Oslo Forest

Seven monks were crucified upside down, fourteen renounced their beliefs, and another one hundred disappeared into the world, never to be seen in the region again.

When Arbothnot got wind of this, he was filled with a rage he could not contain. He made his way south to the region to see what could be done, and with every intention of setting matters right. The Oslo Monks will not stand in for the dirt of the earth, nor cast their lives, as pearls, before swine.

Arbothnot was a teacher, and that is what he taught his students. “Cast not your pearls before swine”. They would listen to this, and ask him, quite literally, why such a thing would be done anyway. He explained that pearls were those special things you held dear, and that the swine were those who lacked the intellect, kindness, or concern to respect those cherished things. You don’t waste your time trying to share your most sacred gifts with those who are not receptive. You cannot force good into a bad vessel.

One night Arbothnot lost his will. He found himself in one of the lowest houses in town, sitting in a chair as a woman disrobed. (Though this in itself was not the loss of will of which we speak.) He had known her forever it seemed, and while they had never had any relations, this relationship formed a bedrock upon which he had built much of the meaning for his life, of late.

She came over and he kissed her on her head. He pulled over another chair and lifted her and set her down on it. There they sat across from each other. He leaned down and pulled up her foot and held it in his hand, and then took a cloth from a nearby basin and began to wash her feet.

“Tell me how you are?” he said, watching a smile roll across her face like a rising sun.

But far south, in another region, the king was angered that he had lost a battle with an opponent, who was a most distant cousin from days of youth and innocence, and who he alternately loved and detested. At present, it was a year of mostly detestation. Not only had his cousin humiliated him on the battlefield, but had done so without the actual battle. The cousin came with his forces and instead of waging war, seduced the king’s men into giving him up.

“I have not come to kill, or lay waste to the foundations here. I ask only for your king, my cousin, who has done you no great service, and brought you misery, death, and destruction”.

Town after town refused to answer the kings call to join in arms. He had only his knights and lords to call upon for aid.

“No matter, we are the meat of this force anyway,” said the king, knowing the best trained men still remained with him, and would fight to the end. He sent a messenger to the monks as well, saying, “Stand with your Lord.” He was well aware that his cousin had no monks that stood with him, nor any men of magic or untold power.

The monks, however, refused, saying, “We cannot stand with you on this matter. He is your cousin, and you make war for reasons not befitting a true cause. You would trade family to walk with death, and dine with Satan.”

This outraged the king, but he knew his chances without the monks were slim. It would mean his certain end, and while he was no coward, and willing to die, he would rather have the certainty of life than the unexpected pain or pleasure of the afterlife. One does not bet on things one cannot ascertain with some level of surety. When in doubt, do nothing. His father had told him that. When in doubt, take no action that might provide an adverse impact. The afterlife was entirely too theoretical a place to hasten one’s way to its door.

He sent message to his cousin, begging all forgiveness, and agreeing to return to his cousin the land and taxes he had taken. All was forgiven, and in weeks, they dined as though nothing had happened at all. They pledged allegiance to each other, and laughed at the matter.

While the king laughed, he issued an edict that any monks in the land must come meet with him. Word among the wise got out that the king was wroth with anger. He rounded up those he could find, and that number was twenty-one. The rest had disappeared, or magically become scarce. They were monks after all, with powers unspoken.

Of the twenty one, two thirds promised the king that they would not adhere to any such monk “codes” in the future and would serve him as their lord and master. He was pleased, and let them go. The remaining seven remained firm, and he crucified them upside down, with their hair dipped in honey and the wood beams upon which they hung planted firmly in fields filled with insects, ants mainly, but also butterflies, who were largely oblivious to the death at hand, and fluttered around with their usual purposeless vanity.

“One of these days, love, we must have something beyond this,” said the woman to Arbothnot.

“Is this not enough, that I would listen to you, talk to you, caress your limbs, even die for you?”

