CHAPTER 15: One Sinner That Repenteth

Likewise, I say unto you,
that there is joy in the presence of the angels of God
over one sinner that repenteth.
St. Luke 15:10

The wolf’s teeth clamped down on Araciel’s collarbone as they fell. He screamed and arched his back, rolling over on top of the creature and clawing for its muzzle with one hand. The two struck the stand that had once held the holy water basin; metal clattered against stone. As the wolf’s back struck the church floor, it opened its jaws for an agonized yelp. Taking advantage of his unexpected release, Araciel flung himself away, slamming against a stone wall.

Basti took a step forward, then froze as the wolf writhed, its muzzle flattening and its limbs stretching.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, even though he realized at once what must be happening.

The beast’s bones elongated, twisted, pulled almost through muscle and skin before their fleshly envelope stopped and contained them. Fur thinned and vanished, revealing pale, smooth skin.

Bile rose in Basti’s throat as the pulsing mass become recognizable. It was a young, naked, very dirty boy, sprawled on the cold church floor with teeth bared in a grimace of agony. Wide, intelligent eyes filled with pain fixed on Araciel’s bloody form, and for a split second the child seemed to recognize the fallen angel. But the terrible metamorphosis hadn’t ceased; flesh pulled tight and crumbled off raw bone, peeled from ivory teeth. Eyes sank inward and dried, bone bleached and crumbled. The child collapsed into a motionless skeleton.

“Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus,” Araciel whispered, his eyes fixed on the bones.

“Araciel, are you all right?” Caterina knelt at his side, her fingers gently opening his coat and peeling tatters of velvet and silk from his shoulder.

“Donna!” He stopped her with a hand over hers, and lifted his eyes.

“What is it?” Caterina asked, concerned. Basti crouched beside his friend with a worried expression. The fallen angel seemed frozen.

“O Deus magne et excelse et honorate, per infinita secula!” Araciel suddenly whispered, tears burning his eyes and running freely down his face. The hand over Caterina’s trembled and fell away, crossing himself.

Basti shot Caterina a confused glance.

“What’s he saying?” he asked. Caterina shook her head.

“He’s praising God,” she said, looking equally as baffled.

Araciel laughed through his tears.

“Understand thee not? I be permitted herein, though another was not!”

“Oh!” Caterina understood first, her face lighting with relief.

Of course, Basti thought, turning and giving the altar a wondering look. No supernatural evil could enter an area sanctified and blessed; even the works of such evil were undone on holy ground. He’d just seen it himself. But Araciel was all right, streaked with blood and sweat but filled with a joy that warmed both of the weary humans with its fervor.

“I told you!” he grinned, turning back to his friend. He grabbed Araciel’s arm and pounded on his back. “What did I say?”

Araciel laughed through his tears, returning the embrace despite his wounds. As soon as Basti released him, Caterina pulled the apprentice close, abandoning propriety.

Then Araciel clutched their hands and staggered upright, fresh blood seeping from the furrows on shoulder, arms and legs.

“Wait!” Basti gasped as he saw the extent of his friend’s injuries for the first time. No mortal would have been able to stand. “Sit down, before you fall down!”

“Later, Basti.” Araciel looked past him. “I must needs pray.”

Basti hesitated, but he could hardly stand in his friend’s way now. He and Caterina helped Araciel to a kneeler in front of the altar. The fallen angel lowered his head.

Glancing at each other, the two withdrew to the entranceway to give their friend his privacy.

Basti had slammed the door shut when Araciel and the wolf had fallen inside, locking out the rest of the pack and their dark master. Now, standing there, he listened for howling or horns. Everything was silent.

“I think they’ve gone,” Caterina said. Her voice seemed to echo in the nearly empty church, even though she spoke softly. “Not to Gestern Keep, I hope.”

“He won’t,” Basti said, voice confident despite his own inner lack of assurance. “He’ll stay here to make sure we don’t try to get out tonight.”

“What if he’s still here by dawn? We can’t hide here forever, and we don’t know when Father Völker will return.”

