Gunter stared at the parchment on his desk. Every intention he had of transcribing the bible and thinking of literally anything other than what was happening to him vanished as soon as he began to write the holy words. It kept moving. It would not stop moving. It made him nauseous to the point of nearly collapse.
“There,” Gunter placed his quill down. “Happy now?”
The child stopped.
Gunter sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk’s surface. When he fantasized fleeing his abbey in the past, he hadn’t imagined it like this. He’d never wanted to be a monk. He wanted to be a thane. Monkhood was his lot in life and it was a vocation he was forced to bear. Mostly he could avoid his duties. About two years ago, two new little oblates came to his monastery. They were both problem children. The younger boy, Hamon, received angelic visions and was deeply unpleasant to be around. The older boy, Bennett, was simple, insecure, and while less unpleasant to be around, lacked any sort of social awareness what-so-ever. Bennett had good intentions, even if he was… inquisitive. As abbot, Gunter rarely interacted with oblates. Under normal circumstances, he could mostly ignore the oblates and leave them to the novice master, Brother Theobald.
God rest his soul.
After a long and painful illness, Brother Theobald died. His death affected Gunter stronger than he thought it would have. The two didn’t necessarily always get along, but Brother Theobald is–was a good man. He was strong in his holy convictions and treated all his oblates like they were his own sons. Brother Theobald had been so dedicated to the monastic life, he returned as a spirit to continue his teaching, despite the agony it caused him. That did not continue as a long term plan.
The new novice master, Brother Finley, had been selected by Gunter’s brother, the archbishop of Jorvik once he’d heard Brother Theobald’s illness would be the death of him. At Brother Finley’s arrival, Gunter had thought the half-selkie monk was almost certainly a lunatic. While Brother Theobald was still alive as well as while he was dead, the two novice masters got along. However, Brother Finley did not get along with everyone else. He insisted demons were transforming men and impregnating them with evil spawn.
The first time he’d heard Brother Finley’s mad rant, Gunter took him aside and asked if he was telling such nonsense to the oblates.
“Nay,” Brother Finley had wiped the drink off his mouth, “Ah’m tellin’ ye though. Yer all tae negligent when it comes tae demons!”
“If you tell the oblates this stupid tale, you will go back to Orkney. Is that clear?”
“It’s nae stupid! Ah saw it happen tae Brother Talorc with ma own two eyes!”
“Sure you did.”
“Ah did!”
Gunter had sighed. “As long as it’s clear that you aren’t telling the children this, you can believe whatever you want. Keep it to yourself.”
Brother Finley had glared at him with his unsettling black eyes, grunted, and went back to the other drunken monks in the warming house. Gunter didn’t drink, but the other monks did. At the time, the boys were asleep, so he decided to allow Brother Finley to think whatever he wanted for that night. In the morning, he forbade him from drinking again. Brother Finley still insisted he wasn’t lying about the demons. Gunter chalked it up to Brother Finley being Pictish and went on with his life.
Then seven months ago, a swarm of demons kidnapped, transformed, raped, and impregnanted Gunter. Horrified at what he’d become, and filled with shame, Gunter approached the only person he could trust with this knowledge: Sister Maud. Sister Maud was his closest companion. He’d met her years ago on his journey from his old abbey to his new one after his brother, the new Archbishop of Jorvik, chose him as abbot. Gunter had fallen into the river bank, broken his leg, and Sister Maud–then just Maud–had fished him out. She had cared for him in her hut until he could walk again. She had seen him vulnerable before. Gunter would sooner commit self murder than tell Brother Finley anything. Gunter begged Sister Maud to do something–anything–to fix him. She’d given him a physic to take care of the demon. Almost immediately, he’d vomited it up. He vomited everything she’d given him.
Eventually, in the privacy of her workshop, Sister Maud told him she could not waste any more herbs on him. The demon spawn controlled his body. There was nothing she could do about it. Not until the birth. To his relief, Maud doubted the child would live.
“They never live,” she had added in a whisper.
“How do you know?” Gunter had whispered back, his trembling hands gripping his churning stomach.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Maud asked.
Gunter had decided he did not want to know.
“What do I do now?” He asked.
