Beside him another monk sat; the man threw back his cowl and smiled. Ignatius? eyes went a little wide. It was Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski, but as he?d first seen him as a postulant, the square hard face amused at his earnestness but in a way that was kindly, not mocking. ?Am I… is this…? ?No, you are not, my son,? the abbot answered. ?Then, you-?

Dmwoski laughed; it had been a rare thing on Mt. Angel, but it lit the warrior-cleric?s sternness like a candle through the glass shutter of a lantern. ?Not yet, as your life thread is drawn; there I am currently fighting the sin of despair, and grappling with a sea of troubles. Time is different here. Or rather, we?re not entirely in time as men understand it.? ?I always thought you would be a saint,? Ignatius blurted.

Dmwoski frowned.?All human souls are, potentially. I… have been allowed to progress.? ?And this is-?

Another chuckle:?And yes, this is where you think it is. Or as much of this… one of the many mansions… as you can currently understand. Think of it as a metaphor, but a true one.? ?Such peace,? Ignatius breathed, wondering.

He drew the air into his lungs, and then glanced behind him. A long table reached into dimness; someone was turning the pages of a text, and the bright colors drew him even through the glass and across the distance. ?Yet…? he said.?It does not feel in the least static.? ?Never. More like an endless high adventure; or rather, what an adventure should be. We cannot fully know Him, yet we can know ever more of Him; and in that is the completion of our natures. Come, walk with me, my son.?

They rose and folded their hands in the sleeves of their robes. A bell rang somewhere as they paced through the cloister and out the gateway, a great bronze throb that seemed to scatter brightness through the air. ?Why am I here, then, Father?? ?Partly as a reward. I flatter myself that I was a good judge of men, and choosing you for the mission to the east was perhaps the best decision I ever made. And you met one who is a far, far better judge; one who laid a charge upon you. Both of us are very pleased with you.?

Outside they walked on a country lane. Land rolled around them, green field and wood and orchard. It was like and unlike the land of little farms around his birthplace, like the summers of his remembered boyhood when the chores were done and he lay watching the clouds and dreaming vast formless dreams until his mother called him in for dinner. Far distant mountains climbed steep and blue, their peaks floating like ghosts of white. He thought the silver towers of a city rose in their foothills, tall and slender and crowned with banners. ?And partly you are here to give you heart for what is to come. Much depends on you.? ?Then…? He looked around.?Victory is not assured? Even though we have reached our goal??

Dmwoski shook an admonishing finger.? This is our common goal, my son. And no victory is ever assured until the very last. We are made in His image; and so we have freedom, which must necessarily include the freedom to fail. Adam and Eve walked with Him in unimaginable closeness when time itself was young, and they failed their test. Yet even their failure was redeemed, for mercy is infinite and grace fills all creation.? ?But… forgive me, Father, but if you are here, don?t you know whether we succeeded or failed?? ?No. That I am here is… sealed in Eternity, as it were. But how I arrived at this is still-from your point of view-contingent, because it is in Time, not in the eternal Now. Did I die defending the altar at the last, against a tide of triumphant darkness? Did I die of old age, in bed, with you among the watchers, contented and tired and longing for this with hope and confidence? That, my son, is up to you .? ?And where are my companions?? ?They also are being told as much Truth as they can bear, in the words that will mean most to them.? ?As am I?? Ignatius ventured.

Dmwoski laughed again.?There is one God, maker of Heaven and Earth,? he said.?Start with that, my son, for it is absolutely true. But you must build your own faith. That is something only you and God can do together.?

A bird flew from the hedgerow by them, caroling and trailing colorful feathers. Their sandaled feet scuffed through the thick white dust of the road; insects chirped. Beyond the hawthorn barrier apricots glowed like little golden suns in their world of green leaves.

Ignatius shook his head in rueful acknowledgment.?You still reward work accomplished with yet more work, Father!?

They laughed together. He stooped and picked up an acorn: ?I remember, Father, how once you lectured my class of novices and used a seed like this as a simile for the soul. How every stage of the tree?s long life was implicit in it, yet never guaranteed before it came to pass?? ?I?m glad you remember. I taught you as best I could… and what I taught you is true. Very true, I find. But not… complete.? ?How could it be?? Ignatius said.?Didn?t you tell me also that Truth is a ladder of many rungs, and that from each we gain a new perspective??

The abbot rested a hand on his shoulder; it was a light touch, but the younger monk felt a sudden shock at the depth of the contact. As if he was a ghost, a figment, and the contact had revealed him as unreal, a dream within a dream that strove to wake itself from illusion. ?I tried my best,? Dmwoski said.?I sinned as all men do, and sought forgiveness, and sinned again despite my wishes. Yet perhaps the most important thing I accomplished in my life was my part in forming you, my son.? ?That… is a humbling thought.?

Dmwoski snorted.?It should be! I merely had to be the best possible version of myself. For every day of your life, you must strive to be the chosen Knight of the Immaculata!? ?Yes,? Ignatius said, and was elsewhere.

Rudi Mackenzie made another step, and another. Arrows drifted past him, and he could see them turn as the fletching caught the air. He cast away the world-huge weight of his shield and knocked the sallet helm off his head. Their clatter on the cobbles was distant, like the beating of surf on beaches a world away. Mathilda staggered beside him, then slid to the ground and crawled, dogged and brave, and her love like a force behind him, pushing him forward into a world of resistant amber. A building loomed, handsome and simple, three stories of red brick with white pillars beside the door.

The door swung open, and light blazed from it. His hand went up before his eyes, but the light shone through it, through him, as if it were real and he a shadow. Within it was a shape, straight sweep of tapering blade, crescent guard, long double-lobed hilt, pommel of moon opal grasped in antlers. Pain keened into his ears, his eyes, his mind. A lifetime of it passed in each step. His foot touched the first step, the second, the threshold?Mother?? Rudi Mackenzie said, walking forward.

The three figures around the campfire looked up at him. His eyes flicked back and forth. The fire killed some of his night vision; he could sense huge trees rearing skyward, like the Douglas fir in the Cascades above Dun Juniper but grander still and with more deeply furrowed reddish bark. Scents like spice and thyme and flowers drifted on air just cool enough to make him glad of his plaid.

He glanced down for an instant. He was in shirt and kilt and plaid. The short slight redheaded figure in the middle wore a shift and arsaid, and leaned on a rowan staff topped by a silver raven?s head. On her left was a tall thin woman with black skin and broad features scored by age, her cropped cap of white hair tight-kinked, wearing unfamiliar clothes that had the look of a uniform. On her right was a not-quite-girl of a little less than his own age, long-limbed and blond and comely, in a strange outfit of string skirt, knit tunic, feathers and a necklace of amber-centered gold disks. ?Mother?? he asked again.