Hiding the Moon

By Irina Serban

1503, Vauclair Abbey, France - the mysterious death of a Cistercian monk and the even more mysterious disappearance of another one. Could this be what happened? A fictional interpretation of a real fact!

During the full moon eclipse, on the 5th of October 1503, a prophecy is on the verge of being fulfilled, fact that forces a lay brother to set off on a journey. It will prove to be a quest that urges him to plunge into the challenging depth of his soul.

Mystery, adventure, magic envelop the days of the Cistercian monks and of this lay brother, who fiercely guards a secret.

An ancient book and a charm, which powers reveal little by little, accompany the main character on his life changing adventure.

"I am a tormented soul, partly because others chose so on my behalf, partly because I'm still choosing so," he says.

What will his final choice be in the war between humans, Shadows, Devil, and Heavens?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Irina Serban
• Release date: Nov 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311435705

Irina Serban

"I am a Romanian living in Italy and writing in English. Through writing, I discovered the best modality of bringing to life an inner world that not even I knew it existed, a world that knows no boundaries, and where everything is possible. Writing is one of the most magical experiences: seemingly, you are alone, but the Spirit of the World is there, by your side, whispering to your heart secrets, which nobody else can hear. It would be such a pity not to listen and share! In the end, this is my way of trying to make a difference, to put myself and others in front of a mirror and make us question, since questioning makes us evolve, change and grow." The author, Irina Serban The author writes on her blog regularly: http://www.thewhisperingvoice.com/ and on her official Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/thewhisperingvoice. She is a published author (Tribe: Write Magazine, UK; PlumTreeBooks anthology, Ireland; Indies Unlimited anthology, USA). She has been featured on various blogs, and her works were included in the Indielit Catalogue. She is the 3rd place winner of an article writing contest hosted by The Writing Studio, with the article "Who is Your Enemy?" She is also the winner of a flash fiction contest hosted by Indies Unlimited and of the #1story twitter challenge hosted by Tribe Magazine.

Book preview

Hiding the Moon

IRINA SERBAN

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©2013 Irina Serban

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 1493623605

ISBN-13: 978-1493623600

Cover art: Vladislav Pantic. For more info check: http://www.vladislavpanticart.blogspot.com

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

Contents

FOREWORD

Whitland Abbey - South-West Wales

Carmarthen woods, Wales

Pontyates, Wales

Five Roads - Tegid’s farm

Llanelli, county of Carmarthenshire

Cayeux-Sur-Mer, France

Vauclair Abbey, France

October 23rd, 1503, Vauclair Abbey

1515, Cayeux-Sur-Mer

SHORT GLOSSARY OF EMPLOYED TERMS

DICTIONARY OF WELSH NAMES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR

FOREWORD

This novel infused my life with its magical adventures, slowly but steadily, two years ago. I shall not explain here how the idea came into being, and how everything else started to flow miraculously, because every act of creation is sacred, and sacredness should be left to unfold in secrecy. Nevertheless, I shall offer you a glimpse into its beginnings: a dream of a ruined monastery, in France, country that I have not visited, yet—intriguing enough for me to embark into its writing.

After months of living with all its characters, Hiding the Moon, started being a part of my life. The characters accompanied me all the time, everywhere, until they grew so familiar, and I got so accustomed to their presence that, upon finishing the novel, I felt as sad and melancholic as when having to part with my dear ones.

I chose to write these few words here, at the beginning of their adventure, to cast a little bit of light upon the terms used herein, and the monastic life around the 1500 in Wales and France, especially that of the Cistercian order.

The Cistercians were part of the Cistercian order, a Catholic religious order of monks and nuns. They were also called Bernardines, after the name of the founder: St. Bernard of Clairvaux.

They led a simple monastic life ruled by work, prayer, love, and self-renunciation. Their monasteries and abbeys were self-sufficient, the monks and/or lay brothers working the fields and doing all the other necessary chores.

Their habits distinguished themselves from that of the Benedictine houses by being white and not black. Over the white garments they wore a black scapular. The hooded cloaks were another clothing detail.