She had started to roll her eyes, but stopped. “Live your life. You’ve got a few months. You’ll stay at your manor by the sea. Tell everyone you are visiting Lundenburg. Or Canterbury.” The nun paused. “Act normal.”
“I have been acting normal,” Gunter lied. How could he? After…after that. Even Bennett, the dense little oblate, expressed concern at his health. Bennett, along with his entire flock, had just spent almost a year watching Brother Theobald waste away and vomit himself to death. Of course, they were more perceptive to unexplained illnesses.
The day Gunter noticed growth, he announced in chapter he was visiting Lundenburg to arrange for new manuscripts to be sent to the scriptorium, told Brother Maldwyn he was in charge until he returned, and left for his seaside manor with Sister Maud. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to place the grieving cellarer in charge of the monks and nuns. As Maud was his travelling companion, Gunter could not think of anyone else. His focus lay entirely elsewhere. Maud told him he still had time before anyone would see any differences in his figure. Gunter did not care. He needed to leave that God forsaken monastery. He hated it the day he had arrived. He thought he would hate it until the day he died. Gunter had always held out an inkling of hope that perhaps someday he would become a thane. Now, as his child grew and wriggled inside him, all hope was gone.
At the manor, Gunter was free to do what he wished until the inevitable day the child was born and he could return home. He hated monastic life. Now that he had no choice but to leave, he found he missed it. He missed his squabbling flock and their constant whining and interruptions into his day to day life. Gunter valued the nun, but Maud was not an ideal solitary long term companion. The unending solitude bored him. The child moved again, as if to remind him he was not truly alone. Gunter stared at his swollen belly. He had always been thin and lean, even when working in a scriptorium for several hours a day. His new figure had been an adjustment he still could not get used to. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his abdomen.
Gunter missed proper sunshine and fresh air. He couldn’t go outside, being this far along. If anyone saw him, they would talk. Gunter had always been clean shaven. Now he lacked any ability to grow a beard at all. Besides a womb, his demonically influenced body had taken on additional feminine features. No phallus. No beard. Hips. Breasts. He no longer looked like a man. A month and a half ago, Gunter had become so irritable Maud forced him to leave the manor house. To his complete horror, they had met a shepherd in the road and the man mistook Gunter for one of his many female cousins. Neither Gunter nor Maud corrected him. The moment the shepherd went on his way, Gunter fled back to the manor.
The abbot swallowed. The very thought of the shepherd’s conversation made him want to stand up and walk straight into the sea. The night he truly realised how feminine he looked, he tried. However, Maud found him before he stepped into the frigid water. She told him he was foolish and he would most likely get rescued by sea monks who lurked in the waves. Gunter wept as Maud led him back inside and into his bed. She sat next to him the entire night. At one point she sighed and patted his hand. Gunter had sniffled a watery thank you. Maud had grunted.
The child moved again.
“What do you want?” Gunter asked.
“Are you talking to it again?” Maud appeared in the doorway. Gunter jumped, spilling his ink pot and oak gall ink all over himself.
“Shite.”
“Leave it,” Maud lowered her gaze. It was terrifying. Usually it meant murder. This time, the ink swooshed back into the pot as it righted itself.
“Thank you,” Gunter said.
“Are you talking to it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll fall in love with it if you do.”
“How could I?” Gunter scoffed. “It’s a vile being created from an evil act. You are presumptuous.”
“Watch your tone.”
“I’m sorry,” Gunter sank down in his chair. “I–I haven’t been myself.”
“I see that,” Maud froze. “Stay there. We have a visitor.”
“Wh-what? Who?”
“Don’t know. Stay there.” Maud left the doorway. Gunter trembled. A visitor could mean nothing or everything. It could be a local child looking for a treat. They frequently came to the house begging for cakes and sweets until he had shouted at them to leave. It could be his brother, Roderic, looking for him. He had fled with no warning. Roderic was not stupid. If he saw him in this state and put together the predicament he was in, he was not sure how his elder brother would react. If Roderic did not realise Gunter was with child, then he would when he was done fighting him. It could be Danes, come to ravage the village. It could be another swarm of demons. Gunter gripped his desk. A local child he could handle. His brother, maybe. Danes? He sweat in terror. Suddenly he knew why women feared Vikings so much. No. He had always known, of course. Now Gunter understood . No Dane would look at him and see a man. They would see a pregnant woman perfect for thralldom. An ugly woman, but still a woman. If it were demons…Gunter crossed himself. Nausea overwhelmed him.
