“Time for breakfast, Abbot’s orders. You’re to join us in the refectory. This isn’t a fancy castle you know.” she added with an odd smile. She led him into a large, open room with a wall of windows overlooking an enclosed garden. Three long tables stretched through the room neatly lined next to one another. Only one table was set with silverware and glasses. People entered quietly, took their meals from counter that divided the kitchen from the refectory and sat down, filling the tables, space by space. When Ulrik entered, everyone stopped and looked at him. Abbot Peter, entering from the kitchen wearing a stained apron, rushed to greet him.
“Good morning, my son. You’re looking much better now. Let me introduce you;” he took Ulrik by the arm and led him to head of the occupied table. “My brothers and sisters,” he called in a clear voice, “let me introduce our newest guest, Ulrik. He and his friend, Edgar, are our latest gift from heaven.” All chuckled because the story of their arrival had already spread through the community. “Ulrik, come and help yourself, I’ll join you later. I’m on kitchen duty. We all take our turns to keep the place going. I’ll get you on the duty schedule when you’re ready to work. John,” he called to a tall, black man who recently entered the room, “come over and keep our new arrival company.”
The man called John crossed the distance between the door and the abbot with the speed and agility of a lion. When Ulrik saw his face, he blanched. The man’s eyes looked as if they had witnessed too much agony, and several deep scars marred his face, including one running diagonally across his entire face, nearly dividing his nose in half. When he smiled, which was seldom and in slow, measured movements, only half his mouth rose. He offered his half smile to Ulrik in greeting.
“Prester John comes to us from Ethiopia. I’ve asked him to take you under his wing for a while, which should prove to be a good experience for both of you. Excuse me, the breakfast duty calls,” said the abbot as he hurried back to the kitchen
“What did he mean by that?” asked Ulrik.
“I’m supposed to be your teacher.” John said and continued to explain that he was finishing his training to become a pastor and that part of his training included teaching the Enchiridion. Ulrik would be his first student. John would also show him around the abbey and help him adjust to living there. When Ulrik asked about his face, John curtly replied with, “an accident.” Ulrik knew not to ask again.
After breakfast, Ulrik went to see Edgar. Little had changed; bandages remained on his face, although now they were cleaner and whiter than before. Because of Edgar’s pain, Brother Salvador insisted that he continually be dosed with the tincture which helped him sleep. Ulrik was assured that the bandages would come off for good in a few days. Deaconess Rose promised that he would be informed so he could be present at “the unveiling” as she called it.
Ulrik sought Abbot Peter and caught him outside a small chapel. The abbot listened patiently to the prince’s concerns and then reassured him, “Not to worry, my son, not to worry, we’ve taken care of it.”
“How?” asked Ulrik.
Abbot Peter explained, “We’ve sent word to Christian- yes, we have our ways- and he has agreed to continue the search for the healing flower with Barty. Odd, though, Brother Salvador has never heard of that kind of flower.”
“But the finder must be one of royal blood,” Ulrik tried to explain.
“And Barty’s your blood cousin, right?” asked the abbot, knowing the answer all the time. “Then he should be able to retrieve the nectar as well. Put those worries behind you. As we are taught, each day has sufficient worries for itself.”
Brother Salvador was already in Edgar’s room when the abbot and Ulrik arrived. “Uley, that you?” Edgar pleaded. Bandages covered his eyes. Ulrik moved to his friend’s side and took hold of his large hand between his own, examining the deep fissures and broken nails of the rough and calloused hands.
“I’m here with you, Edgar. They’re going to remove the bandages soon.”
“Uley, I be OK? Eyes be OK?”
“We’ll find out in a minute.” Brother Salvador said and then nodded to Ulrik.
The prince explained to his friend, “The brother will take off the bandages now. I’ll be right here as close as I can be.”
With a delicate touch, Brother Salvador slowly removed the bandages. Edgar winced when they clung to his skin. The brother applied a sponge dampened in one of his special ointments to ease the bandage off. Working slowly, he revealed Edgar’s face. The price Edgar paid to save Ulrik’s life became visible. The sand borne by the strong desert winds had worn away his facial features. Gone were his eyebrows, most of his lips, and the outer edges of his ears. The nose had been burnt away to a small nub. His skin looked like bleached, dried parchment. Little was left of the Edgar whom Ulrik had grown up with, except his eyes; which now entreated the prince.
