A Shepherd’s Duty
The priest looked up from the altar to the darkened streets outside. Noises… at this hour? In this weather? He wanted to ignore it, return to his clerical duties like a faithful father would. But he wavered, seeing his old sword peek out from under the altar. Voices of devotion clash with those of old duty. Put down your rosary, pick up your sword as you once did. The priest clutched the rosary to his heart, the beads a comforting smoothness in his fingers. Never again, he declared. The noises, however, sounded again, clearer, more… inhuman. Two thoughts became one, as faith and honor merged into a single goal. Pick up your sword. The priest, blessing his blade, rosary wrapped around hand and hilt, advanced to fulfill a shepherd’s duty.
As he opened the door and stepped into the rain to follow the source of the noise, he was greeted by a sight that confused him. Nothing. Not even a mouse running across the floor. Yet he was sure he heard something. Yet the soldier continued to believe he was not alone, and whatever presence there was hiding from him. Squaring himself, the priest continued, not satisfied with what he saw. As he drew further, the air began to grow heavy and foul, from more than just the rain that now soaked his robes, as if a poison were brought forth from some obscene depths.
“Foolish sheep,” a voice echoed. The priest froze, realizing he hadn’t heard anyone speak, but rather, had felt it vibrate through his very soul. “Thou would stray from your flock so brazenly, fearing not the wolf that stalks you.” The priest whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice, but all he saw was rain and fog. Whispered prayer passed through the priest’s lips as he raised his blade, ready to defend himself against whatever ruinous power that stalked him.
Behind you! the soldier screamed to the priest. He turned, sword raised, and caught the blade that sought his neck. As steel met steel, the priest gazed upon his attacker. The demonic visage sneered at him, “Run along now, little sheep. Unless you want to feel the wolf’s teeth.” The demon pushed him back with an inhuman force, sending the priest through the church door. He rose from the splintered remains, blood rushing from his face, and looked out in the rain, but the demon was gone. The priest felt laughter then, shaking his soul as the demon’s voice had when it taunted him before. The priest turned into the church, the holy ground offering the promise of respite to his now wounded body.
We cannot simply rest while such a creature roams! The soldier whispered in the priest’s mind.
If we could not stand to it with blessed steel, how can a disciple even hope to be spared? We must believe the people will use the power of God as we have, the priest reassured him as he tended to his body, pulling splinters from his face and hands. The spawn of Hell cannot stand against Him.
But they are not Him! the soldier protested. They are sheep without a shepherd! They are powerless against the wolf!
Then it will be our duty to serve as His shepherd, the priest said with conviction. The wolf is elusive; we must anticipate it.
An idea struck the priest then. When a shepherd is not enough to fight the wolves, he must summon his closest ally to protect his flock. The herding dog. The always loyal companion who can smell the wolves before the shepherd can see them and is prepared to fight as savagely as the wolf to protect his flock.
When dawn came, and the village awoke, the priest went to the square to find the blacksmith. Maximillian was a quiet man who was always a reliable soul when it came to his work. “Old friend,” the priest greeted him with a smile that showed none of the emotions he was feeling. “Do you still walk the light with an iron gaze?”
Maximillian looked up from his forge, “Always, good father. What troubles you?”
The soldier laughed in the priest’s mind. Same old Max, the most vigilant among all of us.
“This past night has troubled me greatly, my friend,” the priest began. “Powers from below have come, and I fear their dark work may plague the peace we have bled for once before.”
The smile vanished from Max’s face. As the priest looked upon him, he could see Max struggling to accept the news that something so monstrous would make its presence known.
“You’re certain? It is madness to consider that such a nightmare would come here,” Max admitted, not bothering to hide the doubt in his voice.
The soldier grimaced, wondering why his comrade would question him. The priest, however, did not falter.
“See for yourself, my friend. Come to the chapel.”
As the priest led Max to the church, the soldier was beside himself within. He doesn’t believe us. How can you be certain he will help?
He will, the priest reassured the soldier. We will show him what damage that foul presence wrought.
As they crested the hill, and the chapel was revealed to Max’s eyes, he gasped aloud, seeing the door reduced to mere shavings.
“Impossible. No human could ever crush this door so.” He looked at the priest, his mouth in a silent gape. “This is the work of those dark powers?” he asked incredulously.
“More than that, my friend.” The priest nodded solemnly. “It threw me to those doors with such strength that they were reduced to this state. I beseech you, old friend. We must rid ourselves of this wolf who has dared to stalk our sheep.”
Max’s gaze hardened, and he looked to the priest with new purpose. “What do you require of me, good father? What must this warrior do to fight this enemy?”
The soldier within was alight, thrilled by the idea of fighting with his ally. But the priest stayed himself, reminding the soldier that this enemy was not the same as what he knew. Finally, he spoke to Max, “We require more than just our arms or armor. This enemy requires faith, for it is the most reviled weapon among those the wolf fears.” The priest told Max, “My blessed steel was not enough to send it away.”
“Then it requires weapons forged in both steel AND faith.”
They set to work immediately. The priest blessed the very forge Max worked his craft in, as Max set to lighting the fire and melting the steel to practice his craft. As blades were forged and sharpened, the priest was there, calling upon the aid of the Archangel to alloy steel with holy might. The priest’s rosary, once ineffective on its own to dispel the demonic presence, was now burdened with a new purpose, having been inlaid to the blade’s hilt. The beads gleamed with light, as if it was eager to serve their new purpose as a tool to slay the wicked.