“Don’t do that,” He muttered, “This is for your protection as well as mine.”
The nausea ebbed.
“Thank you.”
Gunter could not be entirely positive, but he felt as though the child just nodded. He swallowed down vomit. He hated this. He hated every moment of it.
I want to die. Gunter thought. If Maud had not confiscated his pen knife….
Maud appeared in the door again. “It’s Brother Finley.”
“Brother Finley? Did he bring Bennett and Hamon with him?”
“No.”
“So he left the oblates alone?!”
“Says he left them with Maldwyn.”
Gunter groaned and covered his face with his hands. Simultaneously his dread surged and plunged.
“He’s not going to go away unless I see him, is he?”
“No.” Maud paused. “Perhaps.”
Gunter groaned again. “Please do not kill him. I refuse to find another novice master.”
Maud looked at her fingernails. They were immaculate, as always. “It would be a good distraction.”
“No.” Gunter stated this firmly. “The last thing the oblates need is another change, and I will not search for a new novice master while I am this pregnant. Where’s my cloak?”
“I don’t know. I’m not your mother.”
“Could you please find it for me? Please?”
“I am not. Your. Mother.”
Gunter sighed and stood. It took him longer than he’d liked it to. The child dug painfully into his ribs. He groaned and placed a hand on his stomach. Maud’s eyes widened as she took a few steps closer to him.
“Sorry,” Gunter muttered. “It’s moving.”
“Yes, babies will do that.”
“It’s in my ribs.”
Someone cried out.
Gunter looked up. In the doorway was Brother Finley. His webbed hands covered his mouth. He shook his head, his grey curls bouncing, barely obscuring the tears in his eyes. Brother Finley barely took one step before he was thrown onto the floor. The door slammed shut behind him.
Maud raised her head. “I told you to wait outside.”
“And Ah told ye I needed tae see the abbot!” Brother Finley moaned. His freakishly sharp teeth glimmered in the light from the window. It reminded Gunter too much of the demon who raped him. Gunter sat down. He closed his eyes.
“Brother Finley,” He almost gasped, “Why did you come here?”
“Ye were gone fur tae long tae just gae tae Lundenburg. Ye were nae actin’ right. Ye were actin’ like–like poor Brither Talorc!”
Gunter opened his eyes. Brother Finley, still on the ground, sobbed into his webbed hands. Once again, Gunter stood. “Maud, please leave us be.”
The nun rolled her eyes, but left. Gunter walked over to his sobbing monk. He sat beside Brother Finley. Sitting on the floor was more difficult than he anticipated. Slowly and awkwardly, he patted his novice master’s back. Brother Finley’s watery black eyes stared at Gunter’s torso with an intensity that made Gunter deeply uncomfortable. It occurred to Gunter that besides Maud, only Brother Finley knew what he should expect. And judging by the half-selkie’s hysterical tears, what he should expect was nothing good.
“...What exactly happened to your friend?”
“Ah…Ah dinnae ken ye want tae know.”
“Dammit Finley! If you are going to keep going on about fucking demons and Talorc or whatever his name was, and then abandon your responsibilities back home for I do not know how long and then cry on the damn floor and pester me when I am very busy with other things,” Gunter gestured to his parchment and his stomach at the same time, “Then you will tell me why you are acting like this. Otherwise, I will find a new novice master and I’ll let Maud do what she wants to you. And I assure you, Brother Finley, what she wants to do is not pleasant.”
The half selkie monk swallowed.
