Chapter Text
The priest held the host out in front of him. A new song began playing behind him, notes that echoed between the walls of the small chapel, amplified beyond their worldly force. The room was almost suffocating in the scents of herbs and smoke. The priest's dark eyes wandered over the gathering. Heads lowered in prayer, pew by pew, old and young. Barely anyone missed the mass these days. Just like he wanted it.
"Oh, God's lamb that-"
Something flashed up between those bowed heads. The priest hesitated, unsure if he had imagined it. Seconds passed. No, he had not.
Two blue dots, like electric fire, just there in the second row on the left.
The first churchgoer moved. Someone whispered.
They knew that something was wrong.
The organ shrieked like all demons from hell had decided to flood into the tiny church. The gathering flinched like a single man, many clapping their hands over their ears. Nobody paid attention to the priest, or the man in the second row.
The priest bared his teeth and growled sharply. The host splintered in his fingers.
The noise stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
“Sorry,” came a meek voice from behind the tall wooden statues that lined the altar. "The keys got stuck.”
“It's alright, son,” the priest said calmly. He picked up another host and mustered his congregation. The glowing dots were gone.
“God's lamb that you vanquish the world's sins, have mercy on us, give us peace and your blessing.”
“Give us peace and your blessing,” the church repeated.
The priest smiled. “I'm sorry we cannot physically share our Lord Christ's blood today. But seeing the wave of illnesses this winter I cannot condone willingly endangering anyone. But be assured God loves us and will understand our care.” He lifted the chalice. It was heavy with the red fluid inside. “Christ's blood, spilled for you.”
“Amen”, the gathering muttered.
He drank. It was cold and tasted faint, but nonetheless he had to fight the desire to empty the chalice in one big gulp. The wolf deep inside of him howled in outrage when the priest set down the chalice again. He licked the red fluid from the corners of his mouth, reveling in the remnants of taste.
“My friends, come forth.”
So they came, one by one. Young Sabrina with her two children, who had lost their father in a tragic accident, old Lady Andersson from the edge of town. The mayor, luckily unable to start one of his endless speeches now, and lovely Märta with her daughter Malin, now almost grown. One after the other, his parish approached him.
Eventually came their organist, a slim lad of maybe 20 years, and the church's caretaker, a tall man with long fiery hair and an unusually handsome face.
All received a host, a smile, and a warm-hearted blessing.
The last man was different. He was in his fifties, yet lean and fit. His brown skin was offset by strikingly blue eyes, his long hair tamed in a loose ponytail, accented with a single white strand at the front. Nobody would have called him ugly, certainly, if not for the scars streaking the left side of his face.
He stared into the priest's eyes with a gaze so piercing it seemed to penetrate his very brain, eyebrows drawn tightly together.
“The Lord blesses you, my friend,” the priest said in a quiet, warning voice.
The man kept staring at him, not yet ready to give up. The priest licked his lips and bared his teeth, just for a second. The man hesitated. He knew when he was going too far.
The priest lifted an eyebrow.
The man looked away and lowered his head. “Amen,” he muttered. He ate his host fast and returned to his seat.
The priest waited in silence until everybody had settled down and the church was silent.
“Let us pray.” Few needed a book to follow the songs these days, but he still waited a second to give them time.
“God blesses you, God protects you, God lets his face shine upon you and shows you mercy.”
Then he began to sing. The priest had a good voice, full and strong. His words filled the cavernous space, but never bordered on violence. It lead them, clear and steady.
Cantus lupus
Satura luna
Veni Creator Spiritus
Cultus lupus
Metus mortis nocturna
Terra sanguis
Sanctus pupus anima
regnans per omne saeculum
"Amen," he finished.
”Amen”, the gathering echoed. The priest let his eyes wander over his people and smiled. Everything was how it should be. Almost, at least.
”Thank you for coming today, my friends. I wish you a blessed Sunday and new week. Don't be shy to come to me if you need anything. Goodbye.”
The gathering began to disassemble, but the priest saw immediately that his duties weren't fulfilled yet. There were several things he still had to take care of before nightfall.
He turned around when Eike, their organist, picked up the chalice and host bowl to store them away safely. Eike was a slim, nearly gaunt boy, with messy hair and soft brown doe eyes that always seemed to beg for a hug. It was hard being angry at him for anything, even if he would make a mistake, which he rarely did.
