Chapter 62: Angel After Hours (Patreon)

The inside of the gargantuan church of life could be likened to that of a greenhouse, standing in stark contrast to that of the decadent cathedral in Gent. There, the beauty of the architecture seemed a deeper priority than the sanctity of the plant life within. Here, the roles were reversed. The plants seemed the primary focus, to the point where there was no proper walkway or paving or basic amenities. Countless fruit-bearing trees blocked the path at every point.

The roots of the gargantuan tree looming above winded about the place, serving as both railings and stepping stones at points. Viviene led Willem confidently through the church as if she’d been here many times before. There were countless servants of the goddess of life roaming about, busily tending to the life that was there. Everyone here seemed happy, working diligently.

“Here,” Viviene finally said as they branched off. “He maintains this vineyard.”

Willem wasn’t overly surprised to hear that a monk maintained a vineyard—historically, monks were one of the primary proliferators of alcohol in Europe, many of their monasteries serving as the heart of grand breweries. Even monks needed to put food on the table, after all—faith alone wouldn’t sustain them. He followed Viviene along, but noticed some peculiarities. In particular, there were floating gardening tools just about everywhere. They harvested the grapes and tended to the plants diligently.

“Never realized magic could be so efficient,” Willem commented. “Or autonomous.”

“That’s not magic manipulating those,” Viviene said. “That’s Sybrand’s aura.”

Willem didn’t know how to respond to that, but he did look a little closer. True to her word, there were faint golden glows drifting around the tools, linked by the faintest wisps of gold.

“Since you’re ignorant, I’ll tell you that being able to maintain such fine control of his aura with so many different objects is indeed incredibly impressive,” Viviene said. “It may be weak control, but it’s nevertheless control. Not just any aura user could do this. In fact, I’d venture to say that Sybrand alone has the necessary skills.”

They made it to the back where there was a humble wooden cottage. Sitting out on the stoop was an incredibly large man who wore no shirt. He had long blonde hair tied into eight braids, and a long beard bound into one braid. He was very fat to the point where it seemed the rocking chair he sat on was bending, but when he rose to his feet, it became obvious he was also very tall. His face was reddened from drink.

“Vivi the Vixen!” the man shouted, and then rose to his feet with a cheerful laugh. Behind, all of the gardening tools fell to the dirt. “Oooh, and if it isn’t Wicked Willem. Wild Will.” He stomped down the stairs leading up to his stoop, a big grin on his face. He had the sort of demeanor and cadence of voice that was difficult to avoid smiling at.

“Hello, Sybrand,” Viviene said, stepping forward to meet his hearty hug without a second thought. “You’re still ample as ever.”

“Ahh, what fun it is to be ample, no?” He framed his stomach with his huge hand. “Hahaha! But you… you’ve changed! Got a light in your eyes that I haven’t seen in a long while from you. Like there’s purpose to your visit—to your being.” He turned toward Willem.

“And you!” Sybrand walked up, slamming a hand on Willem’s shoulder. He towered over him—must’ve been four, five inches taller, and weighing well over four hundred pounds. “What’s in your eyes, hmm? No more madness, looks like. No more wildness. Or…” He peered into Willem’s eyes, his own blue irises dancing. “No, it’s there. But you’ve caught it, grasped it. Well, good for you! I’m pleased. Very pleased. Well, come in, come in. I’ll prepare some of my finest wine.”

At that Sybrand turned and left them standing there. Willem looked at Viviene questioningly.

“Sybrand has a rather unique interpretation of the scriptures,” Viviene explained, walking up the stairs. “He spends every day living his life to its fullest.”

“I can get behind that,” Willem said, following along.

Within the house there were several people strewn out across the floor, unconscious. It looked like the lingering remnants of a legendary party. Sybrand picked up a dwarf and put him on the table to clear a path, then retrieved a keg off the shelf. He turned around to place it on the table, brushing aside the dwarf back onto the floor.

“Where’s the damn spout…?” he muttered, turning the keg about looking for it. “Hell with it.” He pierced the wood with his thumb, pouring it into a large bowl on the table. “Come, come. Don’t mind the furniture. Kick them if you’d like—my new initiates in the order can’t hold their liquor. That’ll change.”

Willem didn’t mind, clearing a path until he could grab a chair. Sybrand offered him a bowl of wine, and then one for Viviene. Lastly Sybrand took the keg himself, drinking from it straight. He spilled amply before setting it on the table.

“So, you’re a high-functioning alcoholic, right?” Willem began without preamble. “Viviene seems to think you can do something for us.”

“No no no,” Sybrand said, shaking his head firmly. “First, we do life advice. A little tradition.”

Viviene looked over to Willem. “Just listen,” she suggested.

“First… Vivacious Viv,” Sybrand said, leaning into the table. His eyes seemed to rumble, and there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. “Hmm… I see you treading a path unknown, one far kinder than the ruin you once walked. This road is bright, laden with love and joy. But shadows linger at its edges. Something—someone—fades in your wake. A piece of the past still calls to you, a key left behind, without which old ghosts will never rest.”

Upon hearing the esoteric speech, Willem realized he had a hippie psychic for an uncle. He seemed a good soul, but…

“And you, Big Will,” Sybrand turned his head. “The past clings to you like a fading scent, a ghost of what was. You walk forward, yet a part of you lingers in footprints long washed away. The fire within you wanes not for lack of heat, but for want of a new flame.”

“Want to say it straight?” Willem asked.

Sybrand slammed the table with his fist, and then pointed at Willem. “Move on! She has. If you don’t, in your next cycle you’ll reincarnate as a naked mole rat that’s the pet of some sadistic boy.”

