My dearest Derek,
Tonight, after compline, I shall burn this epistle at the foot of our Holy Mother. I know that she will make sure that you receive my message. I know that you feared your own weakness - you feared that you would fail or turn to the Darkside. Our father preyed upon your mind. I grieve that you suffered such doubts. It mattered not who or what he was - whether he had turned or was demon spawned or a Darkside illusion created to feed your fears. I know with absolute certainty that you stood firm in the Light.
It's a lovely, warm afternoon for this time of year, so I'm sitting in the convent garden writing this. You know the place - on the redwood bench near the fountain. Just now a raucous flock of sparrows was bathing in the upper basin. Such noisy, funny creatures they are. They seemed to be enjoying themselves so very much. I am minded of the passage in Luke: 'Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God.' How much more then are you remembered? I know that you hold a place in Heaven at Our Lord's right hand. I commit the mortal sin of pride in that you are my brother and shall not repent of it. I rejoice for you. But, oh, my dear brother, how I miss you.
I was always certain that I would know immediately of your passing. I thought I would somehow sense your pain or feel your presence as you said good-bye, but I felt nothing - not then - not yesterday at that horrible place. You have always been my other-self. Why did I feel nothing, when the dearest, gentlest soul I've ever known was wrenched untimely from this world? Even here at the convent, as far away as it is, some heard the explosion on Angel Island that night. I think I did as well, but I'm not sure. It was late and nothing was thought of it - just the finale of some event down at Sears Point Raceway. We often hear their fireworks.
Mother Superior woke me around 1 a.m. with the news. We watched CNN for a while in her office. The fires still burned. It was about 2:00 when the final wall collapsed. I didn't have to be told what had done it - the portal, of course - nor that you were missing - nor that the others were safe. I know you, my dear brother. You would not have let harm come to them, not if you could sacrifice yourself instead.
The service was yesterday afternoon. Typical San Francisco weather. In a way, it was a good thing. The thick fog concealed the barrenness of the hillside where the castle had stood. Since we had no landmarks to focus upon, we could all pretend that we were not where we really were. We were just on an empty California hillside.
It makes no difference what has been said. All those who matter either know the facts or know in their hearts. The Legacy kept a low profile, but within its ranks your deed has been acknowledged and honoured. You will have your new House and the Chapel of St. Michael Archangel just as you had planned so long ago. I like the plans for both - traditional and yet not, lots of redwood and stained glass, different from the Castle - freer, lighter, airier. It's the you I knew once upon a time - the Derek who loved Strauss waltzes, 'EEine Kleine Nachtmusik', & the 'Ode to Joy' - before all that weight settled upon your shoulders - of life, of death, the albatross of heritage, and the millstone of all that House represented and contained.
Nick has taken up your sword, and has accepted the preceptorship, but he has yet to put on your ring. That may take a while. He is angry, but bears your loss like the soldier he is. God gave you a great gift in giving you Nicholas Boyle and you did well by him. He is your heir more surely than had he carried your blood. You turned him into a precept - he will be a good one.
I think Alex will be going to Paris. It feels right that she should. Perhaps, she'll find a new path, or she'll return here in a few years. It will take time, but Our Lord has some plan for her. She now has a strength that I've not felt in her before - not a cold, hardened strength, but a warm, malleable variety that can absorb life's blows and yet remain firmly in place.
Rachel seems on an even keel. I like her gentleman friend, Mr. Royce - he's got a steadiness about him, which is something Katherine needs at the moment. She called me the other day. She said that you told her to do so in your letter. That letter made an enormous impression upon the child, as did your token. We had the chance to speak privately at the collation after the service. She wants my guidance with her 'talents' and said she intends to succeed Nick as precept. She's a determined girl. There's a lot of anger in Katherine Corrigan right now. She knows that the things being said of you are not true, but she doesn't know what is the truth. I told her that she would have to tell her mother that she wished to visit me and why. I will not go behind Rachel's back, even if it is at your instigation. She's afraid Rachel will say no, but I told her to wait a bit - that we may have an unexpected ally in Mr. Royce.
You were right to worry about Fr. Callaghan. He spoke at the service - quoting you: 'For every darkness in life there is light; for every evil, there is good; there is a God in heaven, and our dear friend, Derek Rayne, has earned a place by His side. These are the only things in this universe that I know with absolute certainty.'
We spoke but briefly. I fear your death and your letter have shaken him to the very foundations of both himself and his faith. I pray that he will find his path and the strength to set himself firmly upon it. Your sparse philosophy may, indeed, be his lifeline. He officiated at the mass, but it was by rote. I sensed an automaton going through the motions.
