Page 65 of The Forgotten
Prior Jacob rose earlier than usual. It would be another three hours before daylight finally chased away the shadows of the night, but he couldn’t wait. He was determined to get the unpleasant task over with, even if he had to miss Terce. He never missed a prayer, not even when he was ill; this morning would be the first time since he’d joined the order. The cell was freezing. Prior Jacob’s breath came out in vaporous puffs as he slid his feet into his shoes to avoid touching the icy stone floor with his bare feet. He pulled the coarse robe on over the linen shirt he wore to bed and belted it with a rope before genuflecting to the crucifix above his cot and leaving his cell. The leather soles of his shoes made a slapping sound against the floor as he hurried down the dark corridor.
Father Avery and his lover had sinned, and their son was clearly possessed of the devil, but Christ had healed the sick and forgiven the sinners, so Prior Jacob could not bring himself to condemn them. He would do his duty but allow someone else to sit in judgment of the accused. Prior Jacob opened the door to his study and was greeted by utter chaos. Scrolls were scattered across the floor, and the chair was overturned, as was the inkwell. The ink pooled like bile on the surface of the desk and dripped onto the floor where it reached the edge. Prior Jacob had to grab on to the door jamb as a strong gust of wind nearly blew him out of the room. The shutter had been torn from the window and a gale seemed to be blowing off the sea.
The prior bent his head into the wind, picked up the shutter, and forced it back into the window, blocking out the wind. Mere seconds later, the shutter exploded out of the frame, nearly knocking him off his feet. Prior Jacob grabbed whatever documents he could carry in his arms and left the study, crossing to an empty cell across the corridor, where he deposited the scrolls. The narrow window faced in the opposite direction, so the scrolls would be safe. The prior stood in the middle of the corridor, suddenly plagued by indecision. He couldn’t just leave without warning the others of impending danger, so he headed back toward the friars’ cells. Several brothers were already up, calling for the others to wake as they moved down the corridor. They cupped their hands around the flames of their candles to keep them from going out in the strong draft. The meager light illuminated only the bottom portion of their faces, making them look otherworldly.
“A great storm is brewing,” Prior Jacob called out to the brothers. “We must secure all the windows and see to the animals.”
“The manuscripts must be protected,” Friar Gregory called out as he rushed toward the great room where the scribes worked. It had glazed windows, but the wind was so strong that a branch or some other debris could easily shatter the glass. Several friars followed Friar Gregory, while Prior Jacob divided the remaining brothers into groups and assigned them areas to secure. The animals were a priority, but the storage shed, where sacks of flour were kept, was a particular area of concern. If the doors of the shed blew open, the lashing rain would soak into the flour, rendering it unusable. The brothers used the flour not only for themselves, but to bake bread for the poor. They handed the loaves out at the alms gate, which would be mobbed after the storm.
Two hours later, the friars gathered inside the church for Terce. They were wet, tired, and hungry, but would have to wait to attend to their needs until after the service.
“We should offer up a prayer for the townsfolk,” Friar William suggested. The friars’ heads bobbed in agreement as they took their places. Prior Jacob was in his usual spot at the front of the church. He couldn’t desert his brothers during the storm, nor was it safe to travel to see the bishop as he’d intended, particularly since he’d planned on walking the whole way.
The wind whipped Petra’s cloak, making it billow like a sail behind her. She tried to gather it around herself, but the gusts were too strong and tore away her only protection against the elements. Petra’s headpiece was askew, and tendrils of wet hair stuck to her face and blew into her eyes. She could barely see where she was going, so she gave up on the cloak and shielded her face instead, desperate to protect her eyes. Sand and grit blew from the direction of the beach as the storm gathered force, the wind moaning like a wailing woman. A large branch came hurtling past Petra’s head and scratched her cheek before smashing against the wall of a nearby house. Several men were in the street, securing the removable shutters by hammering in horizontal planks of wood to keep the shutters from being torn out by the wind. This would protect the interiors of their homes from getting wet.
Petra could see several masts in the distance. They seemed to be thrusting up and down rather violently, their tops disappearing into the glowering sky and then coming down again as waves pounded the shore. Petra took shelter behind a stone building and leaned against the wall, panting with exertion. Lady Blythe would need her today, but she couldn’t walk another mile to her house, not in this weather. She would have to turn back and wait out the storm. Petra hoped that Thomas was at home. He would see to the house and his mother. This wouldn’t be the first storm he’d weathered.
Petra allowed herself a few moments to catch her breath, then stepped out from behind her shelter and instantly drew back with a cry of alarm. A deluge of water was moving toward her, the wave carrying chunks of wood, household items, and even a cat, who was struggling to keep its head above water and meowing desperately. Petra couldn’t see any people, but she heard the screams as the rushing water knocked those townspeople foolish enough to be out in the storm off their feet and carried them along. The men who’d been outside only moments before scurried indoors, slamming the doors shut against the flood. Petra turned on her heel and began to run as fast as she could. The wind was at her back now that she turned for home, so she was able to move more quickly, outrunning the gushing water. She glanced back over her shoulder, relieved to see the water receding and leaving a trail of debris in its wake. The poor cat was still alive, if terrified and soaked to the bone. It ran for its life as soon as its paws found purchase on the muddy ground, instinctively heading away from the sea.