“Well, we don’t have any choice. Araciel needs to rest, anyway.” Basti leaned against the wall and unwound his scarf. The church was just warm enough to start melting the snow over their clothes, and he was beginning to feel uncomfortably damp. Caterina, too, doffed her gloves and fur-lined coat.

“Do we dare spend the night here?” Caterina looked at one snow-covered window, worried. “What if he has gone up to the keep?”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” Basti repeated, taking her coat. He spread their wet clothes over the benches in the back, then sat on the pew closest to the door. “As soon as we stepped outside, the Erl King’s pack would be on us.”

“I guess you’re right.” Caterina joined him on the bench, rubbing her temples as if she had a headache. “I wish Father Völker were here. I’m so tired.”

Basti nodded, stretching his boots out and scraping them against each other, knocking chunks of ice to the stone floor.

“It’s been a long day,” he agreed. Caterina closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, hugging herself to keep warm in the cool air of the church. Uncomfortable, Basti’s gaze wandered to the small pile of bones on the floor near the doorway.

He knew how Caterina felt. It seemed like everything had collapsed so quickly. First the news of her oldest brother’s death; Dietrich’s poisoning; the Erl King’s arrogant, silent admission to the crime; the truth about Araciel; and now this last nightmarish trip hunted by wolf-creatures who turned into little boys on sanctified ground. He pulled his gaze away from the bones.

The creature had changed.

And that meant he’d been wrong. There was a power in the Church that he’d been blind to; something he’d ignored in his resentment. Something very basic.

He shifted, just able to hear Araciel’s murmuring voice over the wind that screeched around the church walls. He couldn’t seem to think straight; everything was confused by lack of sleep and emotional shock.

“At least one good thing came of all this,” Caterina’s whisper was hardly audible. He glanced at her. She gestured toward Araciel.

“What do you think it means?” he asked, his cracking voice betraying his exhaustion.

“I hope it means he’s forgiven. That he can go back to Heaven.”

“Do you think it’s that easy? Is he an angel again? Or is there some sort of middle ground between devil and angel?”

“Mortality?” Caterina shrugged, looking as weary as he felt. There was sadness in her shadowed eyes.

Basti was struck by her sudden melancholy. He turned to face her, resting one leg on the bench.

“Even if he’s mortal now, it’s an improvement,” he said with as much encouragement as he could muster. She nodded but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “He hasn’t changed, you know.”

“He will. And then everything will change.”

Basti glanced over his shoulder, then back at her.

“He won’t leave you.”

“He’ll have to. He’ll do whatever is necessary to regain Heaven. And he won’t dare endanger that goal.”

“You mean, like getting married?” Basti asked softly, understanding. “He’s not a priest.”

“Maybe he will be,” she said, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I always half-thought he was, anyway!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.

“What will I do now, Basti?” she asked. Tears began to run down her cheeks. “Everyone’s leaving me. Alfons, my parents … Dietrich’s dying…..”

“Caterina?” He got off the bench and walked over to where she leaned against the wall. “Donna Caterina? It’s not that bad. Dietrich’s not dead. You haven’t lost Araciel.” He crouched in front of her, timidly reaching out to touch her hand. Suddenly he didn’t know how to act, clumsy in his role as her confidante. “Don’t cry.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “After my … after the man I was supposed to marry died, I’d hoped….”

“I know,” Basti replied, looking up into her eyes. “I can guess.”

She pulled her hand away, covering her face. Basti stood, looking toward the front of the church. Araciel seemed oblivious to them, Caterina’s grief silent and self-contained. Not knowing what else to do, he hurried up the aisle to touch Araciel on the shoulder.

The devil crossed himself and looked up.

“Araciel,” Basti whispered, crossing himself and kneeling in front of the altar to join his friend, “Caterina’s crying, and I don’t know what to do.”

Araciel groaned as he started to stand, pain twisting his expression. Basti leaped to his feet, reaching down to help. Gritting his teeth, the devil stood, leaning heavily against him. Goldspun hair hung in damp, bloodspattered strands around a wan face.

“What ails my lady?”

“Everything,” Basti said simply. “Can you help her?”

