Old Habits

8 - Enlightenment

The sunlight was lost on Brother Hisaab.

With permission from the Abbot, he’d been investigating the old areas of the monastery. This afternoon, that meant an old, unused bell-tower which loomed sadly over the other buildings. Housing a large, copper bell, it had previously been used to dictate the time to the surrounding area.

However, this being Lydelia, the complaints had flown in. The bell, they said, scared away wildlife. It scared away trade. It scared away good weather.

Besides, why should the monks be able to force their concept of time onto everyone else? Wasn’t this a city of religious freedom? Wasn’t everyone entitled to their own beliefs? 

Such was the consistent frequency of complaints, that they became an indicator of the time in their own right.

Eventually, the King had responded to the people. This was midly surprising but, then again, monarchs like peace and quiet as much as anyone. After a brief trial, the Abbot had been issued with an anti-social behaviour order, and the bell-tower had been closed down. Modern alternatives, such as Abaye’s famous sundial-watches, had sprung up to fill the void.

The bell-tower, though, had been left empty. Abandoned to the elements, it had fallen into disrepair. It was barely noticed, until the wind came. Then, an eerie whistling noise could be heard through its dark, lonely windows. Some thought they could hear screams; the bitter cries of neglect, or a desperate plea for attention.

And, if the wind was really strong, bits would fall off.

Hisaab had spent the day assessing the tower, and didn’t like what he saw. He was looking for assets to sell, to reduce the monastery’s debt. Things that weren’t needed. The bell-tower fitted that description perfectly, and Hisaab would have loved to sell it. Not only was it not used, it wasn’t even usable; falling down by the day, the monks couldn’t afford to keep it. It didn’t cost very much in the way of money but, in terms of their health and safety, it could cost them all that they had.

The monastery couldn’t afford to keep the tower. However, they also couldn’t afford to sell it. The cost of safely disassembling and transporting the ancient structure, even if a buyer could be found, would far outweigh the revenue it could generate. The loss incurred would be so great that it would add to the debt, not reduce it.

It was certainly a problem for Hisaab. However, he didn’t despair; he hoped he could be saved by the bell.

Carefully crafted, ancient: even if a rich collector didn’t want it, the metal itself would be worth selling. Forget the tower and its problems; here was something that could be easily transferred, and wouldn’t really be missed. Oh, there would be complaints from some of the older monks, but they would soon forget something they never used. Hisaab had struck gold.

Or, to be precise, he’d bought a piece of land alleged to contain it. Hisaab had never actually seen the bell himself, only heard it described by other people. He was sure that the gold was in there; he just needed to find it for himself.

The sunlight was lost on Brother Hisaab, because he was halfway up the inside of the bell-tower. 

Inside these stone walls, he was completely cut off from the outside world. It was just him and… what was that fluttering sound?

“Hello?” he called out. No reply.

He shrugged it off. The Abbot probably just had bats in his belfry. Hisaab grinned to himself. Oh, how fitting that would be. He kept climbing, making steady progress along one of the wooden ladders roughly set into the tower’s walls. It probably wasn’t completely safe, but he had no choice. It was the only way up, and he needed that bell.

The rustling continued, up ahead. The noises grew louder as Hisaab approached; the bats, if that’s what they were, didn’t seem disturbed by his presence. After all, they’d had this tower to themselves for so long; they had no reason to fear a lone climber.

Hisaab had to keep reminding himself that the reverse was also true. He had no reason to fear these strange, nocturnal creatures, as unfamiliar as they might be. As he climbed higher, however, it got more difficult. His position was becoming even more precarious; barely clinging on in the darkness, he ascended into the unknown with a growing sense of vulnerability.

Fear had made his vision keener. Perhaps that is why, immersed in gloom, he could still make out a dark figure up ahead. Hisaab’s instincts immediately stopped him climbing. This was no bat. 

What, though, was it? A large bird? A bizarrely-dressed flying man, complete with flowing cape?

He had frozen where he was, but the figure continued to grow. It was approaching, but fear had him trapped. Besides, he would be blind in his descent. A rushed retreat, down this invisible, misshapen ladder, would mean his death. Of course, allowing this creature to approach might mean the same, but he could not be sure. It got closer and closer, but despite his instincts screaming, Hisaab could not tell what it was.

And then it hit him.

As he fell, he grabbed one of the old ropes which hung to the tower floor. The old bell, dormant for decades, came to life.

In parallel, the young man, active for decades, came to death. He couldn’t hold on forever.

The sunlight was lost on Brother Hisaab, as he lay on the tower floor. He would never see it again.