“It is enough for now. But sometimes I wonder if it is your place as a monk that keeps us this way, or if it is my place as a woman who does what I do. Sometimes I think that you hold your life as pure, and that to give in to me would darken that purity. It is almost as though you are holding me away not for that god of yours, but rather, because you are that god. And I am a mere plaything, or too dirty. Corrupted.”

“That’s is how you feel?”

“That is how I feel. I know it is probably not true, and that you are dedicated to your way, but still. I am a human, as are you. Do you not ever want more from me? Or is it that I am too common, and that all have had me, and therefore you hold me aloft in false admiration and knowing disdain. You love my appearance, and seeming perfection or beauty, but you know my life and deeds and it as filth to you?”

“Say no more, say no more.”

He picked her up, and for the first time kissed her lips, and carried her to her bed. For the first time they slept in the same bed.

It was the very next morning when he heard the news of what happened in the south, and how his fellows had fled or been killed by the king. His heart turned from sadness to anger, and he left the village of his only love to call that king out.
Upon arriving, the king welcomed him into his estate, and bid him sit and eat. A feast was manufactured in short order, and lords and knights and women and children and others joined in. It was not often that a monk from the north might appear, and despite his own actions, the king knew that a visit from a monk was not an occasion for confrontation.

And while they dined, and drank, and discussed the unfortunate incident- “Yes, in retrospect I realize that the monks were right, and my wrath was foolish, and I have asked the gods to forgive me”, said the king- Arbothnot listened and watched and smiled.

Then, he wrapped the castle in his mind till not a door could be opened, and slew everyone present, including himself.

There was a massacre once. Well, there were many massacres actually, but one is remembered with a certain clarity.

There came to be a debate among the monks of Oslo Forest about certain matters and a schism developed. A certain faction had taken up arms and powers and lent themselves to violent tasks: defending cities, capturing criminals, exploring and raiding foreign lands on behalf of various lords and kings.

“This is unacceptable,” some said. It was unseemly for men who called themselves monks to be engaged in fighting. When one had a gift, and could kills thousands at the drop of an eyelid or bring life to the sick, one had to use such power appropriately, and for the ultimate good.

“But, yes, some of these tasks we have undertaken are clearly inappropriate. We know that. But at other times we have fought for good purpose,” was the response.

“Well, given who our true master is, we ought not to fight at all, ever. War is not for our hands, or for the heart of the good and just.”

This debate went back and forth until one group of monks left the forest regions and surrounding hills to head north and across the waters to live as they saw most appropriate.

They took up life in a region called Liessa, and spent their days preaching a gospel of peace, healing the sick, and bringing life and prosperity to everyone they encountered.

Indeed the lands prospered so much that a certain king from the east got wind of the good deeds being done and decided to venture over, along with fifteen thousand soldiers and mercenaries on ten thousand horses.

The news of his approach reached the center of Liessa when he was still but five hundred miles or more away, and fear was rampant. People began to hide away their goods and send their wives and daughters into the hills. The elders who governed the region sent for the monks and their council.

“You will defend us, no? We have heard that one of you can slay five hundred on the left, and ten thousand on the right,” said an elder.

“It has been said, and maybe there is truth in that. But we here believe that there is a better way than to take to violence. Killing begets killing, and all reason and purpose are lost. We cannot raise the dead. It is better if we send a messenger to the King of the East and reason. He does not lack wisdom”.

Such was true. The King of the East was known to carry many things in his quiver, wisdom being one of them, and wisdom and destruction were dispensed side by side from his hands. He was a learned man and people often assumed that this knowledge was an indication of some deeper good or benevolent capability. If ignorance bred evil, knowledge bred its opposite, or so it was often said by those involved in educating the masses.

He often laughed at such assumptions himself. Does not an educated bad person become a more dangerous man, and not necessarily a good man? Even his own teachers and philosophers were of the belief that knowledge and education was all, and that an educated man was a virtuous man. He laughed at this, and in the mirror. He laughed and roused his army.

The King of the East was camped out in a valley when the emissaries of Liessa arrived to discuss the issues at hand. They arrived with gifts and tithes and blessings, and asked of his intentions. They made it clear that the forest monks were there among them, and would stand with them. The king listened to all of this, and sent them away with neither a yay or nay.

