In A Gadda Da Vida
Posted on Mon May 25th, 2020 @ 11:34pm by Daiyu
Mission:
Fortune & Glory
Location: St. Nicholas Monastery | Hera
Timeline: September 2517 (1 month ago)
It was autumn on Hera, traditionally time for the harvest. But for Daiyu who wandered the vast rows of flowering and fruiting plants and root vegetables grown above ground in aeroponic trellises, every day was harvest time.
Her lilting voice wavered on the air as she sang a melancholy tune.
"I traveled far and wide
And laid this head in many ports
I was guided by a compass
I saw beauty to the north...
Two robed friars watched her from afar. It seemed she merely fondled the fronds and vines, but after years of service they knew she was exercising an uncanny touch for growing things. What took others a hard inspection, Daiyu knew at a brush of a hand.
"Not right, that one." The younger and clean-shaven friar twisted his mouth in unease.
"There is none righteous," chided the older, plumper friar with a tangled beard.
The younger scoffed. "Tis not righteousness I speak of," he said. "She is trouble."
"Aren't we all," said the elder. Phrased as a question, it nonetheless was not. "Yet good can come from even the worst of places. Beauty for ashes, aye?"
Left without a retort, the younger one sniffed back his words, allowing Daiyu's song to rise back up.
"I drew the tales of many lives
And wore the faces of my own
I had these memories all around me
So I wouldn't be alone."
"The scullery folk took to calling her the Angel of Death," the younger friar said at length. "Ye ken?"
The elder friar snorted. "Like they name me Father Christmas when they think me out of earshot? We all have names given us in the world," he said. It did not take much time or many brains for the rotund, bearded rector of a monastery named after St. Nicholas to earn the nickname Father Christmas. "The only one that matters is the name we make for ourselves."
Rather than inspiration, the other friar lowered his head in admonishment. "Aye," he whispered in shame.
"Besides," said the bearded rector. "Every monastery needs an angel. The angel of death ought be mighty familiar with Hera by now. Why not offer the charity and sanctuary of our humble mission to her? You know where she would be without us. The gutter. Or worse."
The mention of worse kept the younger man's tongue stayed. Daiyu's song once again rang out.
"Some may be from showing up
Others are from growing up
Sometimes I was so messed up and didn't have a clue
I ain't winning no one over
I wear it just for you
I've got your name written here
In a rose tattoo..."
Daiyu's song faded as she stopped at a trellis that drew her attention. Her dark eyes lazily fell upon the vine and turned cold. Her lips sealed closed, which put her song into a hum. With a deft stroke, she drew a pruning knife and cut the vine clean in three quick strokes. The cuttings were left to rot into compost in the trough which fed the plants on the overhead trellis. Her pruning knife sheathed back at her belt, Daiyu moved along again, her fingers combing the plants as her voice resumed her song. This time, though, there was a haunting aspect to the melody that may not have been heard before.
"Stays here for eternity
A ship that always stays the course
An anchor for my every choice
A rose that shines down from above
I signed and sealed these words in blood
I heard them once, sung in a song
It played again and we sang along..."
At last she reached the end of the row and saw the two friars. She offered a weak smile. "Hello, Father Johns, Brother Pervis."
"Hello, my dear," said Father Johns with a grandfatherly grin that showed even through his beard. "Tending the gardens today?"
Daiyu turned away and surveyed the path she had tread. "Yes... they speak to me. Tell me when they are happy, when they are ill. They like to be harvested... to be pruned. The cutting..."
"You have a rare gift, my daughter. We are grateful you share it with us." Johns elbowed Pervis, who mumbled his agreement with a terse nod. Anything to keep her from falling into melancholy.
"Tis an... interesting song you sing," Pervis finally offered. "Where did you hear it?"
Daiyu thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I heard it once. I don't remember where."
"Of course," Father Johns said. "But you sing it well."
"Thank you." Daiyu lowered her chin, blushing. It was almost enough to make one look past the scars at the person within. "Shall I continue?"
Father Johns waved his arm over the rest of the garden. "By all means, my daughter. You do us kindly."
Giggling like a child, Daiyu wandered down the next row, the chorus of her melody trailing behind her like her calloused fingers.
"In a rose tattoo
In a rose tattoo
I've got your name written here
In a rose tattoo..."
The two friars watched after her like the setting of the sun. In time, another brother made approach.
"Father, there is a wave for you."
Father Johns sighed and released the interlocked fingers he'd held over his potbelly. "Of course..."
Waves came and went, and Father Johns did what his position required of him. If only he could wander the aeroponic gardens as his ward did, free and oblivious from the greater concerns of the Verse swirling about them. "Forward it to my rectory."
It was only a few steps away, separate from the main chapterhouse by a retaining wall which held back the terraced hillside where the monastery was built. Rectors required privacy, of course, to pray and seek guidance of the Most High. If only they were in agreement with whom that was.
"Father Christmas," said the corporate executive type on the other end of the screen.
Johns made sure his rectory door was closed and locked before he responded. "Director," he replied, content enough not to use names even over a secure wave, even if it meant a degrading pseudonym.
"Prepare for emissaries," the director said.
"Oh? Is there a problem?" Johns did his best to keep his frown hidden behind his beard.
"None that concern you," the director said. "Just have the ward at hand."
The ward. Daiyu. That did not put Johns at ease. "She is here, safe and sound."
"Good." The director's mouth curled into a mirthless smile. "Do not let her out of your sight until the emissaries arrive."
Johns felt the wind catch in his chest. "All right... Any reason--"
"None that concern you," the director reiterated with no shortage of intolerance for second-guessing. "Be ready." The wave cut out with the director's fixed glare.
"Oh my Lord..." Johns sat back in his chair and heaved a sigh of relief, frustration, misery. The director's "emissaries" were never good news. Everything was going so splendidly. What could have happened?
Daiyu's voice, muffled by the closed window, seemed to call to him. Johns got up and opened it to let in the morning air and the song which both pained and soothed him so.
"In a rose tattoo
In a rose tattoo
I've got your name written here
In a rose tattoo.
In a rose tattoo
In a rose tattoo
With pride I'll wear it to the grave for you.
In a rose tattoo
In a rose tattoo
I've got your name written here
In a rose tattoo.
In a rose tattoo
In a rose tattoo
Signed and sealed in blood I would die for you."
"Rose Tattoo" is a song by American Celtic punk band Dropkick Murphys. It was originally released as the lead single from the band's eighth studio album "Signed and Sealed in Blood."