Willem gaped, wondering if he was being conned or if the man genuinely had some inner vision.

“As for Small Will… boy’s learning from your mistakes. All that he needs fear is complacency, or enlightenment will slip from his grasp.” Sybrand shook his head fiercely, fat jowls shaking. “Woo… alright, done. That takes a lot out of me.” He took a long, long drink from the keg, then exhaled loudly. “Was the advice helpful?”

“I think so,” Viviene confirmed. “But mostly for Willem. Still, I think you’ve given him something to chew on.”

“Chew on?” Willem looked down. “No, he gave me something to drink,” he said, taking a long drink of the wine. He was trying to act like he wasn’t bothered, but the words lingered.

Despite how poorly Sybrand had treated it, the drink was positively delectable. It tasted like the sweetest wine Willem had ever had, to the point where he felt he could drink it all. The monk stroked his braided beard.

“An idea has just come to me. How about we go horseback riding through the meadows outside Ravenveld? The three of us, the wind in our hair, and at the end of it… a feast, and pints upon pints of the finest wine. My guarantee,” Sybrand proposed. “I know what you’re thinking—Sybrand, there’s no way a horse could carry your fat ass. Hahaha!” He leaned back in his chair, and it creaked in protest. “What do you think? Sounds like fun? Me, a bloated loaf of bread on a horse, and you two beautiful people. An inspiring sight for the people, to be sure.” He laughed and raised the keg to his mouth once more.

Viviene pushed aside her bowl of alcohol and leaned forward. “We were here to ask a favor of you.”

Sybrand slammed the table, and some wine sloshed out of Viviene’s bowl. “Damn it, you’ve convinced me. I’ll do it.” He started laughing after, and then spotted something. He leaned down and pried an apple out of one of his guest’s hands, and started eating it.

“You don’t care what it is?” Willem asked.

“My largesse is legendary,” he claimed, slapping his stomach and sending a great ripple through it. “And I have a particular soft spot for my former sister-in-law. Besides, I can already guess. All of my little nephews are in town. And when people come to me…” He leaned into the table. “It’s to help plan a good time.”

One of the legs of the table broke beneath his weight, but Sybrand caught it before it could fall with absurd reflexes.

“I’ll plan a grand event, with all of the eligible brides in attendance,” Sybrand promised. “Wait for word.”

Viviene rose to her feet. “You’re a sweetheart, Sybrand.” She tapped Willem. “Come on. Let’s not linger overlong.”

***

“I never thought anyone could render you quiet,” Viviene said. “All you managed was one jab about him being a high-functioning alcoholic.”

Willem looked back at the cottage as they exited the vineyard. “Is he always like that?”

“Yes. He calls the king himself Noud the Loud. He helped Arnoud marry.”

“The king is married?” Willem said. “Did he kill her, too?”

“She was assassinated,” Viviene said, then looked up. “That tree that you see, shading this building? It was planted upon her grave. She was a very faithful adherent to the goddess—perhaps the only reason he hasn’t interfered with the church excessively.”

“Huh,” Willem remarked, looking up at the tree. “Then, that woman in the trunk is…?”

“It represents both the goddess and his late wife, Asher,” Viviene said. “Arnoud claims they’re one in the same in his mind.”

“So… Sybrand’s got some achievements under his belt, then,” Willem said, thinking about an obese cupid. “If he managed to find a wife for that prick with mommy issues, then he’s a master.”

“Yes, well… don’t repeat that observation to anyone but me,” Viviene said with a hint of amusement. “People call Sybrand the Guru of Love and Life. His Sybrandian Order represents the wilder, whimsical aspects of life,” Viviene explained. “Romances of passion that spring into lifelong successes. As you might imagine, his order is quite desirable… but even amidst what you’ve seen, he still manages to impart great spirituality upon people. No one could take his place.”

“And what about him?” Willem asked. “Eighty bastards?”

“No, he’s happily married to a priestess. She’s a small girl, almost like a songbird. But… well, you drink that much…” Viviene shook her head. “I’m sure you don’t need me to paint the picture.”

“Ah, the old whiskey wood. The bourbon bust. The beer bellows.” Willem rattled off terms, and Viviene looked at him, and he finished, “Spirited shrinkage.”

Viviene shook her head, though sported a smile. “Just so. Frankly, he’s so open-hearted and wise it’s difficult to liken him to another. He’s a rather singular person.”

“Don’t laugh, but…” Willem hesitated. “No, never mind.”

Viviene stopped. “Has saying ‘never mind’ ever dissuaded someone who cares? Just tell me.”

“Alright. He…reminds me of my wife a little,” he said quietly. “Not the appearance of course, but… the personality. The kind of person where it’s hard not to smile around them, because they’re so happy and genial.”

“I understand what you mean,” Viviene said. “Infectious.”

“Maybe I’m just thinking that because he told me to move on,” Willem mused.

“Perhaps it’s a sign,” Viviene said. “The contest is near, after all.”

“Eighty-seven. Twenty,” Willem reminded her. “Sixty-seven-year difference.”

“I saw you reading that trash romance. The vampire is thousands of years older than her,” Viviene reminded him. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t think about it a little.”

“How would you know it has a vampire?” Willem looked over. “The title doesn’t reveal it. That’s supposed to be the twist.”

“I read the book, same as you,” Viviene said, clearly unashamed.

“You called it trash,” Willem reminded her.

“I love trash. Why do you think I love you two?” she said, ruffling his hair.

Willem felt a little off-balance. Love. It warmed his heart a little, but… he wasn’t certain if he could give it back, yet. He walked on with Viviene in silence, but sported a faint smile.

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