The black eye of the raven looked down on the abbey from the naked branches of the twisted oak. Invisible in the last minutes of the night, the bird was overlord of a sleepy world. The raven was awake to its duty while the world slept, before this dawn, and with a great shriek, the bird cried out in the cold air lingering in the sunrise.

Alphonse woke to the bird’s cry—and a gentle tapping at his door.

“The night is short,” he said. The vow of silence forbade a reply from the humble novitiate knocking. “God’s glory comes every morning,” the still-sleepy abbot said to himself, yawning as he pulled his nightshirt over his head. The old priest dressed quickly and hurried along the gravel path from his quarters to the chapel, puffing the cold air as his sandals crunched the gravel underfoot. The trip proved far easier these days. Poverty at the abbey no longer bore down on him at night, and he was happier to greet the dawn.

He put on his vestments and pushed out his chest, smiling at the sight of the beautiful new blue and gold embroidery shimmering in the mirror. He reflected on how his life had changed in the last two years. He had grown spiritually, too, when he decided that a vow of poverty didn’t require him to be poor, especially if God wanted it otherwise.

He thought about how he was trained to be frugal, which occasionally made his current prosperity difficult to accept. His experience spurred him, though, as he remembered eating the ever-thinner potato soups. Frugality had meant only that his abbey grew poorer more slowly. He didn’t think it made the order holier. Now he worked at prosperity rather than poverty. He prayed, and late in his life, he finally appreciated the virtues of politics. In this case, church politics.

Five chimes rang brightly from the brick bell tower, calling the faithful to prayer in the chapel. Alphonse looked over his charges as he strode out of the sacristy through a small wooden side door. With practiced solemnity, he climbed the circular staircase adorned with carved eagle feet that led to the dark oak pulpit. Silence descended upon the monks seated in their prayer stalls.

“This morning we will talk about the beginnings, when God made the heavens and the earth," he began in a deep, reverent voice. "The Bible speaks to us about the beginnings. In His very first words, God tells us that He, and He alone, made the heavens and the earth.”

The abbot looked around, pausing for effect as incense billowed from bronze urns behind him, covering the musty smell of the old church in a sweet scent. He spoke softly but was easily heard by the hushed congregation.

“And why do I bother you with these schoolchildren’s lessons? You, the beloved of God, already know this.” Then, stretching taller, he raised his hands and enunciated more clearly but barely louder. “Because you are the teachers. You must tell the others. God made the world. It is finished. The earth was made long ago. There is nothing for men to do but to live here. And follow God’s laws.” He paused again.

“God’s world has different types of people in it, brothers.

“There are many people who think that God did not make the world.

“These are the heathens.

“There are many people who think that God is not done making the world.

“These are the sinners.

“There are many people who look to men for knowledge about God’s world.

“These are the fools.

“Let us pray for the heathens, sinners, and fools.”

The men knelt and bowed their heads, reciting the Lord’s Prayer in unison. Their voices reverberated against the walls. Alphonse relaxed as they prayed. When the prayer was finished, they looked up and he leaned forward in the pulpit, staring into every eye. Then he continued at a measured pace.

“God is surely saddened that even with the words He left us in the Bible, men believe in evolution and study science. It is blasphemy. It is sin. But it is not the worst. No, brothers, it is not the worst.

“Genesis tells us that God made the creatures of the land and the sea. Yet, what do we read except that men of science make new types of creatures? Biologists make living things that are novel to God’s world. And what can these things be? Nothing except evil. And the biologists? Evil demons, for making them. That is not the worst. No, again, it is not the worst.

“In Genesis, we are told that God made man. Not that man made man, nor that man will improve man. Yet, we hear repeatedly that science’s newest creatures are types of men. We are told that scientists are making actual humans. Monsters, these chimeras. Monsters, all of them. Monsters making demons. Demons making demons. It must be stopped. We must stop it.”

