the question I had posed? In any case, to hear that name was a relief to me, because I was trying to find the healer Lucio of Theron. This was like a crumb on the road that he left as a clue. I quickly went back to my companion.

The road to Theron led me through the most dense forest I had ever seen in these lands. The road itself was overgrown and difficult to travel, like it was hardly used. That was surprising, because Theron was a town of reasonable size and its abbey a popular destination among pilgrims. Thousands of feet had trodden this path. I saw many pilgrims along the way and even at night I didn’t travel alone. A difficulty of the popularity of this road was that my companion, the long gone crusader Cedric, had to stride between the trees. I had to hide him from other travellers, but it wasn’t ideal to let him move through the woods. He could entrap himself in roots or thicket. When an undead creature gets stuck, it will try to get loose, even if it means breaking a few bones. Cedric was probably my strongest minion and didn’t break so easily, but I had to be careful with him. We were far away from home and here I only had him, along with my staff, to protect me from serious trouble.

The last few miles seemed endless. It was night and very dark. Every beam of light from moon or stars was effectively blocked by the thick roof of leaves. I constantly stumbled over stray roots. I had not eaten in days. My staff was getting too heavy to carry, while I would have fallen down without it. An old man like me shouldn’t survive such a journey. Yet still I felt strength, another strength than physical strength. It was like the power of my will had grown its own dark force that could move my limbs, regardless of the strength of my muscles. It was my own fault, of course, the consequence of practising dark arts for so long. Yet it frightened me and I feared this development was a foreboding for the end of my natural lifespan. That’s why I needed to find Lucio of Theron. By sunset, I finally saw a wall and roofs behind it. Pilgrims were waiting in front of the gate. I made sure my staff was fully concealed in its wrappings and joined the pilgrim train, leaving Cedric behind in the woods.

Bells awoke me. Incessantly loud bells, painful and compelling, like they came straight from hell. I must’ve had slept for days. I lay among the pilgrims in a windy hall in Theron abbey. Rays of light came down from high glass-less windows. There was a terrible smell, like someone had crapped himself. Hopefully, it hadn’t been me. Friars went through the hall with baskets and cups. Monotonous, they kept repeating:
“Bread and ale from the lord abbot. Prepare for the procession today.”
When I received my ration, I pulled the monk’s habit to get his attention.
“Lucio of Theron, is he here?” I asked. My voice was rasping.
“You will see him after the procession, pilgrim,” the friar said. “And you will call him lord abbot.”
He was about to continue his way, but hesitated and turned to me again. He gave me another piece of bread.
“Try to survive the procession, and the lord abbot may want to meet you personally,” he said. “Get yourself cleaned up.”
I bowed my head in gratitude, while my mind registered his words. Lucio of Theron was here, and he might even be willing to meet me. Still, it didn’t feel like a relief. I sat back, chewing my bread without really swallowing. It started to dawn on me that I was just one of many useless pilgrims whose last hope it was to get a glimpse of the high and mighty lord abbot. That was unacceptable. I had come to meet Lucio and that was what I was going to do. And I would call him by his name, approach him as an equal and ask him a favour. He was like me. He had developed a great power, masking his studies of the arcane with religiosity, just like I had done. He would be delighted to welcome a peer. I decided to heed the friar’s advice. I ate my bread, borrowed a razor blade to shave, disentangled my hair and cut it to shoulder length. Then I asked a friendly-looking monk if he could spare a simple robe for a poor old beggar. After glancing at my ragged and filthy outfit, he readily complied.

The gate swayed open. All around me, pilgrims hastily gathered their belongings. The friars went around to tell us to take off our shoes for the procession. I tied my boots, or what was left of them, together and hung them around my neck. Over the noise of the bells I heard a crowd. There were cheers and there was laughter. Then the monks began the procession, solemnly walking up front with swaying censers. The younger, stronger pilgrims followed them closely. I walked at the back among the sick, the old and the weak.