The simplicity of their life was portrayed in the architecture of their enclosures. The abbeys or monasteries were stern and unadorned, with the high altars governed by stone crosses, without superfluous ornament. The Cistercian churches were usually cruciform with an aisled nave with two separate prayer sections for monks and lay brothers. Various other buildings and dependencies were grouped around a cloister.

The Cistercian monks and nuns had a reputation of being silent, not because having taken a Vow of Silence, but because silence was seen as an implicit part of their outlook and creed.

The lay brothers were not ordained, usually illiterate peasants who performed the domestic or agricultural work of the communities. They filled different positions as artisans, administrative roles, etc. The more skilful and diligent the lay brothers, the richer and successful the monastery or community. They rarely joined the monks in prayer inside the chapel. They had different eating and sleeping timetables and different habits (usually brown ones, and cloaks with differently shaped hoods). More details about how a normal day developed will be found in the novel as seen through the eyes of one of the characters.

The facts employed in this novel start from a real happening in 1503, at Vauclair Abbey, France. Of course, everything else is submersed in fiction: names were changed, dates likewise, even historical facts were a little bit twisted to fit the fictional thread and the message of the story better.

It is said that during the years when Pierre Jonard was the Abbot of Vauclair (1479-1503), a monk, Pierre Yserra, had been found dead and another monk missing. Some sources say that this happened on the 23rd of October 1503. The high prelates presumed that the fugitive was the author of the crime and took drastic measures of punishment for all the religious men in the abbey without also omitting to release the Abbot from his vows and dismiss him. The Abbot, a few years later, in 1507, died mysteriously.

Having this real happening in my mind and the question What if? that gives the necessary impulse in creating impossible worlds, I started the journey of listening to what the characters had to say, thus, Hiding the Moon catching life.

I enjoyed every little second spent in creating it, and I really hope that the magic of its unfolding will catch your curiosity and cast a spell on your hearts, too.

Happy reading!

Whitland Abbey - South-West Wales

Early summer of 1503

*

He hated summer. With the days being longer, people had more time to pay attention and see clearly many things otherwise mysteriously obscured by the fretful arrival of darkness. Summer seemed to be the season when everything happened to him.

The smell of dust, the squeaking cart, the fetid slums, the witch giggling loudly in unearthly shrieks while hardly keeping on her feet in a rotten cart heading towards the place of her sunset: Hey, monk, is it pleasant hiding under that cloak? Does it keep you cool?, and then, the laughter again.

He was no monk, only a poor lay brother! What did she know?

He was on the run again. He would have switched places with her in an instant! He wished for death many times, but an unexplained something pushed him to run for one more day, to go searching for one more hiding place.

That was three hundred and sixty days ago. One whole year of staying put in one place. That was a first!

Brother Gwydion wiped the sweat off his forehead. All the noises around must have triggered memories of the day he arrived at Whitland Abbey.

The clanging bells were still echoing, chanting to the risen sun. He stood in the middle of the garden, his eyes closed, letting his thoughts wander and his senses get drunk at the fresh perfumes spewing from the blossomed flowers. At a distance, the fields were reverberating at the sound of the tools hitting the land.

The tumult of a new day of work was suddenly interrupted, when a monk came running into the gardens searching for him. Even the wind stopped soughing, and everything seemed a frozen moment captured on the canvas of a painter. After a few seconds, the lay brother hurried towards the sleeping chambers shortly followed by the monk, for then, to come out, hurriedly pushing a few things into a leather bag; he headed towards the church.

The unadorned stone construction always gave him a feeling of tranquillity. Its greyness sprang towards the sky as if trying to make a statement of the importance of simplicity.

He stepped inside and walked along the nave trying to accustom his eyes with the scarce light. The Abbot almost startled him when he came out of the scriptorium behind the eastern altar.

This is the Book I told you about! he fretted. The time has come! It shouldn’t be found here, as you shouldn’t either. Take it! Go to the stables! Brother Ahearn is waiting for you there, said the Abbot almost pushing the lay brother down the nave.

The Book: a beautiful leather cover hid the pages that were the reason of discord and disaster for millennia. Brother Gwydion knew little about it, but enough as to realise that it must contain something of utter importance. He could remember the story that Abbot Heddwyn told him.