He looked around at his flock to drive the point home. As he did, he saw Brother Jude standing at the sacristy door. He was a novitiate but well past his vow of silence. The brother was holding a gray envelope with a large gold wax seal. Alphonse stopped his sermon and signaled Brother Jude to bring the envelope to him. He leaned down to take it and, holding it in both hands, ran his fingers thoughtfully over the finely detailed seal. Immediately he descended the stairs.

Alphonse was not in the habit of offending God by stopping a service, but he knew that God was all-forgiving and the sender of the seal was not. At the bottom of the stairs, he met Brother Jude waiting with bowed head.

“Lead the others in prayer,” he said in a hushed voice.

“The letter has only just arrived. . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt prayer.” Brother Jude wrung his hands.

“God will help you. You were good to be so swift.”

“You look worried, Abbot. Perhaps I can help you. Others can lead the prayer.”

“It’s God’s work. I’ll handle it, but you must go now. You can lead the prayer; the others will understand,” he said, hurrying into the sacristy to tear off his vestments and then rushing outside. He opened the envelope, striding briskly back along the path to his office. He read, and as he walked, the sun crept over the horizon. In the early light of the day he saw the word “Helen.” The note, in beautiful, looping script, said that she was going to call to discuss the variety of business items that she listed in detail.

The abbot thought about how anyone else would have just called or visited. But not Helen. Helen was always very careful and proper. It was an abbey. Women were allowed by invitation only; she had not been here before, and so she presented her card, and her requests.

“Helen,” he said to himself. He had guessed correctly when he took the message—the seal was all Helen, refined and rich. Nodding, he took a deep breath. He looked up and saw the many birds around the abbey. God made the birds of the air. It’s all right there in Genesis, he thought, remembering how few there were before, in the lean times.

The abbot soon arrived at his study and pulled open the tall door. He looked around quickly. Alphonse thought that a proper abbot’s study should display God’s glory, and he did not intend to disappoint God. Two large leather sofas sat at the far end of the room, separated by a polished cherry table holding a tall bottle of claret and six crystal goblets. At the other end, a stack of accounting ledgers sat neatly piled on one side of his desk. Close by in the corner, a plain table held his first chalice, a gold-lined silver cup with a wooden base. It was a gift from his father, and he always kept it nicely shined. Behind the desk, his chair was high-backed, medieval in design, with a rich red leather seat. It rested like nobility behind a genuine Louis XIV desk. It wasn’t the Chair of Saint Peter he had once so dearly wanted, but he felt that it gave him the proper dignity to perform the will of God and lead his flock. He sat hastily and was jotting down numbers on a large yellow pad when the light on the video communication device, the vid, went on. The vid was a small, shiny wooden box sitting on the edge of the desk with a Saint Christopher’s medal etched on top. Instantly, a woman’s face hung suspended on the other side of the desk, slightly above him.

“Helen,” he said, startled. “I was just getting a few ideas together.”

“You were preparing. And with your busy schedule. How generous.” She laughed with the daintiness of a southern belle.

The abbot spoke quickly as he closed the heavy yellow and red drapes, cutting off the light from outside. “Your transmission is so dim. I can see right through you.”

“Security, dear.”

“Yes, these are troubled times. But they could have transmitted more of you.”

“Do I look thin? You are a flatterer. But in truth I do believe it is your censors at work here.” He saw her wink. “You don’t allow women to visit. Your censors must be melting their little wires to see me.”

“My dear Helen, I’m in charge, and I say you may visit at your will. If you’d like, I’ll send an invitation now,” he said, knowing that her pretty face and raven hair would make the lines a bit longer at confession.

“Don’t issue your monks blindfolds quite yet. I can wait.”

“Heaven can wait, but I’m not sure that you can. I’ve never seen you wait for anything. But let us show our gratitude for all your help. We have much to thank you for.” He leaned back into the chair, relaxing a little.

“It’s a trifle. Our gifts were small.”

“You are too modest. You inspired us and renewed our faith. God’s blessings descended like new manna because of you. And you aren’t even Catholic.” He smiled, pointing a finger for effect.

“God has called me to help many. God wishes for renewal for all people. You have done your share, filling the abbey to the rafters with converted heathens.”