The messengers returned to Liessa and conveyed the king’s words to the elders and monks, and every heart turned dark. The lack of clarity made them open to forces and spirits beyond their control (and the King of the East knew such would happen); their hearts trembled and their minds wandered and fled in every direction. Finally one wizened old man said, “We must be prepared to fight, all of us.”

The monks would have none of that. “Our way is one of peace and it is our best weapon.” Having thus spoken, the people huddled and waited; some fled into other regions, while others made secret plans, and in general, confusion reigned.

The King of the East, knowing the power of fear, waited, and waited. Knowing the power of preparation and surprise, he sent his forces into four corners, surrounding the region from distant points. Knowing the power of confusion, he sent forces inside the central areas dressed as peasants so that they might spread rumor from inside. Most of all, and again, knowing the power of fear, he waited.

Eventually he entered the center town on horseback with a handful of men and was greeted by the elders and the monks.

“We welcome you, if you come in peace, and if otherwise, we know your wisdom and ours will find that peace,” said one of the monks who went by the name of John.

“Well, I have come to see what prospers here, and I see here IT prospers,” he replied with a laugh and knowing glance at his cohorts who sat fearsome on white horses.

“You are welcome to tarry with us, and enjoy all we have,” said Annastasio, a long time elder.

“Oh, and I will. Well, actually, I am. Even as I sit, and dine with you on words, we are taking your women from the forests- and in the forests- and we are slaying your young who you have hidden in the caves. And every which way the sun might rise or set, or the winds might blow, we stand, armed, to take, tarry and enjoy as we see fit.”

“That is bold talk for a man who stands here with what… five men? Even here, we are many, and with monks among us. Ought you not worry about your own life, rather than attempt to strike fear into ours?” asked Annastasio.

“Ha. Fear? These monks which stand with you will not fight. It is not their way. And who would dare attempt to strike me down from my horse. You, old small man? Or the young one there. Timothy means honoring god, does it not? You boy-man, make your name’s meaning pay its dues and bow down before me.”

John, the monk stepped forward.

“You are surely sure of yourself. But you are known as a man of wisdom, and we do not believe that you will do those things now that people have placed at your feet in the past. You are known to sway good and evil. Sway to good, and step right.”

“I sway neither left nor right today monk. I am. And, you, and your cohort, shall not stop what I have set myself to do.”

“Well, we can, fearless one. You know of the monks of Oslo and the battles we have fought.”

“Ah yes, I know of them. But who are you? Have not you chosen peace above all? Or, as it has been said, does not violence beget violence? Will you renounce your renouncings now and be proved the hypocrite?”

“We stand affirmed in what is right,” said the monk.

“And this day, you will stand affirmed, and dead”.

With that the King of the East and his five rode off to the western half of the town and joined up with the rest of his force.

And while the townsmen scattered, and as the woman fled, and while the children got crushed under hoof, and with the center town and circle villages looted and burned, the monks stood watching, strong in their resolve and virtue as 15,000 thousand people began their next morning dead.

The King of the East spared the monks only, and left them to their peace.

It was the day of the Feast of St. Claude, a saint long considered to be the last word on all things related to love in some circles. That the average person took this holiday in a fornicatory mood in no way diminished its deep importance and greater message: that love was something you did, and not merely a feeling, biological impulse or verbal expression.

Of course, St. Claude himself did not extend the “doing” to acts of lusty coupling. But he was dead, and probably better off unaware of the heights of enthusiasm to which people took his original ideas.

Most of the monks liked to throw a big meal and invite folks from regions far and wide to gorge themselves on roasted suckling pig and great loaves of bread fattened with cheese made from the milk of certain unidentified creatures that left everyone guessing at the taste and texture.

So when Sebastian should have been cooking and helping, or loading up the wagon with those who could not walk or see and bringing them to the feast, he was instead on a distant hill with a young woman (who herself should have been with her family and townsfolk at the great meal).

