Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

Alber shook his head. “The men who found him say there were no tracks near him when they arrived. The tide was just coming in, so any tracks wouldn’t have been erased yet by the surf.”

Abbot Beynom wrinkled his eyebrows. “But if there were no tracks and no sign of his being in the water, how did he get there?”

Bolwyn shrugged. “I’m just telling you my evaluation of his condition. How he got there, I wouldn’t know.”

“What about the man himself?” asked Alber. “What can you tell about his physical condition? He looked near death.”

Bolwyn shook his head. “He may look near death, but his heart and lungs seem fine. What’s strange is his muscles. They’re atrophied as if they haven’t been used much for a long time. When we don’t use muscles, they shrink in size. This can happen with people paralyzed, in comas, or confined for a long period. When I tested his reflexes to see if the muscles were functional, everything seemed normal.”

“So,” said Abbot Beynom wryly, looking at Alber and Bolwyn, “what we have is a man who by magic appears on the beach and has been in a coma, or confined, for months or years?”

“We’re only medicants,” Alber quipped. “You’re the wise theophist who knows all and sees into the hearts of men.” The two had been friends for many years, and the banter between caregivers of body and soul was an integral part of their friendship.

“Oh, pardon. I’d forgotten for a moment. Thank you for reminding me,” said the abbot, patting Alber on the shoulder before addressing the other brother. “Bolwyn, you believe he’s in no immediate danger?”

“While his body is obviously weak, if he wakes up, and if we can get nourishment into him, then maybe he’ll survive.”

“I know I can always look forward to your confident diagnoses,” the abbot chuckled. “Let me know if his condition changes.”

Abbot Beynom took a last view at the pale body lying on the table. Well, well , he thought. Today, God had granted us a surprise outside our normal routine. We’ll have to see what comes from this addition to our community .

He awoke suddenly, staring at a white ceiling—again. Confused—again. His first coherent thought was of home. Had it all been a dream? The voice, Harlie, the plane crash, the story about other worlds and being taken to one of them. Would he look around and see everything back to normal? What if it wasn’t a dream? What if he was still in the small white room with Harlie?

He looked closer at the ceiling. In the “dream,” it was smooth, pure white. The ceiling at home was smooth but off-white. This ceiling was painted dull white, with visible brush strokes. Gathering his courage, he turned his head. He wasn’t in Harlie’s room. A momentary sense of relief was replaced by confusion. Neither was he at home. Sunlight came through a window, the rays filtered through green foliage with leaves moving in the wind. Something flew by the window. Not quite a bird, but too big and fast for a butterfly.

He heard voices. More than one. Perhaps a man and a woman. Human voices! Voices with tones, cadences, and hints of emotion! Multiple voices and not Harlie’s cold, disembodied one. He couldn’t quite make out the words, even when he concentrated. He listened harder but still couldn’t understand. He gathered his energy and courage, turning his head in the direction of the voices.

The first thing he registered was a matronly middle-aged woman with gray-streaked dark brown hair pulled into a bun, her clothing a plain brown smock. A man stood next to the woman. He was younger, with a trimmed and frosted dark beard, medium-length dark hair, wearing trousers and a tunic of the same brown cloth as the woman. Their mouths moved and sound came out. Occasionally, he thought he could pick out a word, but it was fleeting, quickly lost in the otherwise unintelligible stream.

Oh, God! It hit Joe like a blow to his chest. Oh, God—it wasn’t a dream?!

The man glanced in his direction. Their eyes met, and the man turned to speak to the woman. The two came to the side of the bed. She put a warm hand on Joe’s forehead, while the man checked Joe’s pulse and stroked his palm.

Joe’s fingers closed reflexively. It was too overwhelming, and Joe drifted off . . . or fainted.

He slept through the night and the next day, moving in and out of awareness.

“His reflexes seem good,” said Brother Bolwyn the next morning. “Same with the eye focus. It’s too early to be sure, but I believe he’s come through whatever happened to him in reasonable condition.”

Abbess Diera Beynom nodded. “Yes, but as you say, still too early to be sure. I did get the impression he was confused.”

“Hardly unexpected, given how we found him, but that’s something you’ll have to deal with. I think I’ve done about all I can. Let me know if there’s anything else you need. I’ll be getting back to my other patients.”

“Thanks, Elton, I can take it from here.”

Nodding, the medicant brother left Diera with the strange man. She was also a medicant, a member of the Medicant Order of the Caedellium service society. While both she and Bolwyn were trained in general medicines, she was also the abbey’s chief medicant, although in this abbey it was more a light touch of authority based on respect. Not that anyone didn’t know who was medicant-in-charge. Diera’s title as abbess was due to her husband and not because she led the abbey. Sistian Beynom was chief theophist and the abbot in charge of the three orders represented in the abbey: medicants such as Diera, Alber, Willer, and Bolwyn; theophists like Sistian, who tended to worship and ceremonies honoring God; and scholastics, brothers and sisters who focused on understanding the workings of God’s world. The fourth order, militants, focused on meditation, self-discipline, and martial arts but were not represented at St. Sidryn’s, the Abbey of St. Sidryn. Militants had never been numerous on the island, with only a few in the northern clans. According to lore, however, they were more prominent elsewhere in the world.

St. Sidryn’s was one of the larger abbeys and had members from three orders. Smaller abbeys tended to have staff from only one or two orders. At St. Sidryn’s, the Medicant Order was more represented than the other two orders because the abbey was the main medicant treatment and training facility for the district, an area twenty miles across.

The Theophist Order at the abbey ministered to people in the nearby town of Abersford. In addition, Abbot Sistian Beynom was a prominent figure in the district and active in administering to the religious and societal issues within and beyond Abersford.

Brothers and sisters of the Scholastic Order completed Sidryn’s staff and were in larger numbers than in most mixed-order abbeys. Abbeys where scholastics gathered to study separately from other orders were also called scholasticums. Sistian had started his training in one until he became dissatisfied with the scholastics’ tendency to interact within their own order and not perform service to God’s role in the world. He switched to the Theophist Order, and when he became the abbot at St. Sidryn’s, he encouraged select scholastics to join them. He was eager to bring the different orders closer. St. Sidryn’s was also unusual in that a few brothers and sisters performed duties across orders, another example of the abbot’s reluctance to compartmentalize service to the people and God.

The strange man had created a minor sensation, both in town and among members of the three orders in the abbey. Medicants regarded him as a patient. To theophists, he was one of God’s children to minister to, assuming he wasn’t a demon. And to scholastics, he was a puzzle, and what was more fun than a puzzle?