The Best of the Realms, Book I

THE ROSE WINDOW

Monte Cook

I hope against hope that no one ever reads this.

I suppose I learned the truth the day beforeyesterday, but it all started a few tendays before that. You see, I was therewhen the Abbey of Byfor was torn down. I had to go. Loremaster High Tessen hadbeen my mentor. It was like paying my last respects to an old friend.

The late autumn day was overcast and gray, with acold, northerly wind tearing at us with angry talons. All those attending kepttheir cloaks tightly wrapped around themselves like armor against the chill. Iwas surprised at how many had come to take part in the simony that took place.

The abbey was old, and had not actually functioned asa monastery in many years. Nevertheless, until recently, it had still servedthe surrounding community as a place of worship one day in ten and shelter intimes of inclement weather. Now, however, the western wall had begun tocollapse and the roof sagged so badly that the local masons claimed thebuilding was no longer safe. A man named Greal had taken over the abbey afterthe bishop's death a few years earlier. I never was able to determine exactlywhat station he held in church hierarchy, if any. Greal claimed that he had nocoin to instigate the necessary repairs, so he began selling the stone andfurnishings alike. He claimed to hope that with the coin he raised he couldbuild a new church, dedicated to Oghma, for the local folk.

I stood outside the decaying edifice and watched asyoung men carried pews, the lectern and even the stone-topped altar out intothe barren, leaf-covered yard. I saw people come and go, purchasing all of theold accouterments that had served the abbey and its parishioners forgenerations. Later in the day-I had not moved-I saw the young men brandishhammers and tools. Soon, I knew, the stones from the abbey would be taken awayand used to build pasture walls and farm houses.

Something-perhaps fate, but now I'm not so sure-bid meto look up to the abbey's tall roof. There, high upon the gable, was thebeautiful rose window that I remembered so well from my time as an acolytethere. The round window was fitted with light blue-green glass that formed anextremely complex rose pattern. Though it was dull in that day's gray sky, Iknew that in any brighter sunlight it scintillated like a jewel with abrilliant cascade of light.

I left my spot and approached the man called Greal,reaching into an inner pocket in my cloak. I produced a bag of gold-all that Ihad. He turned toward me with a foul expression.

"Excuse me, sir," I began, "but Iunderstand that you are selling the abbey's, ah, parts." His expressionsoftened, and I continued. "Well, you may not know this, but I once helda position here as a seeker-an acolyte-before I was given my own parish. LoremasterHigh Tessen was the priest at the time-my mentor."

Greal's dark gray eyes were flat and his mouth was drawn thin. Hefolded his arms in front of him, but did not say a word.

"Well," I said, "that old rose windowmeant a lot to me." I pointed at it, and his eyes followed my gesture."I would be willing to pay you for it, so that I could put it in my ownchurch."

"Really," he did not ask, but stated.

A light came to his eyes as he turned back toward me.His tight mouth was tense.

"Yes, it would be an excellent …" Isearched for the right word."… reminder of the Loremaster High and hissteadfast faith."

Greal smiled, and I cannot say that I liked it. It wasthe wide, tight-lipped grin of a predator.

"Yes," he said finally. "An excellentreminder. He was an inspiration to us all."

He held out his hand, and I dropped the purse in it.Emptying the coins into his wide, soft hand, he counted slowly. The sightdisturbed me, so I looked up at the window instead. Though it cost me greatly,I knew that I would enjoy the window and the remembrance of Tessen for manyyears to come.

Satisfied with the price, Greal told the young men toclimb up and carefully remove the window for me. I had come to the abbey in mysmall wagon, and there was room for the window. It all seemed like fate hadmeant for it to be, for not long after I was driving my team back across thevalley to my parish home.

Within a tenday, I had hired some men of my own tocome to the church and help me install the window high above the floor of thesanctuary. There I knew it would bring brilliant light down upon the worshipersduring each Binding and Covenant, our morning and evening rituals. The windowwould glorify Oghma as well as the faith of Loremaster High Tessen. I was gladdened.Once it was in place, I noticed that young Pheslan, my own seeker, wastransfixed by the window.

"It's so wonderful," he said, "and yetso odd."

I looked up at the window myself, and at the portlyPheslan, and asked, "Odd?"

"Forgive me, brother, I mean no disrespect. It isnot odd in an ill fashion. It's just… the pattern. Each time I look at it Isee something new. Some different facet to the way the glass has been fitted,or some new way the light plays upon the angles. Yes, that's it. It is theangles that are so fascinating."

Looking at the window again, I had to admit that hewas right. It was fascinating.

"The workmanship of those days has known no equalsince," I said, knowing that such was something that elders always said tothe young.

I smiled at the thought, and at the boy as we bothbathed in the blessing of sunlight and looked at the beauty of the rose window.