It all started in Alexandria, Egypt, in 48 B.C.. The flames were dancing in hues of red and orange wanting to swallow the sky. The smoke darkened the horizon and hovered over the land like a strange mist. A hissing sound could be heard all over the place and the smell of burnt paper pervaded the air. A monk crawled out of the burning library squeezing two thick scrolls in his hands. Another monk was groping in the grey darkness calling for him.

Upon finding him, the whole history would change.

Take these! I couldn’t save the original! These two have to be brought somewhere safe and guarded with the price of life until the time of the prophecy will come, he said letting the scrolls fall from his hands and gasping for the last drop of air.

The monk took the parchments and hid them inside his clothes. He laid his friend’s body on the ashes, stood up and started running eastwards.

He knew the story, yes! But, there were so many other questions left unanswered.

Why is this Book so important? All those who know about it also know about the prophecy. What’s the point of hiding it? asked Brother Gwydion.

Because it reads that it holds the key, which opens the hidden meanings. Apparently, it’s nothing more than a gathering of cryptic verses and data, but who really knows what it hides? It also talks about the existence of a gifted one, a Guardian of the Moon of some sort, whatever that means. It’s our duty to protect it. You know that this is the last copy. And the Guardian! fretted away the Abbot.

Yes, he knew that story, too, about the other copy destroyed by flames in an Irish monastery. Fire seemed to follow it everywhere!

Brother Gwydion took it, and with trembling hands, struggled to put it inside his bag. He dropped it. The leather covers opened exactly on the title page.

Luna Latent! Hiding the Moon! he read out loud without daring to touch it. You never told me...

Yes, this is its title, and also, the name it is known by, said the Abbot leaning to pick it up. It has to do with the prophecy due to happen during a night with a full moon eclipse, he added pushing the Book among the things of the Brother.

When he first saw the Book, Brother Gwydion thought that the symbol on its cover was a simple capital letter, C. Now, he understood it was the visible part of the moon during an eclipse. He brought his hand to his forehead staggering, feeling as if the whole earth moved and shook under his feet.

I know this is too much for you; this imperious need to go, exactly when you started to find yourself a place among the other Brothers, but this Book has to be kept safe, and you shouldn’t speak a word with anybody about it or about you. You’re the only one I trust! added the Abbot grabbing his arm to support him. Now, go! Brother Ahearn is waiting for you at the stables. He’ll accompany you up to Llanelli. There, embark on a ship, whatever ship that takes you to France!

To France! Now, he understood why the Abbot always insisted in his learning French besides the boring lessons of Latin.

He looked into the Abbot’s eyes as if trying to grasp the slightest confirmation that the entire story was a joke, one of the many he had to face since he came to this abbey. All he could read was genuine concern. Silently, he turned around and started walking towards the exit. Upon reaching the door, the Abbot came running after him.

Brother Gwydion, I forgot to give you this, the letter to Abbot Bernard Clairoux from Vauclair. Have a safe trip and God may protect your steps!

Gwydion went out into the parlour, and then, into the yard. He turned left heading towards the stables.

The orange light of the sun became unbearable, and the dust raised by the mischievous breeze stole his easiness to breathe.

*

And here he is! Now that I started to grow fond of you, you have to leave us! teased him Brother Ahearn while taking two horses out of the stables.

Gwydion held the bridle of one of them and mounted it without even deigning the monk of a look.

What’s wrong? The Abbot, too, got sick of you and sent you away? laughed Ahearn.

Do you really hate me, or is this fear talking out? asked calmly Brother Gwydion while keeping busy finding a way to hold the bridle better.

Fear? Of you? Why? Do you think you’re scaring me with that squeaky voice of yours? continued laughing the Brother.

He had heard all those words before, and still, they did not fail to hurt him and pierce his heart with the fierceness of a thousand daggers. Gwydion looked straight into his eyes cutting his way deep into the monk’s soul.

Because you can’t understand me, because you have so many unanswered questions going around in your head. Even now, you have no idea why all those meetings with the Abbot lately, where he sends me and for what reason. Or maybe because you’re envious, since I am just a squeaky-voiced lay brother and not a real monk like you, and still, I’m the Abbot’s favourite. Oh, and isn’t this menacing the order of your saint world?

