Chapter Two: Bibliothecarius Scriptor Timoris III
"I meant no disrespect, Father." I bowed my head, though I kept my gaze fixed on him. "I only seek to understand."
"What you seek and what your duties require are different matters entirely." He stepped closer, using his slight advantage in height to look down at me. "I will speak plainly, as your spiritual father: this path will lead you toward destruction. Not merely of your vocation, but of your life. And, possibly, your soul."
I felt a flicker of fear at his words, at the intensity with which he delivered them. Not anger, I realized, but genuine concern—perhaps even terror on my behalf.
"There are forces in this world," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that have maintained the order of things for millennia. Not centuries, millennia. They do not take kindly to anyone who dares to disturb that order, not for any reason."
"Forces?" I echoed. "Do you mean the Church?"
He did not answer directly. Instead, he said, "Do you know the fate of Hypatia of Alexandria, Brother Lukas? A Neo-Platonist, and the daughter of a great mathematician, She questioned certain well-established truths of her time. They stripped the flesh from her bones with sharpened shells."
I swallowed hard, but held my ground. "That was nearly a thousand years ago. Those were very different times.”
"Was it?" His eyebrow rose, and in the candlelight, his face seemed to belong to another century—ancient, implacable. "Or do we merely believe it was a thousand years ago, because that is what the chronicles tell us? If time itself is a construct, or worse, a fabrication, then the distance between us and that barbarism may be less than we imagine."
“It’s said she was killed by religious fanatics, because she was a proto-atheist.”
He snorted. “Boy, even in the most conventional histories, those written for children by men who are little more than children themselves, there are accounts that exist only to mislead. When did the early Christians ever care what a woman thought, much less seek to kill her for it? And yet, someone did.”
The threat hung in the air between us, implicit but undeniable. Yet even as fear crawled along my skin, I found my resolve hardening.
"In tenebris lux lucet, et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt," I quoted.
His face contorted with anger. "Do not presume to lecture me on scripture, boy. I have spent my life in service to the light of the world. I have protected this abbey, and even you, from shadows you cannot begin to comprehend."
He seized my arm, his fingers digging into the rough wool of my habit with surprising strength for one so old. "Listen to me carefully: forget the book. Forget what you read. Devote yourself to the cataloging of the new manuscripts from Reichenau, as you were instructed. If I find you have disobeyed me in this matter, I will have no choice but to inform the abbot that your scholarly temperament is unsuited to the contemplative life and the obedience it requires."
The threat struck home. Dismissal from Saint Gallen would mean not only losing access to one of Europe's greatest libraries but also disgrace in the eyes of the academic community. For a scholar like myself, it would be a kind of death.
"Do you understand me?" he demanded.
I nodded, schooling my features to reveal nothing of the grim rebellion already taking root in my heart. "Perfectly, Father."
He released me and stepped back. "Good. Now go, join the brothers for the remainder of the office. I will speak no more of this matter, and neither will you."
I bowed and retreated toward the chapel, feeling his gaze boring into my back until I turned the corner and was lost to his sight. But I did not enter the chapel immediately. Instead, I paused in the shadow of an archway, watching as the old librarian made his way toward his cell, his shoulders bent as if beneath an invisible weight.
What burden did he carry? What knowledge had he hidden behind that secret door? And why did it terrify him so?