“He left tae walk the beach. Talorc was a half selkie like me. He was only supposed tae meet a sea monk about the approachin’ storm. Talorc came back two days later, sick and grey. He vomited every day fur nine months as his belly swelled up with Satan’s spawn. Loads o’ times he nearly burst open as the thing destroyed him from the inside. Na matter whit we did, na matter whit we said, he refused tae git rid o’ it. Ma brethren and Ah watched as the thing stole his life away. Ah held his hand as he labored throughout the night. The demons didnae even give him a way tae give birth. His pain grew sae intense the blood vessels in his eyes burst open. Whin he was on the brink o’ death, a demon came through the window. We tried tae fight it off, bit it knocked us a’ out. Whin we woke up, Talorc wis gutted like a pig with a look o’ terror ‘n’ agony on his face. The floor ‘n’ walls where splattered ‘n’ drenched with his blood. His insides were everywhere. Ah woke up with his intestines draped over ma belly like rope.”
Brother Finley swallowed. The two men stared at each other. Sweat poured down Gunter’s face.
“Now dae ye understand why Ah am worried about ye?”
Gunter did.
They sat at the table, pretending to eat their dinner. Brother Finley had whispered a prayer before pushing his stew around with his spoon. Gunter stared at his bowl, trying desperately not to vomit. Maud ate her stew, not necessarily with gusto, but it was being consumed. The child moved again.
“Am I going to die?” Gunter asked Maud.
“No,” She said. “I know how childbirth works.”
Brother Finley glared at her. “He needs tae make his peace with God.”
“He needs to eat his supper,” Maud nodded at Gunter’s bowl. Reluctantly, Gunter raised his spoon to his mouth. It was delicious. Gunter hated it. He ate it anyway.
“Brother Finley, you will go back to the monastery tomorrow,” Gunter said once he finished eating.
“Whit? Nay! Ah’m nae doin’ that!”
“You will do as you're told. Brother Maldwyn cannot run the monastery and take care of the oblates.”
“Ye need someone tae protect ye.”
“I have Maud.”
Maud sucked in her cheeks.
“She does nae ken anythin’ about devil spawn! Ah do.”
“I know more than you,” Maud said.
“How many demon births have ye attended?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Ah would.” Brother Finley growled. For a brief moment, Gunter saw how animalistic Brother Finley truly was. It frightened him. Gunter struggled to stand. He needed to leave. He couldn’t sit there as his flock argued about his impending death in front of him. Gunter swallowed.
“Dae ye need help?” Brother Finley asked.
“No…yes.”
Brother Finley and Maud helped him to his feet. Gunter’s face flushed scarlet. He had lost all his dignity. He didn’t care about that in front of Sister Maud. She had seen too much of his vulnerability over the years for him to care about her. The first time they met, she fished him out of a river after the cliff he stood upon collapsed and he broke his leg. Gunter cared about his mad novice master seeing him in such a state. Brother Finley patted his shoulder once they got him standing.
“Shall I walk ye to yur bed?”
“I think, er, I think I shall go on a walk. I need…I need to clear my head.” He did not want to sit at the table, thinking of Brother Talorc. Besides, after every meal the child wriggled and squirmed and the thought of his stomach bursting open made Gunter want to vomit. Perhaps a walk would calm the child down for once.
“We will go with you,” Maud stated. It was not a question. Gunter nodded.
“Fine.”
By the time he found his cloak, the sun had begun to set. Gunter sighed in relief, pulled his cloak over his once slender frame, and pulled the hood over his head. The less people saw of his face, the better. The three monastics left the manor.
The walk was silent and awkward. The child did not stop moving. To add to Gunter’s discomfort, his back ached. He wished he was dead.
When they returned to the manor, Gunter’s back hurt worse than normal. Gunter said nothing. If he did, Brother Finley would become alarmed and he could not hear any more about Brother Talorc. Instead, he went to bed. Gunter did not sleep. Not only could he not stop thinking about Brother Talorc’s fate, his back pain grew worse and worse. After a few hours, Gunter sighed, and opened his mouth to call out to Maud for something for the pain. The moment after he inhaled, wetness seeped between his legs.
“No,” he whimpered. “Please, God. No.”
The child moved. It was too early. It was too early. His mattress grew damp.
“Maud!”
Gunter groaned and collapsed back onto his bed, panting for breath. Brother Finley wiped his forehead with a wet rag, still clutching his hand. Gunter had squeezed Brother Finley’s hand so tight he was concerned he may have broken some of his monk’s fingers. Maud held the silent child in her hands.