“I can but try,” Araciel said, with a trace of self-doubt. He eased himself away from Basti.

“Let me help.”

Araciel shook his head, working his way down the aisle. Basti hesitated, then turned and sat in the pew before the altar.

Lord, he prayed, if You’re there — I don’t know much about what just happened with Araciel, but Caterina needs him.

He could hear voices murmuring in the back, but he tried not to listen in. At last he heard Caterina call his name and turned.

“Basti, we need to bind Araciel’s wounds,” she said.

“Here, Araciel, let me help,” Basti said, walking back and giving both of them a curious look. He couldn’t tell what had passed between them, but he didn’t think it was great news.

Araciel leaned against him in relief as he wrapped an arm around his friend’s waist. “You’d better sit down.”

“Tell me if I can help,” Caterina said.

“I will,” Basti promised. He manuevered Araciel midway down the aisle and into a pew. As carefully as he could, he peeled the fabric of Araciel’s ripped coat, giaquetta, doublet and shirt away from the shoulder wound. The rich fabrics was sticky with blood. Even without a physician’s knowledge, Basti could tell Araciel’s wounds were dangerously deep.

“If we don’t do something about these bites, I think they’re going to get infected,” he said hesitantly, looking up. Although Araciel’s lips were quirked up in an attempt to appear at ease, agony dulled his blue eyes. Basti looked from side to side, scowling. Caterina had thrown out the holy water. It had been useful at the time, but now he didn’t know what to do to clean his friend’s wounds. “I could melt some snow.”

“That be too dangerous,” Araciel protested. “Thou must wait until daylight to venture forth; when others may be around to guard us from the Erl King’s rage.”

“You can’t wait until daylight.” Basti straightened and stood. The bites certainly needed to be washed, especially the wound in Araciel’s shoulder. They needed water, and they needed another room where Araciel could remove his clothes without Caterina’s presence. He’d been in churches where that would be easy, but the village’s little church had no extra rooms.

“Be patient,” Araciel advised him. “We will wait. I be in no immediate danger of death.”

“Maybe.” Basti winced as his friend shifted slightly, muscles bleeding as they visibly shifted through torn flesh. Even Araciel’s brave facade couldn’t hide the discomfort that flickered across his face. He wished he knew more about medicine and healing, that he could do something.

“’Twas not the wolf’s fault,” Araciel said, seeing Basti’s concern. “The wolves be but innocent victims of the Erl King’s sorcery; children ensorcelled, as the legends did maintain.”

“That reminds me,” Basti muttered, looking back toward the door. “I guess I should do something about the, uh, bones.”

“We must bury them come dawn,” Araciel agreed, not moving. “And ’til then, mayhaps they should be covered.”

“Okay….” Basti walked to the back of the church and picked up his coat. Feeling slightly guilty at his distaste for the task, he dropped it over the child’s remains.

Caterina’s eyes were closed, her arms wrapped around her. He felt her coat, but it was still too damp to cover her. He hoped Araciel had said something to comfort her. He was certainly no good at such things.

“Thou be weary. Sleep now, and let me watch the night,” Araciel suggested. Basti shook his head, running his fingers through his dark hair.

“You need the sleep more than I do. You could lie down on the pew….”

“I think not. I be not eager to move.”

“I didn’t think angels could get hurt,” Basti said, sitting near his friend. Immediately he regretted his words, but Araciel didn’t take offense.

“First, I be no angel, and second, there be none immortal save God, Basti. Angels both lofty and fallen may take injury and die, though not easily.”

“Then what’s the difference between angels and humans?”

“In essence?” Araciel gave him a somber look. “Little. Angels were created by God before all else to be His servants in all His endeavors. An’ as we have free will, so may we sin.”

Basti fell silent, afraid they were on the edge of the question he didn’t want to ask. He took a deep breath and changed the subject.

“Will Caterina be all right?”

“That be my hope, though there be little I can do to combat what ails her. She is weary and grieved, and only time may cure such troubles.”

“She thinks you’re going to leave her, now that…..”

“I have assured her I will not.”

“Are you going to marry her?”