Frightened and out of breath, Petra judged it safe enough to slow her pace. She kept her eyes glued to the opening between the houses, and sure enough, another surge of water came rushing from the beach, this one higher and stronger. Petra watched in horror as a child of about five, who had stepped outside, was swept off her feet and carried along. She was splashing and screaming for her mother, who threw herself into the churning water and tried to catch hold of her daughter’s foot. The child was sucked under, and the mother screamed for help, paralyzed with fear as she was nearly knocked off balance and submerged in icy water. A man, who might have been the girl’s father, rushed to her aid and managed to fish the thrashing child out of the water before the wave began to recede. The little girl howled with fright and clung to her mother, who was soaked but oblivious to anything besides the child in her arms. The man glanced toward the sea beforegrabbing the woman by the arm and pulling her along toward higher ground.
Petra didn’t wait around for the next wave. She began to run, bursting into her house and throwing her body against the door as she slid the bolt into place.
“Girls, quick, get me a wooden plank,” Petra cried.
“Where are we supposed to get a plank?” Ora demanded.
“Get one out from under your mattress,” Petra screamed. “Do it now.”
The girls scrambled to pull the straw-stuffed mattress off and yanked out one of the planks that formed the bottom of their bed.
“What’s happened?” Maude cried. “Why did you come back?”
“Mother, we need to secure the house and leave,” Petra demanded. “We must get to higher ground. The sea is coming for us. Children, come. Now!”
“Petra, are you mad? We’re more than a mile away from shore. We’re perfectly safe here.”
“Not this time,” Petra threw over her shoulder. “Edwin, put up the shutter, and push it in as hard as you can.”
The children looked terrified as Petra carefully opened the door and peered outside. She could see a swell of water in the distance but judged it safe to run. Petra ushered the children outside and grabbed her mother under the arm. “Let’s go, Mother.”
She shut the door behind them and wedged the wooden plank between the ground and the door. She had to apply all herstrength to push it in. The plank would keep the door from bursting open from the pressure of the rushing water and hopefully keep the water from flooding the house. It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. She prayed that the water wouldn’t reach the window.
Maude gasped when she stepped outside and saw the destruction. The water hadn’t reached them yet, but in the distance, down the street, a few houses were already in ruins. Several trees had been torn out by the roots and lay on the ground, blocking the street until the next wave would carry them along, their branches and trunks causing further damage. Edwin grabbed his grandmother by the arm and pulled her along, urging her to move faster. Maude lowered her head to keep the rain out of her eyes and allowed Edwin to lead her. Her cloak and barbet were already wet, and her feet slipped on the wet ground, making walking precarious. Ora and Elia were way ahead of them, running like frightened rabbits.
The water had come closer than Petra expected in a very short time, but the storm showed no signs of abating. It must have started during the night, while they were all asleep, believing themselves to be safe behind the walls of their homes. The sea had claimed plenty of houses just like the ones Petra lived in during past storms. She couldn’t remember any fearful storms herself, but she’d heard the stories and saw the tops of water-submerged buildings protruding from the sea at very low tide. They looked like the jagged teeth of some sea monster that was about to come up from the watery depths and devour the rest of the town.
Petra lifted her skirts and began to run after her mother and the children. Many others had the same idea, and the streets were congested with families trying to save themselves. Children screamed with fright, and women fought to stay upright as they herded their offspring and clutched whatever small possessionsthey could carry. Several men tried to help the old and infirm to dry land and then went back for others who were stranded further down the street, but their efforts were hindered. They slipped in the knee-deep silt and, more often than not, needed help themselves.
It was absolute chaos. Everywhere one looked, there was a mass of humanity pursued by gallons of churning water. It was like some Biblical plague come to drown the sinners. Petra swallowed down a sob as she glanced in the direction of Lady Blythe’s house. All she could see was destruction and huge, terrifying waves. The masts were no longer there, the ships smashed to pieces by the force of the gale. Every surge brought more silt and debris, but the latest waves also carried corpses, leaving them behind like bits of rubbish once the water receded. A few brave souls tried to retrieve them to keep them from being swept out to sea, but most people just ran for their lives, urging their loved ones to go faster.
Maude was trembling with fatigue by the time they finally reached a safe spot. She sank to the ground next to several other bedraggled elderly people. The earth was wet and cold, but Maude’s legs would no longer hold her up, and she was grateful for solid ground beneath her. The rest of the townspeople remained upright, their gazes glued to the normally placid sea. They watched in stunned silence as great waves formed in the distance and crashed into the town with unbridled force. Houses folded as if they were built of paper, their walls falling haphazardly into the foaming seawater and rushing along with the current. The wind was even stronger on higher ground. It tore at hair and cloaks, turning the skin red and raw with cold.
Dozens of people took shelter behind the walls of the Leper Hospital. The stone walls shielded them from the wind, but most folk were too afraid to go near it and preferred to remain out in the open. Petra wrapped her arms about the children as she tried to keep them from getting separated. People were rushing towardthem in droves, pushing the stragglers out of their way and knocking them to the ground if they were too slow. The noise was deafening.
Petra froze in terror when she noticed the look in Edwin’s eyes. She knew the signs; she’d seen them often enough. Edwin was on a verge of a fit. The fits happened most often in times of stress, and Edwin had been half-dragging his grandmother up the hill for the past half hour. He was physically drained, scared out of his wits, and overwhelmed by the panic all around him.
“Edwin, no!” Petra moaned, but it was too late.