“It was a girl.”
Maud and Gunter stared at each other. Brother Finley glanced at the seals he had drawn around every single entrance of the room.
“Do you want to see her?” Maud asked quietly.
Gunter nodded.
Maud wrapped the child up in a small bit of cloth. She carefully handed it to Gunter. As he brought the bundle to his chest, he stopped breathing for a moment. It had horns and wings and a tiny tuft of black hair. Besides that, the child resembled him.
“Oh God,” Gunter gasped. “Oh God.”
With a careful finger, he stroked his child’s delicate dead face. Gunter wept. He did not want the child. He never, ever wanted the child. He didn’t want a being of evil inside him, growing, growing, growing, controlling his every move. He hated it with all his being. He was relieved.
Why did he feel such overwhelming grief?
After they buried his child, Gunter sent Brother Finley back to tell everyone he had fallen dreadfully ill and was still recovering. Brother Finley only obeyed when he was sure Gunter would not be gutted like a pig the moment he left. This meant Gunter had to eat a ridiculous amount of rowan berry jam and bathe in holy water before Brother Finley would finally leave. Gunter was relieved to discover he could finally eat rowan berries and touch holy water without any discomfort or pain again.
They needed not to worry. The demons who changed his body did not approach Gunter. They didn’t even come at him at all. However, one night, Gunter did see glowing yellow eyes standing by the tree he buried his child at. The demon looked directly at him. It was the one who had raped him. Gunter closed the shutters. He went to Maud’s bedside.
“It’s outside,” he whispered.
Maud sprang out of bed. By the time she arrived at the window, It was gone. Without saying a word, he crawled into Maud’s bed. She didn’t roll her eyes or sigh or express any sort of displeasure in any way when she saw him there. Instead, she lay down next to him as he trembled like a leaf in the wind. They did not touch each other.
“We go back tomorrow,” Maud said. Gunter nodded. He barely slept next to Sister Maud that night. It was the only time they ever shared a bed.
In the morning Gunter was grateful he had stopped bleeding. It would make traveling easier. He dreaded returning. His body was different. Visibly different. Maud bound his chest, cut his hair, and tonsured him. He just managed to fit into his old habit.
“How do I look?” Gunter asked, standing up straight and trying to regain any sort of abbatial dignity the demon ripped away almost a year ago.
“You look like you’ve put on weight.”
“Masculine?” He couldn’t control the grief in his voice.
“Masculine enough. Go to your chamber as soon as we arrive. Finley will have changed your old habits. You’ll look fine.”
Gunter nodded. Digging his fingers into the palm of his hand, he blinked back tears. His body hurt.
Riding a horse through the forest was agony. Besides his new, still sore organs, every snap of a branch, every flap of a raven’s wing, every faun’s giggle in the distance made Gunter paranoid that the demon was following them. Maud assured him It wasn’t. Gunter did not believe her, no matter how much he wanted to. He gripped the reins.
He wanted to go home. He never wanted to return. He wanted his child. He was glad the child was dead. He loved her. He hated her. He missed her movement. He wanted to die.
When Gunter saw the monastery in the distance, a wave of relief nearly drowned him. Maud rode beside him.
“Are you ready?” She asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Good. They’ve spotted us.”
To Gunter’s horror, the monastery’s bells began to ring. Brother Christopher, the porter, threw the gates open and a swarm of monks, nuns, and oblates ran out of the abbey, waving and cheering. They ran towards him. Gunter turned to Maud.
“How do I look?”
“Miserable.”
Gunter wished he had his child with him. He stared down at himself. For a moment, he pretended he could still feel her moving. The cheering and shouts grew louder and louder and louder until they abruptly stopped, replaced by a choir of gasps. Gunter couldn’t make himself look up. He halted his mare.
“Abbot Gunter?” Brother Ælfric asked, “Are you alright?”
Gunter let out a deep breath. His entire body shuddered.
“I’m fine. Still recovering.”
“From what?” Brother Christopher demanded. “You don’t look sick at all!”
“Are you blind?!” Young Brother Ælfric shrieked. “He’s grey as Brother Finley!”
“Oi! Dinnae ye talk about me or the abbot like that!”