Araciel flinched.

“Suggest not such things, Basti.”

“Well, she wants you to.” He glanced back. She seemed fast asleep. He hoped she wasn’t just pretending.

“It be impossible.”

“That’s stupid.” Basti scowled. “You keep telling me God is good, right? Well, a good God wouldn’t break her heart.”

“God be good indeed, Basti, but I be not. Donna Caterina shall marry according to her station.”

“That last guy she was going to marry didn’t sound any too good.”

“That was political necessity, and it shall not happen again.”

Basti’s frustration spilled over.

“How can you expect me to believe in a good God when everything around me is so messed up?”

“This be not God’s mess,” Araciel sighed. “Believe in a good God, Basti, and pray for what be right and just. The rest we must bear patiently, for we live as fallible creatures in a fallible world.”

“I’ll believe there’s some kind of power in the Church, because I can’t argue with what I just saw. But if God wants me to worship him, he needs to do something more useful than that.”

Araciel shook his head, then winced.

“Harden not your heart; God’s works be everywhere. He did keep Dietrich and me alive, and the Erl King from attacking you in my room; he did keep us safe on our path and safe here and now.”

“But Alfons died.”

“At a man’s hand. Free will means having the freedom to choose evil, Basti. As I did, once. Resist the temptation to defy God; I have done so, and it has caused me great anguish. Regard me and take thy lesson.”

“I guess.” Basti rested his chin on his knees, staring moodily into the shadows of the hallenkirche. “It’s just that … there’s a lot I really don’t like about the Church, even if it does have the power to keep things like the Erl King away. I mean, am I really supposed to think that our Medici pope with his elephant is serving God?”

“Thou must place thy faith in God, Basti, and not in the institutions of Man.”

Basti smiled, a little bitterly. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to share his friend’s simple, confident faith, even if he did accept the existence of God.

“I’ll work on it.” He tried to fight a yawn, then gave up. “I wonder how long it’ll be until dawn?”

“I know not.” Araciel lifted his eyes to the leaded glass windows, but snow blown against the panes had obscured all sight of the sky. Even in the dim light of the altar lamp, though, Basti could see the pallor and strain in his friend’s face. He pulled himself to his feet, fighting to stay awake. When he started falling asleep he kept seeing wolves … and the amber-eyed Hunter.

To try to occupy the time, he walked back and forth, rearranging their damp clothes on the benches, checking to be sure Caterina slept soundly, and avoiding the coat-covered pile of bones in the door.

“If we had a book, we could fill this time,” the fallen angel suggested at last. Basti shrugged.

“I don’t want to disturb Father Völker’s Bible without his permission,” he said, nodding his head at the large book on a stand near the altar.

“Know thee any stories to tell, then?”

Basti rubbed his burning eyes.

“A handful,” he admitted, seeing no better way to spend the hours. Then he laughed ruefully, thinking of the taverntales he’d heard on the road. “A lot of them won’t be suitable for a church, though.”

“Tell me those that be,” Araciel urged, still sitting as motionlessly as he could. Basti sat on the floor, leaning on the bench across from Araciel, and began to speak.

Araciel was an attentive audience, but Basti was beginning to run out of tales when the church door opened, washing the aisle and benches with the pale light of dawn.

The fallen angel was on his feet in a flash, grasping for the nonexistent sword at his side. His arm, stiffened into position by hours of motionlessness, didn’t move, and pain collapsed his legs beneath him. Basti caught him before he fell, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“So, young Araciel,” a voice said in German. Basti looked up, momentarily fearful.

Father Völker looked from Caterina, starting awake in the far corner, to the two young men in the center of the aisle.

“Perhaps it is this you are looking for?” He held out the French saber in one hand.

“My apologies,” Araciel gasped, leaning against Basti. “I did think you another, Father.”

“Did you?” The white-haired clergyman leaned the saber against the outside wall of the church and stepped inside, skirting the coat in the center of the entryway. In his other hand he held the bronze holy water basin they had thrown outside. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for this vandalism.”

“Father!” Caterina interceded, clutching his free hand and curtseying deeply. “We need you in Gestern Keep!”