I overheard him speaking to the Archbishop about finding a new calling. He wishes to bury himself in service and inquired about the Church's activities in Africa. I think he now seeks a self-sacrifice to match your own. But is this an act of self-flagellation, or of guilt? I'm not sure if he yet understands the differences and what it all truly means. He's all action and reaction - light & dark - an Irish heart & soul. I shall send a copy of Mr. Yeats' poetry to him. I hope it will call to his troubled spirit.
The Church will not be pleased to lose a parish priest. They are in too short a supply. However, His Eminence will support Philip's wishes. I only hope, when he does face the tragedies of want and illness on such a massive scale, that he will realise that compassion may be all that he has to offer and that one day he will feel that he has done his penance. He's a good man. I shall pray for him, as I always prayed for you.
Mother is here with me. She plans to stay a few days more. She is doing well. I think she prepared herself when you joined the Legacy. She knew she would survive you and I suspect that she believes it will not be long before she sees you again - at least, not long in the scheme of the Universe. Then I shall be the last of the line, alone here, until my time comes. What is the passage from the 'Lady of Shallot'? 'Four gray walls, and four gray towers overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers the Lady of Shalott'. May my time soon come, but God's will, not mine, be done.
I had an odd conversation with Fr. Thomas. He's interested in Katherine. I warned him off in polite, churchly terms, but he got the message. Our discussion took such a strange turn towards my own plans. 'Would I ever consider leaving the cloister? Temporarily? What might make me consider such a thing - hypothetically?' I told him there was no 'hypothetical'. The cloister would be my home for the rest of my life. My vocation is prayer and contemplation on the mysteries of Our Lord. He's a very unsettling man. With him, I had the sense of those Russian nesting dolls that Papa gave me - layer upon layer, each concealing what is at its heart - not unlike you. But you, little brother - I could always read you.
When we broke ground for the chapel, I'm afraid I shocked everyone. They had this pretty, little shovel there and we were all to turn the earth with it. However, for the service, they had brought your sword, which survived little the worse for wear. Mother went first with the R.P. assisting her. She didn't need any assistance and almost took his toe off with the thing. Then it was my turn. He started to hand me the shovel, but for some reason I cannot explain, I grasped the sword and drove it into the ground. I can see your eyebrow rising, brother dear. I know it's not the way to treat your sword. It is not a spade, and yet something in my soul told me that this must be done. I handed the blade to Nicholas, and he followed suit. It was like the final death blow to the evil that had seeped from that abomination.
Such an odd thing happened when I held that sword. All those stories of Arthur, Lancelot, and Merlin that we loved as children - the Lady of Shallot, Le Morte d'Arthur, Idylls of the King, The Once and Future King - they all suddenly flitted into my mind at once. Remember how I always called you Sir Derek? I was the princess and you were my dashing champion. But the truth is you grew up to be Arthur, Merlin, and Lancelot rolled into one - the Emperor, the Mage, & the Champion. As I touched the sword to the earth a passage came to mind, from Malory. 'Yet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had by the will of our Lord Jesu into another place; and men say that he shall come again, and he shall win the holy cross. I will not say it shall be so, but rather I will say, here in this world he changed his life. But many men say that there is written upon his tomb this verse: Hic jacet Arthurus Rex, quondam Rex que futurus.' Here lies King Arthur, King once and that will be.
It was such a strange experience, even for one well accustomed to strange experiences. At last, brother dear, do we truly part ways? Even in those years that we were estranged, we were not really apart. How can we be now? Every now and again I shall light a candle for you. I shall wait for you in that circle of light and one day I shall sense your presence just beyond the candle's glow.
What was that poem that Grandmama used to recite? Such a sad, aristocratic old woman. Remember when we'd go with her to the Oude Kapel to lay a white tulip on her father's tomb - you were afraid of the old Count's effigy - and she always laid 2 red tulips there as well?
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
In the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them.She never would say what the tulips meant, nor her poem, but this morning Mother told me. They were for her brothers, Derek and Jan, who finally made their peace with each other, only to die together in the war. I shall plant tulips here around the fountain, and, when the chapel is finished, I shall come every now and again to bring you a red tulip. I shall place it beside your sword upon the altar, for that place will be yours far more than any memorial up in the tomb.
Now that we are absent one from another, the Lord watch between me and thee,
Groetjes, always and forever,
Inger
The End?... or the Beginning?
~~~ Derek Rayne, praeceptor quondam, praeceptor futurus ~~~
CONTENTS To Ruminations II: RIP Derek Rayne
E-mail: Dubricus 