“He clearly had an appetite while he was gone.” Brother Christopher pretended to mutter.
“So did you,” Sister Edith snapped.
“I did not!”
“You did!” Sister Bertha said, poking Brother Christopher’s stomach.
“Don’t touch me!” Brother Christopher waved his hands at Sister Berta’s, slapping them away.
“Don’t you touch her!” Brother Edwin shouted. “Monks cannot touch nuns!”
“That does not seem to stop you!” Brother Christopher snapped.
Brother Edwin gasped. “Abbot Gunter, did you hear what this degenerate just said to me?! I have been chosen by the angels and I am being slandered! My angel will not stand for this!”
“I think Abbot Gunter looks okay,” a young voice piped up.
“Oh shut up!” Brother Christopher snapped.
“Dinnae ye talk tae my oblates like that!”
Gunter couldn’t focus. The unending bickering made his head spin. He felt dizzy and between his legs hurt. Gunter refused to try to listen to his flock squabble and bicker about his appearance and their interpersonal issues. He spurred his mare towards the monastery.
Gunter locked the door of his chambers before fleeing into his familiar bedroom. He took his too small habit off, tore off his breast bindings, breathed in deep, and rummaged through his clothing chest for the new habits Brother Finley snuck into his room. He threw the biggest one on and collapsed onto his bed. His plaster ceiling was depressingly bare. Perhaps he’d have Brother Æthelwine paint something on it. Something holy. Demons couldn’t hurt him under a depiction of God…
Suddenly something knocked on his door. Gunter jumped up. He had no knife. After his child was born, he was able to wear his cross again. He gripped it tightly in his hand. “God, protect me in Your holy name from all dangers. In this I pray.” Gunter slipped from his bedroom into his study. The knocking on his chamber door became more frantic.
“Who’s there?” He tried to sound dignified. Gunter feared he just sounded scared. He wished he wasn’t a coward.
“It’s me, sir!”
“Who is ‘me’?” Gunter did not recognize the voice.
“Bennett of Romanwood!” The voice cracked in the way not-so-young boy’s voices usually did at a certain age. Gunter paused. He had no desire to speak with the oblate. If it really were the oblate.
“Why are you here?”
“I–I need to talk to you, sir. I–I know you're sick but I don’t have anyone to talk to about this and I’ve been waiting months and–and I fear for my soul if I don’t get help!” The oblate’s voice cracked on the last word rather pathetically.
Gunter was about to tell Bennett to go talk to Brother Maldwyn or Brother Finley about whatever it was that was bothering him. An image of his child, older, sad, begging for help and finding no one, flashed before his eyes. The abbot sighed. He grabbed his water skin filled with holy water, poured a little into his hand, and opened the door. Bennett of Romanwood stared up at him with his huge blue eyes. Gunter flicked the holy water in his face. Bennett blinked. He didn’t hiss, or smoke, or do anything else demons do when they come into contact with holy water. He just stood there, flicking his fingers miserably.
“You may come in.” Gunter stepped into his study. Bennett obeyed. Gunter couldn’t help but notice the boy was visibly older. He was taller, had a few hairs on his chin, spots, smelled ever so slightly of Brother Ælfric’s deodorant and body odor, and was slightly fatter. Bennett of Romanwood was no longer a boy. It disturbed Gunter to see the plump little oblate he left growing into a man. Gunter gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Bennett obeyed. He did not stop flicking his fingers. Long ago, Gunter noted he did it when he was nervous, upset, or overwhelmed. Gunter lowered himself into his seat.
“How can I help you today?”
Bennett glanced towards the open door.
“It stays open unless you are confessing your sins.” Gunter did not want any sort of rumors about improper behavior spreading. It was the last thing he needed.
“I need to confess.” Bennett did not hesitate.
“You can close it.” Were Gunter talking to anyone else, he would have nodded at the door. If he did that with Bennett, the boy–the youth–would just blink at him until he explained what he wanted. Or he would have interpreted it as him telling him to leave. Bennett scrambled to his feet, shut the door, and ran back to his chair, slightly out of breath. He stared at Gunter’s face with an intensity that indicated he was trying not to look at his torso.
“What do you need to confess?”
“My lust!”