The town of Theron had many high buildings, all made of wood, covered with all kinds of climbing plants and grass growing on the roofs. Everything seemed alive. Even some of the wooden beams were growing actual leaves. Flowers grew at the side of the roads and the gutters, a gigantic tree towered over the town square. The townsfolk stood still and pious when the friars passed them, but they laughed and yelled at us at the rear end of the train. I clung onto my staff and focussed on putting one foot before the other. We went in a circle, ending at the abbey. Then we walked another round, and another, and another, the procession becoming longer with the weak and exhausted lagging more and more behind. When the monks reached the abbey for the fifth time, they stopped. The ones in the very rear of the train caught up with their last strength, immediately sinking down. Some people around me looked relieved, but I didn’t share their optimism. Five has little meaning. I expected the monks were only waiting for those who lagged behind and would aim at the more holy number of seven.

The seventh round was the last indeed. The bells slowed down and silenced. One of the friars spoke to us.
“Today’s procession in honour of the lord abbot of Theron has ended,” he declared. “He will receive you now at the town square.”
Hysteria broke loose as the pilgrims stumbled over each other, urging their blistered and tired feet to reach the town square first. A hunching man, covered with bloody sores, tried to take my staff from me. I pushed him back and struck him with my staff’s butt. He fell down, probably to be trampled.

I was tall enough to look over the heads of most pilgrims and scanned the square, which was quickly filling with pilgrims and townsfolk. There was a scaffold with a pile of branches, and I saw a wooden stage with a rather comfortable chair on it. A crooked figure with a red ceremonial gown and a wooden staff set himself on the seat like he ascended a throne. I kept looking at him, while moving closer to him along with the frantic crowd. He was the strangest man I had ever seen. He had the stature of an old man, but his face was young. Most odd was the thick, curly dark red hair that flowed down over his shoulders. I became compelled and joined the struggle forwards. Guards mounted the stage to fend off the pilgrims that tried to climb on. A herald in bright colours, who stood next to the man in red, began his announcement.
“Pilgrims, people of Theron, be silent as the lord abbot will speak to you!”
The noise lowered. It hadn’t been this quiet since that morning. The man rose from his seat and stepped forward.
“Pilgrims, who have travelled great distances, you are all blessed,” he said.
His voice was sweet and clear. The people around me swooned in rapture.
“I will choose ten of you and show the miracle of Theron.”
And there was more hysteria. I was a little disappointed by the stupidity of those words. They only encouraged the pilgrims to throw themselves forward at the cost of others. Regardless, I decided to play along and tried to stand out by making myself as tall as possible. First, the lord abbot pointed at a cripple old woman who had somehow managed to survive the procession. She was dragged on the stage by the guards. Then he pointed at a young woman, a sickly boy, another young woman, a man with only one arm and yet another young woman. His gaze shifted to me and I gazed back at him. He pointed at me.

What happened next was a little vague. I was in bliss, looking out over a thousand people with nine other pilgrims, standing on the stage behind our holy redeemer, the lord abbot. The herald announced something and all heads turned to the scaffold. The people yelled.
“Burn, witch, burn!”
High pitched screams pulled me out of my dazed state. They came from the stake, which was smoking and slowly burning. The branches must have been wet. A writhing figure was on top of it. It struck me that this so-called witch was tied with her neck to a pole and that the fire was not maintained. The flames went out several times, only to be lit again. In this manner it would take an hour or more before she would be burned to death. I wondered whether that woman was just an unfortunate civilian or a fellow crafter of the dark arts.
“That’s not very ethical,” I said, thinking out loud.
The lord abbot slowly turned his head to me.
“Ethical?” he asked.
He moved out of his chair, leaning heavily on his staff. It had a gnarled top with a small flower growing out of it. He tried to straighten his back a little, so he was more at my height. His eyes were watery blue and had something very unnatural.
“I haven’t heard that word in a very long time,” he said. “Ethics died with the old philosophers.”
He looked at me head to toe.
“A monk?” He asked.
I just nodded.
“You aren’t wearing your own habit, but I’ll take a guess… Cistercian?”
“Benedictine.”
“Hmm. You’re far from home. I can tell. You have travelled for a very long time. You’re completely worn out and it must’ve been years ago when your hair was cut in a monk’s fashion.”
I nodded, again. I couldn’t have come up with a better excuse. He waited for me to say something, but I didn’t.
“What is your name, brother?” He asked.
“Jeremiah.”
“Ah, brother Jeremiah, you can call me father Lucio.”
Like I thought, I didn’t have to call him by his formal title. I smiled, while he continued to gauge me.
“Where did you learn about ethics, brother Jeremiah?”
“I studied philosophy at the monastery of Caen.”
“I see,” he said. “And pray tell, you, as a learned man who knows philosophy, you don’t deem it ethical to burn a witch at the stake?”
I took some time to think over my reply.
“Burning at the stake in itself is fine,” I said. “Some creatures only die by fire. But this particular manner involves strangling and a slow fire. It is devised to increase her suffering.”
By now I had caught the attention of the other pilgrims and the herald.
“Should she not suffer?” Lucio asked. “She let herself in with the influence of evil. Only by this torture the devil will be driven out, so her poor soul can be purified and forgiven.”
The sickly boy looked up at me.
“The lord abbot’s right,” he said with a weak voice. “He is very generous.”
“Of course,” I said and silenced.