“You look so pretty to me,” he said. He reached out his hand and laid it on her breast. He could feel her heart beating, speeding up even. He watched her mouth open, and her warm breath floating out into the chill air.

“Do I?” she asked. “Even now?”

“Even now,” he said, and at the moment of these words, her heart was so close to joy that her affliction began to fade.

In the north forest there was a monk who lived apart from the others, and followed his own ways. He was blind, but preferred his own company, and needed no assistance.

At least once a week he would travel into the closest town to make purchases, and despite the distance of several miles, he had no trouble knowing his way. The bent souls along the way- those of strange hungers, the murderers and marauders- steered quite clear, knowing that he was more than able to withstand any force. He was blind, and yet, he could still see, for he believed in things he could not see, and took heed.

He bought tea and fish mostly, and some bread, along with whatever fruit was available… usually bananas. He bought oil to keep warm when the cold months hit and the warmth of the sun faded to the other side of the world.

Sometimes he wondered what went on in those parts that could not be seen or reached, and he wondered if God’s plan for them was the same as God’s plans for the people in his world. He assumed it could be quite different and that it made no sense to speculate on life in far away places, but rather, to do what you know to do, and let the powers sort out the paths. If anything, you can know your own path, whether you can see it or not.

These trips were a mixed blessing, or bitter fruit wrapped up in the warm colors of sweetness. He could hear the women’s voices and imagine what they might look like. There was so much in a voice. He had been told by other monks that it would be foolish to let a voice deceive you, and that women’s voices in particular were often beautiful beyond the bearer. “Every woman sounds like your true love,” was one of the proverbs that several monks lived by, and thus they walked wary, ears closed and heart monitored for faulty inclinations and leanings.

He really did not have to go into town at all. His fellows could have brought him all he needed. He could have, if he chose, made food of the dust of the earth. It was another of his gifts. But it was a gift he used only for those who needed it. As it happened, he loved to go into town and imagine the faces behind the voices of the women who greeted him. Sometimes he thought that he could detect something in the voice of a given woman and his heart would begin to shiver and adjust itself inside its cage. But the moment and the voice would soon pass.

After such a day, he would return home and lie flat on the ground, tears soaking into the wood of the floor, causing rain to fall on the other side of the world. He did not know this, that someone was praying for rain in some dry place. He just knew that this God, this so called lover and friend, had left him dry and full of longing. For all the good he did, nobody really made their way to him. “I must be hideous,” was the thought that pitched tent in his mind day after day.

Once there was a monk who had fled through the forests of the north down to the southern towns.

He knocked on a door and was accepted inside. The family was delighted that one of the mystics, the magicians, the masters, could be sitting in their home. Nobody would believe this!

“How many did you slay before you had to run?” asked the father, who seated himself at a wooden table across from the monk, a glass of ale dancing in his fingers.

“No. I ran with all my might and never looked back. I just ran as fast I could.” This was not a pleasant answer at all and dimmed the room of all merryment.

“Children, off to bed now. Go!” said the father, and away they went.

This really was not the way of a true monk. Everyone knew the stories of the Oslo monks. They were no ordinary men of the cloth, or mere supplicants in the woods, offering prayers to some unseen God and little to the visible world. Unlike most, the men of Oslo were fighters, or so the tales had often been told.

There was one, Ben, dark of skin, who had come from the countries below. He fell in with the men of Oslo and learned their ways and lived as one of them. In the white of winter, where the day was nearly dark, Ben was caught in the forest by a regional lord and his armed band. Some say he slew two hundred men, but others pegged the number at a more realistic hundred, with the end result being the death of the lord from fear.

The lord-that goliath- sat fixated with fright-and dead- atop his upright horse, which was alive, but oddly rooted in place.

If the monks wanted to, they could, and did fight, and the father knew this man in his home was no true monk. Or not a monk of the Oslo Order. He had no weapons, no beads or crystals or talismans. All he had was bare and bloodied feet; a true sign of a coward fleeing some just dessert.

“Get out of my home,” said the father, before returning to the back room where, in a fit of anger, he beat his wife for wasting good food and drink on such an impostor.