Brotherhood of Shades. Dawn Finch

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      “Father Dominic was correct. Within one year, the heads of the great houses sent representatives to talk to him and let him explain how his new Brotherhood would function. The good father had discovered a text that could manifest a spirit indefinitely. These spirits could then maintain the Brotherhood and continue to assist those passing ungrieved-for long after the monasteries had been forgotten. The father had also had visions, visions that he described as images of angels, including the Archangel Uriel, who explained the Ritual of Sustainment to him. This he recorded and adapted to suit the needs of his new Brotherhood.

      “He believed that if the Brotherhood was formed entirely of spirits – Shades – then King Henry and his Dissolution of the Monasteries could not affect them. The plans were put into motion and five monks were chosen from five different holy orders to assist with the new Brotherhood. Franciscan, Benedictine, Carthusian, Augustinian and Dominican monks all represented the views of their houses and brought ancient texts to form a central library. They arrived with their servants to meet in one of the last abbeys to resist the Dissolution, a Norman-built Benedictine abbey in Hertfordshire.”

      The walls around Adam changed again and flaking-plaster pillars painted with vivid depictions of the crucifixion replaced the creamy stone of the previous abbey. He stood in a nave once more, but this one seemed much longer, and the wooden roof rose higher above him. The building was busy with the movement of monks in black habits bustling around, filling crates with everything that was not nailed down. Pews were pushed back and stacked one upon another in a messy heap of wood that cleared the aisle, allowing the men to rush backwards and forwards in their work.

      Ahead of Adam, right at the end of the nave, stood four monks, two in robes of brown, one in white and one in black. The man in black was Father Dominic and he clutched a small, cream-coloured book close to his body. The other men stood by a long table draped in burgundy velvet that rested in front of the high altar. They pored over the many books that lay scattered across its surface. Overlooking them, the high altar screen rose almost to the roof. This simple wooden panelling bore no decoration save for a plain shelf carrying a large crystal crucifix that caught occasional beams of light and cast them in prismatic colours on to the illuminated texts.

      “We shall never complete this,” one of the men complained. “This is a fool’s errand. We will all die in this task. Even as we speak, the king’s men grow ever closer. They were expected in Wycombe only this morning. It is not a day’s ride from here. It will be our legacy that we threw our final moments away on such a waste of time.”

      “No,” Father Dominic insisted in his soft but forceful tone, “it shall be done. We are closer than we have ever been. We just need a little more time, a few hours, and a suitable candidate. I have kept the Sisters of Southwark informed of our progress and all is in readiness for the first full trial of our methods. We must be patient as we do not know how much time . . .”

      A deafening pounding interrupted them as the great west door was hammered on. The men all looked to the monk who had rushed to the small spyhole in the door.

      He called out to them. “The king’s men!”

      “Our time is lost,” the white-robed monk said in an urgent tone, grabbing the books from the table. “We must hasten from this place with these books; they must not fall into the hands of the king’s men else it will give him all the evidence he needs to raze every monastery and convent to the ground.”

      “Quickly!” Father Dominic shouted to the other Benedictines who had gathered near the door. “Bar it well; it will give us a little time. The other doors are already sealed as I anticipated this. Where is my servant?”

      “Here, father.” A young boy ran to his side.

      “Boy, come with me. I have to add a little more to this text and then you must take it and the Master Text to the Sisters, as we have planned. You know what you must do?”

      “Yes, father,” the boy replied. “On my life, I shall see it done.”

      “Good lad,” the father said and ruffled the boy’s mop of black hair.

      The monks rushed to make sure that all was copied into one great volume. The hammering on the door grew greater and the other monks began to drag all that they could move to the door to create a barricade. Pews were piled in front of the door and the stem of the tall brass lectern jammed through the oak handles. Father Dominic hastily filled the final pages, ink spilling over his fingers as he dipped his quill with haste. A few last notes and, with the young servant hot on his heels, he ran into the recesses of the abbey to hide the texts from the king’s men just as they burst into the building.