The witch-burning progressed slowly, but the crowd on the square wasn’t losing interest yet. Meanwhile, Lucio walked around the chosen pilgrims, stopping behind the old woman. He laid his hand on her head, then on her neck, her back and her right hip. Then he returned to his seat again. I smiled when I noticed moss growth on the legs of his chair. Even expensive furniture couldn’t escape the intrusive plant life of this region. A little while later, the witch was on fire. She screamed her lungs out, while the crowd cheered. I wasn’t watching, however. I had noticed something far more interesting. The old pilgrim who was just touched by Lucio was flexing her shoulders and her neck. Then she lifted her right leg and lifted it again and again, before stamping her foot on the ground, louder and louder.
“He made it better!” she exclaimed and caught the attention of the herald.
“It’s all better!”
The herald smiled and led the old woman to the front of the stage, where they waited patiently until the screams of the witch had died. Then he raised the woman’s arm and took a deep breath.
“A miracle!” he shouted. “It’s a miracle!”
In illustration, the woman danced on her spot with a delighted expression. All in the town square were overjoyed. Lucio rose from his chair and put his hands up in request for silence.
“Thank you!” the old woman said to him.
Lucio shook his head.
“No, thank the Lord. We have defeated the devil today and that pleases Him greatly.”
He gestured to us, the other chosen pilgrims.
“Within seven days, the Lord will heal them as well.”
The cheers were deafening. Lucio turned around and walked past me.
“Don’t question my ethics, old wizard,” he said softly.
A shock went through me. How could he know?. Wide eyed, I watched him walk away. Would he put me on the stake as well? He stopped and turned around with a hint of a smile on his face.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “Come visit me at the abbey.”

The silence of the following night was soothing. I could hear my own thoughts again. While the town was asleep, I roamed the abbey, going through the stone hallways and the pillar-lined alleys around the inner garden. The only disturbance of the silence was my staff’s metal butt pounding on the floor. Initially, I was looking for the abbot’s chamber, but my mind drifted off in this relaxed state, processing the events of the past days without paying any attention to where I was. Lucio was obviously a healer, and perhaps he could help me, but something about him was strange. He wasn’t just a wizard who was using his power to rule a simple town. There was something more. Apparently, had come across the dead figure in the woods and had seen fit to imprison it. Why had he done that? And what intrigued me even more was how he had done that. While pondering all this, I climbed a narrow staircase until I reached the higher level of an open Gothic tower. The wind blew in my face and through my robe, while I peered down through the skeletal structure, looking out over the moonlit woods around the town. Perhaps I would be able to see Cedric. He was out there, probably stalking the forest. He was always restless. A faint, cold light appeared in a clearing in the woods. Perhaps he showed himself to me, although it could just as well have been the reflection of the moon in a pond.