“Not too bad,” commented Brother Salvador. “Mine looked worse,” revealing the source of his scarring. “It appears worse than it is,” he assured. “But he’ll never have the same face as he once did.”
Ulrik kept hold of his friend’s hand and knelt at the side of the bed. “I’m sorry, Edgar, I’m sorry,” Ulrik sobbed, his words barely intelligible. Edgar put his other still bandaged hand on Ulrik’s head.
“Uley, I be OK. Edgar helps his Uley,” Edgar smiled as far as his tightened skin would allow—the wounded comforting the whole.
During the next few days Edgar recovered quickly. With Ulrik’s help he was up and walking through the corridors, his skin far too tender to be exposed to the sun. The damage to his eyes proved to be temporary. As Ulrik led him through the many halls and passageways connecting the abbey’s many buildings- ones he was struggling to learn—he realized that no one they met stared at Edgar’s face. Instead they greeted him as a hero for saving Ulrik’s life. After two weeks, Edgar’s recovery was nearly complete as was his stay in the hospital.
“The real question is what would be best for Edgar,” exclaimed Abbot Peter to Ulrik. The abbot was growing exasperated over the prince’s demand that Edgar stay with him in his room. “Everyone has special tasks here at the abbey, and I believe both yours and Edgar’s will become clear as each of you lives his own life,” said the abbot.
“He saved me from death twice; I owe it to him to take care of him now. Look at him, he can barely see, he’s still weak, he needs me,” said Ulrik.
Prester John, who had been sitting nearby as the two argued, finally spoke, “You don’t owe him anything, Ulrik.” Ulrik, shocked by the comment, stared at him as Prester John continued, “Edgar did what he knew was right. Being pulled from death’s grasp is a gift received, that is all- a gift given in pure form. Pure gifts carry no debt, especially gifts of life.” The hard looking man was staring off into an imaginary distance as he spoke and a tear attempted to form in the corner of his eye. John shook his head to bring his thoughts back to the conversation. “Ulrik, listen to the abbot. He knows what he is talking about.”
By the end of the discussion, Ulrik agreed and assisted in settling Edgar in his new room. The abbot decided that for the immediate time, the best place would be with the Needful Ones, as those who had been cast-off and rejected were known. While Edgar looked over his room, a short woman dressed in layers of fabric came in, “Hello, Edgar. I’m Mrs. Hemplewhite, one of the sisters who will be with you.” She took his hands into her own, careful of the bandages, and looked way up into his eyes as she was not much taller than his beltline. “You’ve had quite a lot of adventures, haven’t you? Everyone here is waiting to hear about them.”
“They are?” Edgar’s eyes brightened. He let her take him by the hand into the room where the abbot had been mobbed by the Needful Ones. Tentatively, some of them came up to Edgar, reaching up to touch his face. Mrs. Hemplewhite placed herself between them and Edgar, explaining that his face had been badly hurt and they needed to be very careful. They quickly dropped their hands and moved back. She led him to a comfortable armchair surrounded by a collection of chairs, stools, and cushions. The moment Edgar sat down, the Needful Ones came clustering in, eager to hear his tale. Through the tight skin and damaged features a grin tried to rise. Edgar began to tell his story of the rescue, using many gestures and imitative sounds to take the place of the words he didn’t know. He spoke the language the Needful Ones knew well. Soon he stopped looking at Ulrik for comfort and support, getting lost in telling the story. He continued to delight his new friends as Ulrik left the room.
Prester John caught Ulrik wandering through the hallways and said, “You look confused.”
“I wasn’t sure where to go,” replied Ulrik.
“We might as well get started on your education then. We’ll start with the chapel,” said Prester John, taking him through the turns of the hallways into the heart of the abbey. “The abbot informed me that your education was lacking in these matters. No matter, we all need to start sometime.
“This is the narthex,” he explained as they entered a broad and open room. “We gather here before the service in order to get prepared. Here we might learn a new hymn, join in special prayers, or meditate.” The walls of the large, open room carried paint laid on by many hands—some talented and others delightful in innocence; the drawings of children (or those who remained children in adulthood) and those of an artful, patient hand. Parts of the story depicted were familiar to Ulrik, while others left him puzzled.