“What?”
Flicking his fingers and rocking in his seat, Bennett proceeded to go on a very long though not particularly detailed lament about how he was overwhelmed with lust, everything made him lecherous, he couldn’t stop sinning, and no matter what he did he couldn’t stop his unwanted thoughts.
This was literally the last thing Gunter wanted to hear about.
Eventually Bennett began to sob into his hands. Gunter handed him his handkerchief.
“Thank you,” Bennett wiped his eyes.
“You know,” Gunter said slowly, “I’m not really the best person to give advice about this…”
Bennett’s lower lip trembled. Immediately he looked like the child he still was.
“I don’t really struggle with lust towards other people. Perhaps–”
“I know!” Bennett blurted out.
Gunter’s blood turned cold. “You know? What do you know?”
“That you’ve never been in love. I heard the monks talking about it while you were in Lundenburg. That’s why I came to you! You can help me!”
Gunter swallowed. He wasn’t sure how much he could help anyone at that moment. The image of his weeping child filled his head again. He couldn’t protect her during their most vulnerable moment…
“You…you recently turned thirteen, correct?”
Bennett nodded. “Y-yes sir.”
“Thirteen is around the age feelings like these start to become more…prominent. During this time you will have these thoughts and feelings. As you grow older the thoughts and urges will lessen.”
“Wh-what should I do now, sir?”
“Take cold baths, avoid meat, fast.”
“Oh.” Bennett moved his fingers again. The abbot and the oblate stared at each other. Dread filled Gunter as he realized Bennett wasn’t going to go away.
Gunter leaned back in his chair. Traveling and this conversation exhausted him. Bennett glanced at his stomach. Gunter folded his hands over his stomach in an attempt to hide his body. “You know…when I was younger I struggled as well. Sometimes I still struggle.”
“You do? I thought…I thought you didn’t feel that way.”
“Everyone feels some sort of way. You aren’t alone.”
To Gunter’s alarm, Bennett began to sob again. It was the same sound of relief Gunter had made when he knew he wouldn’t be forced into motherhood. Gunter hesitated, but patted Bennett’s shoulder with the tips of his finger. “Er, there, there. Don’t–don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Bennett wiped his face with Gunter’s handkerchief.
“You’ve shown a lot of maturity today. Something I cannot say regarding the majority of my flock.” Gunter sighed. He really wished Bennett would leave him be.
“I–I agree,” Bennett flicked his fingers. “I don’t think–I don’t think Brother Christopher was being very kind to you. You–er–how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Gunter lied.
“Are you throwing up? Brother Theobald threw up. His stomach was always bothering him. Is yours bothering you? If it is, maybe we should do something. We should start praying! I think if we prayed for Brother Theobald more before–”
Gunter held up his hand. “Enough. What happened to Brother Theobald was God’s will. I am fine. I’ve recovered from my illness and allowed my gluttony to overtake me in the process. It will not happen again.”
Please God, Gunter prayed, Please let it not happen again.
Bennett let out a sigh of relief. “Oh good. That you’re recovered! I think–er–I don’t care what anyone else says, sir. I don’t think you look bad. Sir.”
Gunter raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
Bennett broke out into a genuine smile. “You–you look like me!”
Gunter blinked. What the hell was Bennett talking about? Did he know? Was he…? No. No, Gunter had seen Bennett in the monastery’s bathhouse along with all the other monks during their weekly bath. Bennett was not referring to that .
“Pardon?” Gunter asked.
Bennett flapped his hands. He did that when he was happy. Gunter would have to tread very carefully not to finally upset the boy.
“We look similar,” Bennett said, “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” He stopped flapping his hands and flicked his fingers. “Do you?”
“No,” Gunter said quickly. “No, I don’t.”
Bennett flapped his hands again. There was a knock on the door.
“Abbot Gunter,” A voice said, “It’s me, Brother Finley. Is Bennett in there with ye?”
“Yes, he is.”
Brother Finley opened the door. “Whit did I tell ye about botherin’ the abbot?”
“Not to do it,” Bennett shrunk down.
“He wasn’t bothering me,” Gunter said. “I think…I think we had a conversation that was beneficial for both of us.”