After coming down again and wandering a bit further, I noticed a flickering purple glow around a corner. I wondered what the source could possibly be. Following its trace through a corridor, it became stronger, luring me, drawing me forward, rewarding me by becoming warmer and brighter with every step. Then I found myself engulfed and blinded by it. Subtle bells sounded, far more lovely than the painful noise of the past day, and there was a sweet, female voice, softly chanting.
“Ssh,” someone said.
The chanting stopped.
“Now go.”
The purple light dimmed. A red curtain shoved aside. A young woman, one of the selected pilgrims, emerged and passed me on her way out, leaving a scent of incense in her wake. The room was filled with books, little trinkets, precious stones, and all kinds of plants. Lucio appeared before me. While he had seemed a little bizarre on the stage in the town square, here he was grand and right at home.
“Welcome, brother Jeremiah,” he said. “Please, sit down.”
It was like my consciousness suddenly returned. The room became colder. There was no purple light. Slowly, I began to realise Lucio had lured me to him with a little trick. I was somewhat impressed with the subtlety, although I couldn’t possibly show that to him. Like nothing had happened, we set ourselves at a heavy wooden table, facing each other. I put my staff against the wall, while he filled two cups with wine. He raised his cup.
“To old wizards,” he said.
We both took a sip.
“So that is what you are,” I said. “An old wizard.”
“Yes, and an older one than you are.”
“Is that so? I must be over seventy by now.”
“I stopped counting,” he said. “But I’ve lived more than one lifetime. I’ve seen two of my children grow up and die.”
His openness surprised me a little, but it was pleasant to have him talk to me. I took another sip of wine.
“How did you do it?” I asked. “Living more than one lifetime, I mean.”
He sat back, smiling.
“That is why you came to see me, isn’t it?” he said, amused. “Go back to your monastery, brother Jeremiah. Monks take good care of their elderly.”
I tried not to be agitated.
“You know what I mean,” I said. “You have a great power. The miracle of Theron and all that. I saw you heal the old woman.”
“There is only the benevolent power of the Lord.”
He looked up, as if he saw a divine creature in the ceiling. I assumed he was joking and laughed. His eyes remained very serious, however.
“So the Lord was pleased with your witch-burning?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Well I doubt it, because to me, it seemed to be a façade.”
“Perhaps it was,” he admitted. “But to my knowledge, she was an actual witch. I can’t have the followers of Satan in this town. Cruel and frequent witch-burnings repel them.”
“I see,” I said. “And you link these executions to the so-called miracle of your healing power, so the people believe you are divine and righteous.”
“A hasty analysis,” he said, smiling. “Why would I need cruel executions to convince the people of my righteousness?”
“You know why. The people are superstitious. They will only accept tricks like yours from a holy man. You don’t look like a holy man. Your stature, your hair... You may dress like an abbot, but you‘re still a wizard. And you don't age. In any other village you would be regarded as a manipulative old warlock.”
“Well there is no need for insults,” he said.
“Oh I’m not insulting. It’s very clever.”
He raised a hand.
“Let it rest,” he said. “You came to be healed? Any specific areas?”
The sudden switch of subject was disappointing. Perhaps I had gone too far with my analysis. I hesitated.