“It is a wonder. Filling the pews with new working converts fills the treasury, too. Your influence has been mighty.” Then he wondered, What price has Helen paid for such power? He glanced down at her message lying open on the desk, saw all the dollar signs, and then looked back at her. “God willing, you have good news on your recruiting, too.”

“Wonderful news, my dear, and then something more distasteful. But let’s always see the sunny day first. I’ve negotiated all the agreements,” she declared with her thinly sculpted red lips. “Anybody left will fall in line.”

“Your powers of persuasion are a gift.”

“Persuasion? Never forget the virtue of fear. When people have fear in their hearts, then we can negotiate with them.”

“The terror of God is a blessed tool.”

“We haven’t needed God Himself. The terror of God’s new army seems quite sufficient.”

“And all you tell them is to join us or die,” he said, a bit too loudly in the silence of the room.

“Of course, I usually don’t have to be so direct. Though sometimes we have to show them how it is going to be, just to make the point,” she said, smiling with all the sweet sadness of the guillotine.

“Helen, the last time we met, in Washington, you told the group that the Eastern religions were reluctant to join our European contingent.”

“Our members should be happy to hear that we now have the complete support of major religious elements,” she replied.

The abbot raised his hands in prayer. “Helen, you are a wonder. I thought we were years away. But the Pastorals? You’ve signed the Pastorals?”

“I expected them to be the most difficult, but in the end it was so simple, really. Any number of them had been at war anyway. They are accomplished at terror. They just call it eco-terror.”

“The majority of them are more moderate, aren’t they?”

“More moderate, but not braver. I used God’s terror on a couple of their leaders and the others were just sheep. Of course, the intellectuals were the most annoying. I had to be a bit more forceful there. I just pointed out that there is going to be no place to go when it gets unpleasant. And we are going to make it very, very unpleasant. I told them they are going to die. And they believed me because it’s true. There isn’t going to be any middle ground. These people are going to be with us or face the consequences.” Helen’s eyes darkened.

“I told them that, after we’re done, there aren’t going to be any coalitions. We are going to be in charge. Kristos and Pastore, the KP, are going to be running things. And I told them that if by some accident we lose, their pretty little meadows in the mountains, where they long to live, are going to be smoldering radioactive ash heaps. God is going to smite his enemies.”

“I’m still amazed you got so many religions on board.”

“Oh, so many are already at war with Western culture. That never really stopped after the sixth century. It’s the same situation the world over. The machinery of science is trampling religious beliefs everywhere. I’m not saying they are all one hundred percent with us. Just that enough of them are going to help.”

Alphonse took a breath and felt himself in the pulpit again. “Dear Lord. Don’t they see our dire straits? We are all God’s children. No matter what faith of God they adhere to, we have a common enemy.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly. They aren’t fools. They all see the evil. It’s just that they expect God’s favors in this world, as well as the next.”

“Is that so wrong?” he asked, almost tasting potato soup.

“My dear, you have been vowing poverty too long. Of course it is not wrong. We must all serve the cause now, no matter the price,” she said as her apparition fell to eye level, meeting his gaze.

“And how does a humble servant of God like me serve this great cause?”

She laughed lightly. “How do you serve? With money, Alphonse; our allies want cash. Lots of cash.” Her hair bounced as she moved to emphasize the point.

He fingered his pen and quickly estimated the abbey’s assets. In his mind’s eye he saw her passing the offering plate, waiting to see what the abbot would put in it.

“We’ve done better, but the value of the abbey and its produce was largely mortgaged to furnish the church properly. But I know my duty and I offer a tithe of ten percent of our earnings per annum.”

“You are so generous and understanding,” Helen said coldly. “I will record that you are tithing at a twenty-five percent rate.”

He caught his breath.

“Abbot, the time is late, the hour is near, and we must act.” He felt her chilly stare as she continued, “And, my dear, there is one more thing. What was your homily on this morning?”

