Abbot Antony led Nicola and Theodore to the long and narrow abbey church of Abbaye Saint-Pierre Solesmes. It was already mid-afternoon, and the light from outside permeated through the church windows, and shone at the centre.
"This was where Abbot Antony baptised you, Nicola," Theodore said. "It was a sunny afternoon, just like this one. Your mother and I thought you would cry because of the water, but you didn't. You even smiled at the abbot."
Abbot Antony chuckled. "Yes, that's true. This is also where I put the silver Benedetto medallion on you, as how all the oblates were bequeathed with theirs."
Nicola touched her medallion. It's been that long -- it's been with her for almost twenty-two years. For some reason, she never felt the compulsion to remove it, no matter what dress she wore. Her classmates in Université Paris 13 tried to convince her to use another necklace for parties, since they found it too old-fashioned, but she wasn't able to part with it.
Now, she learned how she got it. More importantly, she learned what it stood for.
Abbot Antony's voice broke through her thoughts. "Say goodbye to your father, Nicola. This is as far as he can go. It is for his own protection and safety that he does not witness all that will happen from here."
Her father, then, embraced her tightly. "Goodbye, Nicola. Do what you were destined to do."
"Dad" was all Nicola could say. She held on to him a few minutes longer, and then, let go. She watched as dad walked away, fighting back all the instinct to run after him and embrace him once more.
Nicola now focused her eyes to the altar. To its right was a brass statue of a bird, the species of which Nicola couldn't quite figure out. Right beside it was a small table draped with a white cloth. On top of this small table was a small bottle of oil and a razor. Abbot Antony, then, walked towards the small table and picked up the razor.
"Are you ready, Nicola?"
Nicola took a deep breath and walked to the centre of the church, where the sunlight's rays beamed down. And, like how her mother did years back, she knelt in front of Abbot Antony and said, with all earnestness, "Yes, Abbot Antony. I am ready." She bowed her head, with her hands clasped together. In between her palms was the cool metal of the medallion, which was a contrast of the fire coursing through her veins.
Abbot Antony, then, put the razor to her head, and led her to her vows -- her oblation -- as he started shaving off her hair.
Omnia ambitio,
Omnia in gloriam,
Omnes dereliquistis me.
Ego sum Oblati,
Ego sum servus tuus.*
She saw strands of her long brown hair fall to the floor. Her long hours of practise for the upcoming race in Milan, her master's degree in Paris, her dreams of becoming a diplomat like her father -- they were now all like the strands of her hair, severed from her life.
Nicola, then, felt drops of warm oil on her now-shaved head. She, then, heard the final words that bound her life to the oblate's path. "As you have forsaken all, there shall no longer be a Nicola Maine. As you rise, you shall rise as Dei Maria. Rise, my child."
Dei Maria, she thought, as she stood up from her kneeling position. It would take a while for her to get used to being called by that name, though she did not resent the name at all, and found herself actually fancying it.
Abbot Antony clasped both of her hands. "You are now an oblate of the Benedetto order. Welcome my child. And now, we have much to do. There are lives in danger. We must act fast."
With that, he pulled the brass bird statue, which caused the altar to move to wall, exposing a rectangular cavity on the floor where the altar used to be. There were lighted steps that seemed to lead to the bowels of the abbey church. Without any prodding, Nicola -- now Dei Maria -- followed the abbot to wherever the steps led them.
*All ambition, all glory, I forsake all. I am an oblate, I am a servant.