As the next few tendays passed, I became concernedwith other things. Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge and the Wise God, bids hisservants to spread information and dispense learning as well as watch over thewell-being of the worshipers as we guide them toward enlightenment. Thus, theduties of a parish priest are legion, but I suppose that this is not the time todescribe them. Let it suffice to say that I was preoccupied-so much so that Ipaid little attention to the fact that young Pheslan was still enraptured withthe rose window. One night, after Covenant, we finished our duties and sat downto our simple meal. He told me that he had seen something strange in thewindow. I listened only halfheartedly, for I was very tired.

"It must be within the pattern of the glass, orthe facets," he explained.

We sat at a small wooden table in the room that liesbetween our sleeping chambers at the back of the church. It was dark, the onlylight coming from a lamp on the table at the center of our meager feast.

"What must?" I said, my mouth full of bread.

The young acolyte was too agitated to eat.

"As I said, brother," he said, "therewere things that seemed to move in the window as the sun set."

"You mean the light played upon the glass,"I said, swallowing.

"Yes, probably." His eyes lowered.

"What do mean, 'probably?"

"Well, it seemed so real," he replied,looking into my eyes. "They moved."

"What moved?"

"The images in the window. It was as though somethingwas on the other side."

"Perhaps there was something on the other side,Pheslan." I was becoming slightly irritated. "A bird?"

"But I went outside and looked," he said."There was nothing."

I drank the last bit from my cup and stood.

"Then it was indeed the light of the setting sunplaying upon the glass," I concluded. "Enough now, Pheslan. It istime for bed."

With that we retired. Pheslan was nothing if not obedient.It makes me …

Well, let me finish the tale first.

Two more days passed, and Pheslan said nothing moreabout the window. He was quiet, and slow to finish his duties. I knew I neededto talk to him, but I was just too busy. Later, there would be time.

The night of the second day, after retiring, I heard astrange noise. I had been reading in bed as I often did before blowing out mylamp and going to sleep. I heard the noise again. It sounded as if it wascoming from outside the church. Perhaps someone was knocking at the door. Iplaced my marker in the book, threw the blankets back and made my way to thefront of the church in my nightclothes. Thesound came again, it struck me as though something was scratching on theoutside wall of the building.

The stone floor was cold on my bare feet so I hurriedthrough the dark, only my intimate knowledge of the place keeping me frombumping into anything until I entered the sanctuary. There, the light of thefull moon shone through the rose window lighting my way to the narthex and thedoor.

Though there are dangers in the night, even in ourpeaceful valley, I never bolted the door. The church should always be open, Ibelieved, always there to welcome the poor as well as those in need ofknowledge, Oghma's sacred gift. I opened the door and looked out into the darknight. A bitter wind blew dead, brown leaves all around the yard in front ofthe church.

I could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Again, I heard the scraping. Something was outsidescraping against the stone walls of the church. A tree? It had sounded big, soI had thought it best to check. Despite my lack of shoes, a cloak, or a light,I went outside. As I made my circuit of the building I saw nothing. No treegrew so close as to have its branches move against the walls. My eyes spottedno person or animal that could have done it, but my night vision is poor, andit was very dark.

Yet had there not been the light of the full mooncoming through the rose window? I looked up. The clouds were thick. Besides, Iknew very well-now that my wits were about me-that there was no full moon thatnight.

I went back inside. Yes, both the sanctuary and navewere full of cool, blue-tinted light and it shone through the rose window. As Ilooked up at the window, I knew I had to check. So, steeling myself against thecold, I returned to the outside.

No light. I hurried around to the north side of thechurch, the side that held the rose window. No light. I looked up at the windowbut it looked perfectly normal, or at least as far as I could see in the dark.

Again, I returned to the sanctuary. Yes, it was stillfilled with light (was it dimmer now?). I looked up at the window, and down atthe lighted church. As I stood there, between the sets of wooden pews in thenave leading up to the altar, the light cast a shadow from the window allaround me. To my horror, it was not the rose-shaped shadow it should have been,but that of some great inhuman beast! As I looked down at my feet, I saw thatI stood directly in the gaping mouth of the creature's shadow.

I ran. Yelling for Pheslan, I rushed to the back ofthe church. He came out of his room, his eyes filled with alarm and sleep.Without a word, I grabbed from the night stand the blank scroll that served asa symbol of Oghma's might and led him into the nave.

All was dark.

"Get a light," I commanded with a whisper.

"What is it?"

"Get a light!"

He lit one of the many candles surrounding the altarand brought it forward. It occurs to me now that Pheslan knew the church aswell as I did, for he had found the flint in the dark to strike that light. Ah,Pheslan.

In any event, the candle's light illuminated much ofthe room, albeit dimly. I looked around carefully, first at the floor where theshadow had been, then up at the window.

"Please, Brother," Pheslan said, "tellme what it is."

"I thought I saw something," I saidcarefully-still looking around.

