March 01, 2019

The Crusader Returns

Ashy

February 25, 2019
Dublin, Ireland
Crypt of St Michans Church

 David Pierpoint, Archdeacon of Dublin, seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. "The perpetrators of this vandalism...sacrilege...desecration, they have turned over some of the bodies. The body of a nun who is there for about 300 years, she has been pretty much trashed. Her head has been turned around the wrong way, but the worst thing is the Crusader who's mummified body is down below...it's 800 years there and his body has been pretty smashed up and his head has been severed from his neck. So the head is disappeared."

 Deacon knew the man well and he was no dandy. David had served with distinction in the Irish Army during the Troubles against the IRA. Deacon himself had seen the man face down several loaded guns and had never seen it touch the man's sky-blue eyes. And now there were tears? Something didn't seem right. The man had seen something. Something that had shaken him to the core. Something that made no sense in the cold, hard light of reality. The boulder of a man dropped a ham-sized hand upon his old friend's shoulder.

 "I'll see what I can do, David..." he rumbled.

 Instantly, the Archdeacon looked as if he'd just regained a year lost. "Praise be to the Father," the Anglican said, crossing himself.

 Deacon did the same, out of reflex more than respect and asked, "...but you need to be honest with me, David." Deacon did not pause, plowing right into the thick of the matter like an avalanche driving through an anthill. "How long has the revenant's spirit been haunting this place?"

David's summer-sky eyes were suddenly surrounded by rings of stark white. "H-h-how did you know?"

Deacon chuckled--a nice friendly sound--like rocks in a grinder. "I didn't until just now. But I figured that only a revenant would want his head, the seat of thought and willpower, spiritually speaking back --and only if he was planning on using it for something."

The Archdeacon looked crestfallen. "We've...the Church, I mean...has been trying so hard, for so long, to keep it hidden. I thought it silly, a superstitious folly, but last night..." He swallowed hard and he got a look that Deacon knew well, a look like he needed a stiff drink. "Last night, I saw it."

Deacon nodded, running thick fingers across his wide, square jaw. "Sounds like we've got an 800-year old grudge to deal with."