“I expected you might,” Father Völker said calmly, placing the snow-covered basin on its stand. Caterina backed up, puzzled.

Basti eased Araciel onto the pew again. Dried blood cracked and fresh blood seeped through the apprentice’s torn garments. Araciel closed his eyes and leaned his head against Basti’s shoulder, all but fainting. Basti could feel his friend’s heart pounding.

“Father,” Basti said in Italian, unwilling to take the time to piece together his poor German, “a wolf bit Araciel!”

“Another manhunter?” Father Völker’s eyebrows rose as he stepped to their side and bent over the youth. Muttering softly in German, he eyed the wounds but didn’t touch their ragged edges. “Caterina?”

“Yes, Father?” she asked, paling as she looked down at Araciel’s injuries in the morning light. For a moment Basti was afraid she would faint, too.

“Get Frau Bruhn,” he ordered. “Do you remember where she lives?”

“I’ll be right back!” Caterina replied, scooping up her coat as she turned and ran outside. The priest sat on the other side of Araciel, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Frau Bruhn is the village midwife. She knows as much about healing as anyone out here. You might remember her, Sebastiano. She was the one who tended your wounds when you first arrived.”

Basti nodded.

“So, tell me how this wolf came to attack a group of three,” he demanded, switching to a heavily accented Italian and patting Araciel’s knee in absent reassurance.

“Den Erlkönig,” Basti replied. “He sent his pack after us.” He remembered what had brought them down in the first place, and added, “Master Dietrich has been poisoned, Father. We need you there … in case he doesn’t make it.”

Father Völker drew a thoughtful breath, lines of concern furrowing his face.

“So,” he said sadly. “So many tragedies in the keep, even after all these years. And the Erk King hunts.”

“It’s – you believe me?” Basti asked, surprised. He had enough trouble believing it himself. Father Völker’s expression was solemn.

“I believe you.” He pursed his lips, frowning. “The Erl King is well known here in Gestern, and I saw his creatures’ tracks outside. The lord and lady asked me to be cautious, as they passed through Gestern to Munich.” He stood and folded his arms behind his back, eyeing Araciel. “But I did not expect the Erl King to drive this lost sheep under my roof at last.”

Araciel slowly straightened, pale but determined. Basti stayed near, fearing another spell of vertigo.

“It be my honor and privilege,” he said in a barely audible voice.

The priest gave him a long, steady look, then slowly nodded.

“Then some good has come of this,” he said, unknowingly echoing Caterina’s words. “I’d been wondering when you would come join us.” He grew grim again. “Although I regret it has happened at such a dire time.”

“Can you help us?” Basti asked as Araciel sank back down again, exhausted. “Against the Erl King?”

“I certainly intend to try. There may not be much I can do for Dietrich but offer up my prayers, but perhaps Frau Bruhn will go with us to tend to him.”

“Your exorcism —“

“It didn’t work. I’m not surprised. The Erl King’s not a ghost or a devil.”

“We know he’s afraid of holy water and the Church, though,” Basti contributed. Father Völker paused.

“Is that why I found our basin laying on the ground?” he asked. Basti flushed.

“Well, you offer some hope,” the priest continued, beginning to pace again. “Perhaps it takes a personal touch to combat his evil.” The elderly clergyman stopped pacing and looked down. “Is this your coat, young man?”

“Oh!” Basti stood as quickly as he could without jostling Araciel. His friend took a sharp breath at the strain of sitting upright by himself. “Uh, actually, there’s a….” He swallowed, at a loss for words. “There’s a corpse under it, Father.”

“A corpse?” Father Völker gave him a long look, then crouched and gently pulled the garment off the pile of bones. Basti nervously fidgeted as the priest gazed at the crumbling skeleton.

“Whose skeleton is this?” he asked at last.

“One of the wolves’. They’re, uh, apparently the children the Erl King kidnapped.” Basti reluctantly walked closer. “That’s the one that bit Araciel. It changed back and turned into a skeleton when it touched the church’s floor.”

Father Völker crossed himself and began to pray.