He replied without hesitation, "In thewindow?"

"Yes, I suppose. Actually, it was a shadow from alight in the window."

Pheslan looked at me. His eyes were full of questions.I had the same questions.

"I have no idea, my son."

I put my hand on his shoulder and, with one last lookaround, led him back to our chambers.

I took the candle from him.

"Oghma watches over us, Pheslan," I said."Just because we do not understand, we can know that he does, for nosecret is hidden from him. Besides, while the sights of the night are oftenfrightening, the morning light always dispels the fear they bring. Everythingwill be fine. I should know better, at my age, than to be scared ofshadows."

He smiled and nodded.

After the boy went into his room, I paused. Still holdingthe candle I went to the front door and bolted it. I did not stop to look atthe rose window.

The next day, just to be on the safe side, I performedevery blessing and banishment that I've ever been taught, hoping that divinepower might cleanse the rose window and the sanctuary itself. Those protectiverituals and prayers would surely protect us from any evil that might have beenpresent the night before.

The rest of the afternoon I spent caring for MakkisHiddle, who had taken ill a few miles down the road. My position as loremastermade me also the most knowledgeable healer in the tiny community. In anyevent, I did not return until well after dark. Like the previous night, thewind blew from the north and made my trip cold and unpleasant. I unhitched theteam and put them in their stalls in the barn behind the east end of thechurch. They seemed uneasy and stamped and snorted until I calmed them with anapple that I had been saving for myself. As I walked to the front door, Irounded the north side of the building and looked up.

As I watched, a shadow moved across the colored panesof the rose window. It was big-big enough to be a person. My first thought wasof Pheslan. Had he climbed up there somehow? I ran into the sanctuary, but allwas still. I could see nothing unusual at the window.

The room was lit by a lamp on the altar. Pheslan knewthat I would arrive late, and left it for me, as he always did. I knew, too,that I would find some food and wine left waiting for me on the table. I smiledat the thought, and sighed. I was making a fool of myself with all this nonsense.I ate quickly and went to bed.

That night I awoke, startled. The scraping noise wasback. It sounded a little like a dog scratching at the door of his master'shouse, hoping to get in-a big dog. I lit my bedside lamp with a flame from the coalsin the brazier that attempted in vain to keep the chill from my room.When I opened my door, I could see that the door to Pheslan's room was alreadyopen. I looked in to find it empty. The boy had obviously risen-perhapsawakened by the noise as well?

Then I heard the scream.

I ran into the sanctuary, the flame of my lamp almostgoing out as it passed through the cold air. I looked frantically about.

"Pheslan?" I called out. My voice wasswallowed by the dark emptiness of the room. How had I grown so afraid of myown sanctuary? "Pheslan, boy-where are you?"

No answer came.

My eyes were drawn to the rose window. Dark shapesseemed to move across its surface. Was that light playing against the facets?(How long could I tell myself that?)

I longed for a closer look at the window, but therewas no way for me to climb to that height without a ladder, and that would bedifficult in the dark. I called out again for Pheslan.

I went outside and checked the barn. The horses andwagon were still there. I checked all around the outside of the building, stillcalling for my young friend.

"Pheslan!"

By the time I had searched the inside of the churchagain, the light of dawn was evident, and I blew out my lamp. I knew what I hadto do. I returned to the barn and got the ladder. I maneuvered it into thechurch, despite its weight and size and set it below the rose window. I do notknow exactly what I thought I would find up there, but I grabbed a heavycandlestick from the altar and held it tightly in my grip. Taking a deepbreath, I began to climb.

When I reached the top, I held on to the top rung ofthe ladder with one hand, and gripped the candlestick in the other like aweapon. I peered through the window.

I had no idea what I was seeing. I gazed through therose window and beheld some other place-this was not the churchyard. Instead Isaw some infernal realm of shadows and slime-covered things that slithered overa blasted and dreadful landscape. Something flitted across the sky onbatlike wings that seemed to leave a trail of greasy residue behind thecreature. This window did not look outside. Or rather it did-but not theoutside, the Outside. My eyes saw beyond the veil of our world. My mind wasbesieged by the knowledge that there were places on the other side of the rosewindow, and they were terrible. The things in those places, I also knew, wantedto get to the inside-to our world.

Gods! I knew all at once that this window was a thingof evil. No longer (or was it ever?) a fine piece of some glazier's workmanship,no longer bits of blue-green stained glass cleverly pieced together. The rosewindow was a sorcerous, corrupted thing. It gave me a view no man should eversee. But what else did it give? Was it some kind of portal, or doorway?

