Chapter 6

The Crystal Cavern

Friday morning, after breakfast, Vincent and the Bishop stopped to pick up some provisions from the kitchen. William had packed a sack of food at Vincent’s request and it was waiting for him when they got there. When he hefted the bag to his shoulder he smiled, it felt heavy enough to feed ten people instead of just himself and the Bishop.

They stopped off to say goodbye to Father and then started their journey. The Bishop had a backpack and his ever-present walking stick, Vincent his tote bag and the food.

They crossed the bridge at the Whispering Gallery, stopping at several points of it so that the Bishop could get the full effect. Walking along at a leisurely pace they soon came to the Chamber of the Winds, then continued downward deeper into the Earth.

The Bishop kept up a steady stream of conversation, which Vincent thoroughly enjoyed. The man was a good storyteller right on a par with Father. He spoke about his upbringing in Ireland and how he came to this country as a young priest doing ministry in the poor mountain areas of Kentucky, then to New Mexico for awhile. He had done some missionary work in Africa for a number of years until he was finally assigned to St. Patrick’s where he remained until his retirement.

The time went very quickly and soon they stopped to make camp. Vincent frequently used this site and had a stockpile of wood to use for a fire. He heated up some food and as they ate the Bishop asked Vincent about his life.

Vincent told him about his childhood, of the joys of being raised in a loving community and the pain of being different. About the uncertainty of what he was, of the boundaries and restrictions he had set for himself because of it. He explained how he had just been reunited with his mother and now knew the story of his birth. He described the great joy and relief he felt when he finally learned from her what his heritage was. That it was that knowledge that gave him the courage to ask the woman he loved to marry him.

They spoke about the bible, discussing different passages in it and about different religions. Soon the Bishop was nodding off and they retired for the evening. The next day found them once again heading downward and before too long they had to get down on all fours and crawl for a short distance. Regaining their feet they walked on finally coming to the cavern. There was a natural set of steps that they used to climb down to the floor of it. As they reached the bottom they turned, the sight that met their eyes was spectacular, every bit as beautiful as Vincent remembered. The Bishop was awe struck.

"This is breathtaking," he whispered, "thank you for sharing this with me, Vincent."

They wandered around the cavern for some time until Vincent spotted an outcropping of green crystals just the color of Catherine’s eyes. He took out his tools and carefully removed the stone. Then he spotted the blue underneath that had been hidden by the green, he took that as well; an idea for Catherine’s ring forming in his mind.

"Bishop, I’m through here if you’re ready to go?" He called out to his companion.

"Yes indeed my boy t. This has been a wondrous journey. You’re good company. On the way back we’ll get on with your religious education, though I dare say you seem to know the bible better than I do."

They climbed back up the steps and headed for home. On the way the Bishop explained about the Eucharist, Penance and Confirmation. He said the Ten Commandments were the blue print for running a peaceful, successful society but unfortunately there were always rule breakers. He caught Vincent’s look of dismay and when he questioned him about it Vincent explained.

"I am one of those rule breakers, I’ve broken the sixth one many times," he replied sadly hanging his head.

"Many good people have broken that rule, I myself have done so." Vincent shot him an incredulous look. "Oh yes," he nodded, "I was a chaplain in World War II, I have seen unspeakable horrors and to protect myself and my fellow soldiers I had to kill. It’s a hard thing to live with I’ll grant you but I asked God for forgiveness and the strength to come to terms with it."

Vincent was still shaking his head so the Bishop went on.

"Vincent there are those who would kill for fun, for sport, for material gain those reasons for killing are heinous and they should burn in hell, but then I’m only human not as forgiving as perhaps I should be. But even those who kill unjustly are forgiven if they are truly repentant. The Father holds no grudges and welcomes all his sheep back into the fold. Then there are those who are forced to kill to protect themselves or their loved ones, those are granted absolution also." He looked earnestly at Vincent. "Tell me, what were your reasons?"

"To protect Catherine," he whispered, "to protect my home, the people that I love."