“No, not really,” I said. “More in general.”
“I see,” he said. “Well I can help you.”
He paused. I was eager to hear his counsel and he knew it.
“Stay around me for the next week with the other chosen pilgrims,” he said. “We can discuss further if you like, but mind your language.”
For a while I just looked at him, waiting for him to continue or perhaps to tell me he was joking. Nothing happened. There were no words of wisdom, no healing spells, no medicines. This couldn’t be his treatment for a peer in need. He offered me one week enjoying his divine company. Did he just tease me, or did he mistake me for a common superstitious simpleton? I was about to throw some vile words at him, when, suddenly, that train of thought stopped.
“You are serious,” I said, softly.
Things began to fall into place. What if staying around him for a week would actually be beneficial? It wasn’t his mere company that he offered. It was proximity.
“Your very presence has a healing power,” I concluded.
“It’s more like a power of growth,” he said. “It’s most effective in my direct vicinity, but as you must have noticed, it affects the entire town and the area around it.”
“And it is always there?” I asked, amazed. “Apparently, you can’t shut it off.”
He didn’t answer. We gazed at each other again.
“Enough about me,” he said. “Tell me, what is your art?”
My little necromantic tricks suddenly seemed small and petty.
“Well, I deal with the dead,” I said.
It seemed to shock him.
“Do you mean you can talk to them?” He asked.
“They don’t often reply,” I said. “Mainly, I just try to control them.”
He was listening intensely. That encouraged me to elaborate.
“I found spirits of the dead are most useful when they have a fitting physique, so I try to make them return to their withered remains. It works like this, my power is of both a necromantic and telekinetic…”
“You can’t mess with death,” he said.
I was slightly taken aback by this interruption. His eyes were wide and piercing through me. He suddenly jumped up, his chair tumbling backwards against a cupboard with small figurines. Some of them fell over.
“Don’t you mess with life?” I asked. “Isn’t that almost the same?”
“You are evil!”
I chuckled, although more out of surprise than out of humour.
“I don’t believe in good or evil,” I said. “Sit down. We aren’t that different.”
“Leave!” He commanded.
He seemed to glow with faint, purple flames, like I had literally kindled his wrath. It scared me. I didn’t quite understand the nature of his power and had no idea what else he could do with it. Slowly, I rose from my chair, keeping my eyes locked on his. My hand extended to my staff.
“Don’t,” he said. “I can guess that is more than a walking stick.”
I would be defenceless without my staff. I grabbed it, but it was stuck, entwined with thin, brown roots that grew out of the wall. I kept pulling, bringing out the power of my will, channelling it to my weapon. Its blade cut through the ragged covers and the roots, and slowly came loose. Lucio shoved the table aside like it was weightless. He tried to take my weapon from me and pulled at it with such strength that it felt like he almost tore my arms out of their sockets. I barely managed to hold on. We struggled until a large vase tumbled over and fell on the stone floor. The hellish noise should have awakened the entire abbey. Lucio let go. I fled, running through the corridors, leaving the abbey through a side entrance, going straight to the city gate. It was closed. In my frenzy, I jumped into a sewage stream and managed to escape.