I raised the candlestick, my eyes tearing with fearand hatred. I was going to smash the window-shatter it and its evil, to erasethe loathsome view that it provided. This would be no defilement ordesecration, for the window did not actually belong in a holy place, yet still Istopped. One thought came to me (from where?). If I smashed the window, would Idestroy it, or would I let in those things that seethed and writhed in thatinfernal realm? Would shattering the window prevent them from coming through,or would it grant them passage? A burglar in the night often smashes a windowto get in. Smashing it for him only makes his entrance easier.

I had to think-but not at the top of that ladder.There, I could still see into that nightmare realm, and worse, I think thethings beyond could see me. I climbed down and slumped on the floor next to thealtar.

I was at a loss. What could I do? Was Pheslan gone?Was that his scream I had heard, or something else? Had he somehow disappearedinto the window? That seemed so impossible. What would Tessen have done in thissituation?

My thoughts were always drawn back to my old mentor intimes of crisis. I thought of Tessen, and the old abbey, and-

Oghma preserve us.

I saddled one of the horses-I cannot recall which oneanymore. I am not much of a rider, but I thought that I could move fasterriding just one than in the wagon. I rode through a good deal of the morning,across the valley to the old abbey.

The men had worked fast. Only some of the foundationstones were left. Everything was gone, including any clue I had hoped to findregarding the nature of the rose window. The wall where it had set for over onehundred years had been torn down. The floor where it had cast its shadows wastorn apart and covered with rubble, dirt, and leaves.

I stood in the middle of all this and wept. Tessen hadcommitted a sin against Oghma that could never be forgiven. He had kept asecret, and a terrible secret at that. Had he been a guardian over that window,or its servant? I certainly could remember no hint of the malevolence that thewindow now displayed.

Finally, I could weep no more and I got back on myhorse. Perhaps it was just my training in Oghma's priesthood, but I neededinformation to confront this challenge. When I had been here last, I hadlearned of one more place that I could go to find the answers I sought. I beckonedmy steed back onto the road, and led it into the village nearby, to where Ihad heard that Greal lived and had set up his temporary new church.

Once I arrived, nearly exhausted now, I slid to theground. I knocked on the door. When there was no response, I knocked again,pounding now.

"Master Greal?" I shouted.

Still nothing.

"Master Greal, it is Loremaster Jaon."

I continued my pounding, stopping only to confirm thatthe door was locked.

"I must ask you about the rose window I purchasedfrom you!"

My pounding fist accompanied each word like a drumbeatin some southern jungle ritual.

"I need to ask you about Loremaster HighTessen!"

Completely expired, I collapsed against the door. "Tellme," I moaned. "Tell me what we were really worshiping in thatabbey!"

As I rode back to my parish, I knew that someone hadseen me. There had been eyes on me the whole time that I had spent pounding onthat door. And as I had sat there, exhausted in the damp soil in front ofGreal's home, the autumn leaves blowing around me like dead memories that mayvery well have been lies, someone watched. No one in that entire town had comewhen I called out. No one answered their door, but I knew that I was beingwatched. Even now….

How many of them were there, that had taken part in thefoul rites that I could only imagine must have taken place in front of thatrose window? Had those rituals gone on even when I had been there? Could I havebeen so naive? Could-no, I would not think of it anymore. It was too hard, andtoo painful, and there were still things that needed doing back in my ownchurch.

Which brings me to right now.

I am writing this the day after I went to the site ofthe old abbey. I have not yet slept nor eaten. When I came back, I had hopedagainst hope that Pheslan would be here, and that somehow I would have beenwrong. But I was not wrong, and he was not here. I dressed myself in thevestments of my order-white shirt and pants, and the kantlara, a black vestwith gold brocade. My kantlara was made for me by my grandmother, who had alsobeen a loremaster. I prepared my holy symbol and brought out the staff that Ikept by the door for emergencies-the staff with its ends shod in iron and madefor fighting. I prepared to make my move, and take my stand against the evilthat I myself had brought to my parish.

But I waited. What if I was wrong, as I had thought before?What if I let those things through? I somehow told myself that it could not be.An evil thing, like the rose window, must be destroyed. Only good could comefrom destroying it. Perhaps it could even free Pheslan from whatever held him.If indeed he still lived.

I spent the rest of yesterday at the bottom of theladder, which I had never moved from its spot below the window. I looked up,but all day long, I saw only the blue-green stained glass. No movement, noshadows, nothing. Somehow, my indecision still prevented me from climbing toeven the first rung.

So after so many hours of arguing with myself, pushedfarther past exhaustion than I have ever been, I began writing this manuscripton the nightstand in my bedchamber.

On these few sheets of parchment, penned throughoutthe night, I have put my story. Now, as I finish, I prepare myself to climbthat ladder. I will smash the rose window, and destroy every last shard. If Iam right, and the evil is over, I will return here to this manuscript and throwthese pages into the fire so that none shall ever learn of these horribleevents. But if I am wrong, you are reading this now. If that is the caseperhaps you-whoever you are-will know what can be done to right my wrongs.

I am ready.