"Was it necessary to kill them?"

"I don’t know, when Catherine is threatened I go into an uncontrollable rage, I can’t stop myself, it’s instinctual. My mother said it’s called a blood-rage that I inherited from my fathers’ people." He spoke so low the Bishop had to strain to hear him, h, He exuded misery.

"You can’t let go of it, can you?" The Bishop spoke softly. "You can’t forgive yourself for taking another’s life. If God can forgive you why can’t you? You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. I it will cause nothing but harm in the long run."

Having a sudden inspiration the Bishop stopped walking, causing Vincent to stop and turn. Poking Vincent in the chest he said, "What you need is to supplant your natural instinct with a new one, a less deadly one. You see this walking stick I always carry with me?" He waved the stick in Vincent’s face, "it’s not for walking, it’s for protection. Many the muggers that have seen this stick in action I can tell you. It’s called a Bata. It’s used in the ancient art of Irish stick fighting. I can teach you the moves and we can work on it until it becomes second nature to you." The Bishop was becoming more animated as the idea took hold of him. "You can use the stick instead of your claws; maybe you could wear gloves so your claws are covered."

"My mother mentioned that my fathers’ people were using hand to hand weapons to sublimate the rage. They supposedly get together every so often and have matches."

"Matches, like medieval tournaments?" The Bishop said excitedly, "see Vincent the idea isn’t so very far fetched. It will be your Penance and I warn you I’m a stern task master ! Yyoou’ll have a few bruises by the time I’m done with you." With that the Bishop clapped Vincent on the shoulder and they continued their journey home. When they got to the point that there were pipes present Vincent tapped out a message that he and the Bishop were returning.

Vincent dropped the Bishop off at the guest chamber he was using and continued on to Father’s chamber. Father was surprised to see him return so early.

"Vincent you’re back in good time I thought having the Bishop along would slow you down somewhat."

"Not at all, Father. H he’s very fit for his age, we made excellent time and his company was most pleasurable."

He came down the stairs putting an arm around the old man where he sat in his chair and kissed him on top of his head. After pouring them both a cup of tea he sat across from him and described the journey in detail. He showed Father the stones he had brought back with him and told him of the ring he had envisioned for Catherine. A V made out of chips of the blue stone intertwined with a C made out chips of the green on a gold band.

The Bishop walked in at that point, having dropped his things in his chamber and splashing some water on his face, and said that he had a friend who was a jeweler. He would be happy to take the stones to him to see if he could fashion the ring Vincent wanted. Vincent agreed, turning the stones over to him and setting a time when he would escort the Bishop above.

Then they told Father about the Irish stick fighting idea. He was skeptical, pointing out that however horrible the killings were at least there were no witnesses to identify Vincent. The Bishop countered with the idea of wearing a bandana like in the old wild west movies, pulling one up over his nose a person would really only see his eyes which were quiet human. Vincent only sighed.

"If I were thinking enough to pull a bandana over my nose I would be able to stop myself, I tell you I don’t think when I’m like that, I’m not rational."

"That’s why we have to make this second nature to you, to drill and drill until it becomes automatic. If something were to happen where you would have to protect the community or Catherine or whatever the situation you would have your hood, a bandana and gloves on so no one could tell who or what you are, and instead of eviscerating your opponent you could knock them out with a smart rap of your stick."

"This is all very interesting, but I would think ineffectual. Don’t you think Vincent would have thought of this?" Father sighed.

"Actually Father I never have, it just never occurred to me to learn any other form of self-defense because of my natural ability. Maybe this would work, anyway it’s worth a try, if the Bishop is willing to teach me I’m willing to learn," he ended with conviction.

"All rright then lad, we should go see your carpenter. Cullen was that his name? Perhaps he’ll have a length of stick that would be appropriate for you, besides I want to talk to him about making benches for the chapel."

So off they went in search of Cullen. Father shook his head, w. Where did the man find the energy? They were just about the same age and if he had gone on a three day trip and just gotten back he would be exhausted.