He sighed, relieved to get an easy question. “I gave the first part of my Genesis sermon. It reminds them that God made the world, not some dim-witted scientist. I’m always strongest on the point that scientists should stop trying to understand or improve on God’s design. I’ll finish it tomorrow and give the entire piece on Sunday.”

“And isn’t that so important now?” she asked.

“You mean with all the new heresy coming out of the mouths of biologists.”

“Exactly. The KP has made stopping them our top priority.”

“As we should. Can you imagine the evil coming from their ideas? Think of the monsters they might turn loose on this earth.”

“The demons.”

“Yes, we must do all we can to stop them, immediately.”

“Not quite immediately. But soon. The KP has established a global monitoring group to follow the developments in science and identify the most serious threats.”

“Of course we support the effort.”

“And we are beginning an intervention. It is essential that we stop this horror.”

“The KP was very effective in getting the Mutant Laws passed, prohibiting the development of new forms of life. And the idea was yours, Helen.”

“Not all mine. But it’s a good way to get the civil authorities to stop these crimes against God.”

“And I read that the laws have been very successful.”

“Alas, less than we had hoped. Being highly successful in keeping the devil out of our world isn’t good enough. If the devil even once gains a foothold here, we have lost all.”

“So we’ll have to get a tougher law passed, and shut all their laboratories down.”

“Even that won’t be enough. We must act.”

“You mean intervene and destroy their work?”

“Yes, at least that.”

“What more can we do?”

“We need to destroy them.”

“Destroy them? Does that mean kill them?”

Her voice was icy. “Is that a problem, Alphonse? God’s armies have killed many people. Read the Bible.”

“I’ve spent my life studying the Bible,” he said defensively, as Helen’s image grew larger and suddenly more solid. He felt her presence bearing down on him. “Helen, the enemies of God should not expect long lives.” For the first time, he looked for an escape from his beautiful office. He was sorry he had closed the curtains.

“I’m happy to see that you understand. God’s work is not always pretty.”

“How true that is. We lead the thirsty to drink, yet they will not.” Alphonse was sitting up stiffly in his chair. He counted the steps to the door.

A much softer-sounding Helen began, “I tell all the members of the KP how important you are. How essential you are to our mission.”

“I do my best,” he said nervously.

“And we know. There is just one small thing we need to ask of your abbey.”

“We are at your service.” Here it is, he thought; this is why she has come. And he expected that this would not be the last time, unless he said something wrong.

“The KP asks a little more. Just that we keep a few records in your residence. They aren’t large. You needn’t worry.”

“Of course,” he said, relieved but curious about what the KP would need to hide at his abbey.

“Good. We will talk again soon. Remember, God’s work is not always pretty.”

The vid clicked off, and there came an immediate tapping at the door. The abbot reflected on the conversation, angry that he didn’t try to negotiate a lower tithe. The knocking continued. “Enter,” he said finally.

Brother Jude came in and handed him a small package wrapped in white paper.

“Abbot, I know that impatience can be a sin, but I saw the gold seal and thought you would want this right away. Perhaps you should prescribe a penance for me to learn patience.”

“No, Brother, I have done enough penance for both of us today. Leave me now.”

The abbot took the small thin package with its brilliant seal of a leaf overlaying a fish from Brother Jude as he left. His hands shook as he looked hard at it. This was Helen’s first deposit. And surely not the last. He blessed himself and went to his desk. He broke the seal and tore the paper in jagged lines, placing Helen’s eloquently fashioned vid next to his own on the desk. Immediately, his old vid cast a sequence of instructions in coal black letters in front of him. They were inane and simple.

He followed the directives and Helen’s gold seal began flashing on her vid. He hesitated and touched it lightly. Her projector hummed quietly and in a minute, he found himself immersed in a virtual operating room. There was an operation in progress. He looked away in disgust.

Slowly, he turned back and focused on the surgeon’s tools. The doctors were making a record of their actions. He heard the words “autopsy” and “demon child.” He stood frozen.

His stomach churned and in his head he heard Helen saying God’s work is not always pretty.

Copyright 2009 P. J. Fischer