Ahearn frowned and measured him head to toes with a disdaining look until his gaze stopped on the hood of his cloak. He was always wearing it, hiding his face! He could not stand him!

I tell you what this is: the longest journey in my life accompanying one like you, Brother Ahearn snubbed him, being at a loss for words.

He mounted his horse and started galloping in front of Brother Gwydion, who smiled and pulled the hood better on his head.

Carmarthen woods, Wales

*

The hours were swirling in a continuum of alternating light and darkness as the clouds decided to hide the sun or not. Most of the time, silence was reigning between them, and the unuttered thoughts made more rumour in their hearts than the thundering sounds of the summer storms.

They crossed fields and valleys, hills and forests, places that seemed strange to the presence of man. They took unbeaten paths while the clouds caught up with the speed of their galloping horses. They were already half way towards Llanelli. The unexpected of the travel did not change the schemes drawn by their minds. Hearts were silent!

The evening was closing in. They had to camp until the first rays of the sun pushed the darkness of the night away. They stopped on the open field in front of a thick cypress forest.

The inebriating smell of the evergreen leaves pervaded the whole place, and one by one, the flickering lights of the stars adorned the sky. Peaceful, natural movement that, somehow, could not find a way of instilling itself into their souls!

Brother Ahearn dismounted and tethered his horse to one of the trees.

Brother Gwydion had already lit the fire, and sitting on the green grass, was listening to the soft buzzing of the fireflies and to the chirping of the crickets. At a distance, Ahearn was watching him, still, transfixed by images that only his mind could see.

He loathed him! Reasons were many and none so important at the same time. It was something about Gwydion that he could not put his finger on, but which, literally, gave him an almost physical sensation of rage and disgust.

He always kept to himself and talked little even with his fellow lay brothers; not once, had they told him that Gwydion used to stealthily come out of his sleeping chamber, in the middle of the night, to return only a few hours later.

When he came to their abbey, he refused to accept the chores assigned to him and talked to the Abbot to let him take care only of the gardens. On top of everything, the Abbot always closed his eyes to what he did or to what he asked, and allowed him to do whatever he wished. Private meetings, unintelligible signs, whispers between the two added to the awkwardness of his presence at their abbey.

His physical appearance made him despise Gwydion even more. What kind of man was he? A little bit too short, so frail that even the smallest habit seemed large on him; then, the little times he talked, that squeaky voice drove him insane. Nobody knew where he came from, and now, where he was heading and why. Too many unanswered questions triggered by a simple peasant who thought that the world revolved around him.

Through the dancing flames, Brother Gwydion could not help noticing Ahearn’s tense demeanour. Instinctively, he searched for his bag and dragged it beside him. A sudden sensation of restlessness interwoven with fear took hold of him. His horse was nickering absentmindedly while digging with its hoof in dirt. A soft wind was whistling through the leaves as a distant warning. And the heat! The heat of the summer accentuated by the heat of the fire!

Ahearn approached the fire stopping, for a few seconds, on the other side of it, for then, to come next to Gwydion, and still standing, to thunder:

What are you hiding in there?

The lay brother put one hand on the bag wanting to hide it underneath his legs.

What makes you think I’m hiding something? asked Gwydion trying to gain time to come up with a better answer.

You’re far too protective to that thing, grinned Ahearn.

And you’re far too curious.

An instant of silence followed up as the one foretelling storms, as the one between two animals on the verge of attacking each other. They studied each other’s moves and seemed to count their breaths.

I think you forgot your vows to the One up there. You are on the verge of stepping on the other side, Gwydion continued provoking him.

Ahearn stood still, hardly breathing. Those instants expanded, dilated into an unbearable eternity. Ahearn fiddled with his fingers until they clutched in a firm fist. He rushed at Gwydion’s neck with a force that encompassed the whole rage that he had to withhold for too long. Gwydion fell on his back struggling to push Brother Ahearn and to break loose from his grip, which almost choked him to death. His vision became blurred, and his soul was screaming inside while trying to breathe in the little air that could go in through his choked neck. The only solution was to fight back! That was his only lucid thought! That was what animals would do! They would bite and scratch until the very last breath. They would harm to death their enemy even if they had no chance of living afterwards, but revenge would have paid all the harm done.

He gathered