Through the pictures he could hear Helga’s voice reading from the hidden book. He saw the world being created: sun, stars, planets, creatures of every kind, then a man crafted from the mud coming alive, and then a woman. Sadness entered at the end of a garden painted with dark, full tones but which also held a glimmer of light given to the woman in a promise, a promise that her womb would give birth to hope for all. A wash of blue symbolizing a flood gave way to a rainbow made by handprints in bright colors. Another section of the painting carried tales of wars and heroes, of kings, prophets, and betrayers. Aching and longing mingled with hope and joy- a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors mixed and churned into a dazzling display. As beautiful as it appeared, something profound was missing.
“This is the nave, or the sanctuary,” Prester John said, opening a large, carved door. Lines and curves intersected on the door weaving an eternal pattern; the lines were without beginning or end, an endless flow. When Ulrik stepped through the door he saw the part of the story that was missing from the painting in the narthex.
A large picture of a young man with beguiling features hung on the far wall. He was the same one Ulrik had glimpsed in the cabinet just before leaving the house of Johanna and Elijah. This time, however, no cupboard doors closed him off from sight. Ulrik stared at the picture and thought of Christian because the two men shared the same presence of peace, except that here, the intensity grew stronger and stronger. Peace flowed from the image and into the large room, filling the sanctuary without dominating it. Caught in its energy, Ulrik sat down on a nearby bench. All of his emotions seemed to drain out of him while at the same time they were restored to him in double measure, leaving him both drained and exhilarated. He tried to hold back his tears but couldn’t, for they began to flow, slowly first and then in great sobs. He cradled himself with his arms, rocking back and forth, sobbing in anguish.
Prester John, with his hands folded on his lap, sat next to Ulrik, and waited for the sobbing to stop. “You’ll be all right. Even the strongest have been turned to tears here,” he said. They sat in silence for several moments. Then Prester John broke the stillness, continuing the lecture he had begun in the narthex, “This is the nave, the center of our worship. We come in from the narthex and take our places around the altar.”
Ulrik, having been so overtaken by the icon on the wall, hadn’t noticed anything else in the room. Under his teacher’s direction, he began to see more of the room. The altar looked much like the stone table seen in Aeolioanopolis except it was much larger and artistically sculpted, bearing carvings of men and women in a procession following a man carrying a great wooden beam. On the altar’s top was the same large book like the one in Aeolioanopolis, and next to it a large cup and plate graced the center.
“We gather around the altar, to receive God’s gifts of Word and Sacrament,” lectured Prester John. Before he could continue, an old man wearing a robe similar to the abbot’s entered and crossed the nave. “That’s Father William, our organist. Chapel will be starting in a few minutes. We’d best wait in the narthex with the others,” said Prester John, rising and Ulrik followed him out of the nave.
Many of the abbey residents had already gathered in the narthex, arriving singly, in pairs, and in groups. Ulrik recognized a few whom he had seen in the hallways and the refectory: Brother Salvador, Deaconess Rose, and others whose names he hadn’t caught. Down the hallway came a fluttering of noise as Mrs. Hemplewhite shepherded in the Needful Ones. Edgar stood above all of them with three new admirers showing him the way. “”Uley!” he cried. “Meet my friends,” he called out above the hushed murmurings of the crowd. Mrs. Hemplewhite went to him, motioned him down, and whispered in his ear. He quietly answered, “Sorry.” Still, he smiled at Ulrik as much as his damaged face would allow.
The crowd quieted down when Abbot Peter, dressed in a long white robe, entered. They parted, allowing him to pass. He took his place in the narthex’s center and with arms outspread said, “The Lord be with you.”
“And also with you,” came the common reply.
“Again we want to welcome our special guests, Ulrik and Edgar,” he said. Heads turned to search for them. The abbot continued, “It looks like you’re getting settled in. Edgar; you’ve found some friends, that’s always a good sign. John, how is Ulrik doing? Very good. One more announcement before we begin. Since the wind has been blowing hard for the past several days, a large amount of sand has entered the back gardens; we’ll need as many hands as possible this afternoon to clean it out. A few minutes of work from all will lighten the load for the regular staff.” The abbot went on with directions pertaining to the morning’s prayer service, mentioning the introit, the gradual and the responsive psalms, all of which made little sense to Ulrik.