When Eike looked him in the face, he frowned.
”What?”, the priest muttered. Eike hesitated, then gestured vaguely to his mouth. Luckily for him, duty called and he could take himself out of the situation before he could receive an answer. The priest hastily wiped his mouth before he turned back to his little sheep.
Old Lady Andersson made her way towards him with tiny steps. It took ages as usual, but nobody dared to offer help. The tiny, frail woman had a temper nobody dared to mess with, lest they get stabbed with one of the needles holding her silver hair up. It hadn't happened in the past two decades… but nobody wanted to take chances.
The priest went down the small staircase in front of the altar to meet her in the church aisle. No need to draw this out longer than necessary. Lady Andersson looked up at him with an expression that was impossible to interpret. As always she stood too close and was covered in a cloud of ridiculously bad rose perfume.
”Father, I have to confess.”
Again?
He suppressed the desire to roll his eyes. Instead he smiled, as usual.
”Of course you can do that,” he said patiently. ”But you know that the times are on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”
”Yes, I know,” she sighed. ”On Tuesday then.” She turned to go, but stopped herself just when the priest thought this had gone by faster than he had dared to hope. He smiled at her.
”Something else, dear?”
She laughed, in the way a dog barks before it throws up. ”Nobody calls me dear anymore. Thank you, my sweet Attila, but you don't have to flatter me. I just want to tell you what a beautiful mass it was today. You should sing for us more often. Oh, and there's a spot on your collar.” She tapped his robe. ”Looks like red paint to me.” She patted his shoulder and trotted away.
The priest did not get a chance to react to this revelation before the next congregation member stood before him. It was Sabrina. Even her beauty could not conceal how exhausted she was. The stress of having two children and no husband would be hard on anyone. Still she drew gazes everywhere, with her luminescent blond hair and bright eyes. Maybe that had been the root of the problem.
She carried her youngest son on her hip despite him being a bit too old for it. The older child stood next to her.
”Father, can I talk to you tomorrow? Not a confession, just a.... problem.”
”Of course. Can you tell me what it is about or do you prefer a more private setting?”
”I'd... rather have a private conversation.” She avoided his gaze. ”Sven, Armin, you could at least say hello to Father Matei.” The children looked up at him. The older one, Armin, was ten and had the same blond hair as his parents. The younger one, seven year old Sven however... His hair was a flurry of red, with brown eyes that shimmered almost golden in the light.
Neither of the children said anything.
The priest suppressed a sigh. Old problems always come back to bite you in the ass sooner or later. But there was no point in rolling up this wretched tale right now.
”Hi,” Armin said eventually. He didn't even try to sound polite.
Adorable , the priest thought.
”I'm glad even a young man like you can find trust in our Lord these days,” he said warmly. He turned back to Sabrina. ”Come to my house tomorrow at three pm, alright?”
”So late?” Sabrina flinched at her own words. ”I know that the morning is... impossible, but can't we make an exception? Only this one time?”
He thought about it for a moment. This was probably a bad idea. ”Half past twelve, that's the best I can do, I'm very sorry.”
Sabrina nodded, relief sweeping her pretty face. ”Thank you Father. Alright, I'll- I’ll go home now. Armin, come along.” And just like that she was gone and the next person wanted to talk to him. Kenneth Sjögren, the farmer, he directed towards Milo when he asked for a hand in fixing his leaking barn roof once more. Greta and Kjell invited him to their book club if he had the time (he did not), Helen asked if Eike could bring by the list of decorations they needed for Christmas, and also she had this
delicious
lemon pie he needed to try (it was awful, but that was Eike’s problem), and so on and so forth.
A lot of people simply asked him for appointments to talk - family issues, worries around this new virus, and loneliness. He directed them to his office in the form of Eike and Sasha, who could help them figure out a good time.
And then there were the animals. It was a full moon night.
Cattle had been taken between the moons, more and more in the last few months, and the priest agreed that this was a worrying development. What he could not appreciate were the few stubborn voices who every month tried to spread panic with their ridiculous theories.
Maybe he should broach the subject next Sunday.
As always, the priest smiled and reassured them that they were protected by their beliefs and the blessings he had renewed, like every month. It was exhausting and took ages, but it was his job.
And really, it was better than going hungry.