The morning mists were trapped between the trees, diminishing my sight and hearing. Cedric had to be somewhere near. I looked for him in the forest, more feverishly by the minute, going further and further off the road, until every tree stem and every grove started to look the same. My sense of direction disappeared. Searching like that was pointless, so I stopped. I took a deep breath. Setting myself at ease against a giant oak, I attempted to soothe myself with calming thoughts. Perhaps Lucio wouldn’t go after me. It would be too much trouble to try to find me here. My situation wasn’t bad at all, because I could roam the woods for a few weeks and benefit from Lucio’s healing power. I just had to calm down and find Cedric. Closing my eyes, clearing my mind, I focussed on my minion and his state of mind and his location. A light appeared in the north-east, a cold, white figure that was moving and flickering. He was as alert as a walking skeleton can be. He felt danger. I had to find him quickly. Slowly, I got up, my eyes still closed. I walked in Cedric’s direction, probing the mossy ground before me like a blind man. When I was certain where to go, I opened my eyes and ran.

Someone screamed in horror, followed by a heavy clash of weapons. I still couldn't see anything through the fog, but I heard armed men running. There was also a horse. It sounded like someone had found Cedric before I had. Following the noise, I saw silhouettes of soldiers running from tree to tree.
“There!” Someone yelled in my direction.
I quickly hid behind a broad trunk. Initially, it seemed like false alarm, until careful steps approached through the foliage. Chainmail jingled. I knelt and extended my staff’s blade horizontally, the concave side forward, keeping it hidden in the ground vegetation. For several long seconds, I patiently waited without breathing. Then I scythed over the ground. Several ferns were cut down in the movement, until the metal slashed through leather and flesh and scraped over bone. My assailant fell over, screaming. I forced the blade through his chainmail into his lungs to silence him. More steps approached and I pulled my weapon free. Out of the fog a young man carefully came forward. He didn’t seem a threat to me, clutching his sword and shield a little clumsily. While I looked around for more dangerous enemies, I noticed the mists faintly lighting up in bluish purple. It intrigued, but also alarmed me, as it reminded of Lucio’s trick in the abbey. I forgot about the young soldier and walked away, trying to track the source of the glow, going faster and faster. I tried to run, making leaps over the high growth, until I stumbled on a scene that horrified me. Lucio held a kneeling figure by its right arm, burning it in his purple flames. It was Cedric. The skeleton’s fingers grew, until he could no longer hold on to his sword. His skull and ribcage bulged out, the rusty metal of his armour melted into his bones. He screamed, but no one but me could hear him. Three soldiers grabbed me and held me back. They were trembling.
“It’s him,” Lucio said.
One of the men fumbled for a short sword. Before he could stab me, I pulled myself out of their grasp and swept my weapon around. They backed away. Lucio let go of Cedric’s arm. He raised his wooden staff in a defensive position.
“Pull back!” He told the men, making a wide gesture. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”
The soldiers disappeared into the mists. I immediately stepped in Lucio’s direction and knocked his staff up with my weapon’s lower end. With all my strength I slashed at his undefended side. He caught the blow on his left arm, biting on his teeth. Then he lashed at me. I could easily block his first attack, but he tried to hit me again before I could retaliate. He began to hammer at me, driving me back. Something trapped my feet and I fell. Before I could get up, the heavy gnarled top of his staff hit me on the side of my head.

In my dazed state I hardly noticed the roots of a tree began to grow over me and entrap me. Tough, green strings wrapped themselves around my limbs. When the blur somewhat subsided, I noticed I was completely tied up. Cedric had suffered a similar fate and had turned into a defeated heap of malformed bones, scrap iron and plants. Lucio squatted beside me and broke off a fern that was about to cover my face.
“You will do no more harm to this world, brother Jeremiah,” he said. “Isn’t it fitting that a man who violates the laws of death will be consumed by life?”
He pulled himself up with a grunt and took a look at his other victim. He picked up Cedric’s sword. Something cracked. It could have been a branch or a bone, but it told me my minion stirred. He was angry, I could feel it, and afraid to loose his sword. Perhaps he could get out. I had to draw Lucio’s attention to me.
“You violate the laws of life!”
My words sounded pathetic, my voice broken. There was no reaction.
“Don’t you loathe yourself?” I asked as a second attempt. “I just saw what you can do. That was not some benevolent power of growth. That was malforming mutation.”
He turned to me.
“Say what you want,” he said.
“Why don’t you put yourself at the stake?”
With a few quick paces he was in front of me again. He bashed my face with the butt of his staff.
“Think about that,” he said. “You probably have a day or two to reflect on this subject.”
He left, dragging Cedric’s sword behind him. Blood ran into my eyes and I couldn’t really see what happened, but I heard a few violent jerks and cracks. Slow, irregular steps went away from me.

I tried to give Cedric all the strength I had left, despite an almost paralysing headache that spread from the places where Lucio had hit my head. I focussed on my minion’s light. All strength and willpower within me was channelled to that single beacon. Lucio had been a fool. Trapping me doesn’t stop me, nor does it stop Cedric to mutilate him. The battle had only just begun. I tried my best to retain consciousness, to keep boosting my minion's power, but my head became lighter and lighter while I transferred all energy I had left in me. Then I went out.

When I woke up, Cedric sat on the mossy ground beside me, slowly hacking the countless roots and strings that held me down. He was more clumsy than usual. He probably had to get used to his new form. Most interesting I found the tool he was using. It had the hilt of his own sword, but was a lot shorter. At least two third of the blade was missing. I wondered what had happened, but Cedric said nothing. He just slowly took apart my prison without making any contact. This lasted two full days. Then I was out. The following weeks we just roamed the forests around the town of Theron. As time passed, I noticed I felt stronger. Some power was still there. And the main road was still often travelled by pilgrims. One day, the bells of Theron abbey rang in the distance. It went on for hours. I sat down on a rocky hillside where I could see the town. There I waited, until I saw smoke above the town square.