Max gave the sword to the priest, who beheld it with the soldier’s eye. Beautiful. They thought, turning it in their hands. A true weapon of God. The priest looked at Max, who was beginning to repeat the process over again. “Another will be required, good father. We shall raise our blades together again.” He said confidently. The soldier smiled, and the priest echoed the smile. “Indeed, old friend.” He spoke. “The darkness will regret this day.” As the priest went to fetch another rosary, Max continued his work, fashioning a second blade in holy steel. When the priest returned, the sword was ready. Rosary was inlaid to hilt just as before, and prayer was recited, blessing both blades once again to aid them against the enemies of the shepherd.
As the day waned, Max and the priest returned to the chapel with their consecrated steel. The soldier was remembering the old duty he had once sworn to, thinking about the last time he had taken up arms to fight. As technique and tactics began to come back to him, he thought about this new enemy they faced. The demon was an altogether different foe from what they had faced before. But the soldier found himself having faith in the priest. He had faith that the priest knew this enemy better than he did, and that he would guide the soldier in fighting this wolf that threatened the sheep.
Entering the chapel as twilight began to shine its golden hue, the priest gathered every holy vestige he could. Incense, holy water, crucifixes, and rosaries. He applied all his knowledge and blessing to the act of sanctifying their duty. Max and the priest recited every prayer in history, calling upon the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to defend them against the harrowing evil they were about to face. They prayed for strength, stamina, conviction, and bravery. In the face of darkness, they prayed to Michael for the strength he used to cast Satan into Hell.
As twilight became dust, they uttered one final prayer: “Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and forever shall be, world without end, Amen.” The priest looked at Max, seeing the man’s face alive with confidence and faith that he would achieve victory this night.
“Thank you, Maximillian. Thank you for joining me in this crusade.” He said with reverence, “May God protect you this night.”
Max looked at the priest with a smile, directed at the soldier. “Thank you, Edward, for giving me the faith to fight the darkness.” The two men picked up their swords and went out into the night, ready to fulfill a shepherd’s duty.
This night, there was no rain or fog, and their sight was blessed by a full moon. No evil would escape this time. The two men stood back to back, ever vigilant in their duty. While they were not impeded by the weather, the air held that same heaviness as it had that night the demon first made itself known. It was the same, as if a poison had become mixed in with the very air. The soldier looked out into the night, using old tactics to guide the priest. The men knew that the moment the demon showed itself, there wouldn’t be a moment to hesitate.
They felt it before they saw it. Laughter, piercing their souls. It was the same hideous laughter the priest had heard that night. The demon had returned. Max saw it first, a shimmering in the middle distance that was closing slowly.
“The lamb returns to the wolf. Eager to be slaughtered, perhaps? Your shepherd cannot save you now.” It rasped in a gravelly, inhuman voice.
It lunged at Max, aiming to fell him in one strike, but Max raised his sword to catch the demon’s twisted blade. Max didn’t hesitate; he pressed the advantage and caught the demon off guard, thrusting his sword into the demon’s chest with an efficiency that spoke to Max’s experience.
But as the demon clutched his wound, he only laughed again. “The lamb thinks it has teeth! But the pack will see to set you right!”
A shimmering force caged the two as the demons materialized, each looking for their own chance to cut the priest or the blacksmith down. But the sudden knowledge of being surrounded only seemed to steel their resolve as each man whispered a silent prayer, beseeching the Father for the strength of will to see their duty completed. As the priest stood back-to-back with Max, the soldier scanned the line of demons, taking stock of every detail and noting what might serve as an advantage. The demons descended upon them, each raising their weapon to strike.
What came next was a deadly dance of steel. Each demon took its shot at the men, and each time they were pushed back. What they were facing was not so much men as a wall, more than capable of weathering whatever punishment they could inflict. But demon is stronger than mortal, and their attacks, while being met with force, were beginning to leave their mark on the men. Exhaustion began to creep in, eating at the men like a hungry animal. But still they kept going, as demon after demon fell to them.
Their numbers seem to know no end! The soldier screamed at the priest.
And still, we must continue! The priest answered the soldier. He occupied his mind with prayer, reciting the familiar words with reverence as he continued to fell demon after demon. Max joined him in this prayer, a chant that filled the air and disrupted the demons, who reacted to this prayer as one might react to an allergy.
Their prayers, as it would turn out, would be answered. While the demons continued their fruitless efforts to end the two men, they didn’t notice light beginning to stream in from the horizon as the sun began to rise. But this sunrise was different from any other. As it began to peek into the sky, the demons screamed as it burned them. Holy light poured from the sun and began to incinerate the demons where they stood. The men collapsed on the ground as they finally succumbed to exhaustion, but they didn’t need to worry about being overrun, for the demons were, by the hundreds, being reduced to ash and scattering into the wind as the sun began to rise. Soon, the men beheld the sight of the chapel, and any demon that had been there was just a memory now, purged by the rising sun.
The priest laughed, and Max laughed, and the soldier laughed with them. None of them could believe that they had survived the night. And as the laughter died down, they returned to the chapel. Today was Sunday, after all, and the priest had a congregation to speak to. It is, after all, a Shepherd’s duty.
Andrew McMullen is a senior English Major and student athlete at Virginia Wesleyan University.