Chapter 10 Road to Ashtons Venue Part 4: Diedmons Roue

Mr. Buschart, Gray, whichever you wanted to call him, walked me inside the church. I made sure more than a few arm lengths separated us, his wide imposing figure towered over most of anybody I'd seen in my life, taking up space, and preventing anyone from ignoring him. It was a good enough distraction at least for me to walk inside the church unbothered, I was too fixated on him. 

A middle-aged man more than likely around the same age as Gryce popped out of a wooden door greeting the man with a smile and wearing similar clothing as Bishops of the eye's church. His clothing draped over him as if they were several sizes too large dragging along with him a sizeable amount of cloth. His hands were concealed in his gown and as he extended his hand waiting for Gray to do the same I couldn't help but notice it shaking.

"Mr Buschart, what brings you here?" Both exchange a hardy handshake, as the Bishop patted him on his lower back while Gray tapped him gently on the head with two fingers.

He turned to me and gestured as if saying to come over here. I reluctantly dragged my feet, my stomach churning as I got closer. Murals of people I didn't recognize lined the walls, but I couldn't glaze over it for long because right after I got closer the Bishop said,

"You're new here, I don't recognize you." Mr. Buschart went into the same room the Bishop came out of closing the door not before taking one last look at me. A long, blank stare that seemed to continue longer than it did, and only until I broke eye contact did it stop. It was weird, no, it was uncomfortable more than anything. I didn't want to chalk it up to just being a strange interaction so I took note and returned my attention to the Bishop.

I wasn't sure how to answer. Answering truthfully straightaway at first didn't seem like the smartest decision. Grandma always said never to believe the words of a heretic but, she also said never to enter the domain of one so already I was on the wrong path according to her. I wasn't getting out of this without telling a bit of the truth so I fanned just a bit of ignorance as to what this place was and got to the point.

"I'm sort of lost right now, I need help getting back to town."

 "Oh? What town?" He asked

"Ashtons Venue."

The instant I said that the look in the eyes reminded me of my mothers. The mere mention of my dad and she'd become lost in whatever moments I wasn't there to see. They were sad, like pent-up regret but he handled it much better than she would've. She'd already been out of the building; by the time I thought about it. While all I could do was continue to be left in the dark, cutting away at the hair of people I never really cared for, to begin with.

"Ashtons Venue… I've heard of the place." 

"You have?" 

"Oh yes, I've visited- well I've attempted to visit every part of the Island, the ones that would accept us at least."

He peered down slightly at the end, glancing at my arm and then back at my eyes. Confused for a second I looked down and the realization of what caught his attention struck me.

I stepped back covering the marking. "I…I" I stammered for words, afraid of what he'd do. Ashtons Venue had an extensive history of dealing with Christians. To the point in which the mere mention of it would without a second either kill you or if you were lucky run away before they found out. Home was covered in the blood that had been cleaned away, lost to the numerous layers of corpses that turned into compost for the forest. While I'd never seen any of it happening in front of me, my mom never allowed that, I sure did see the aftermath. There was no hiding that but she did her best. That is to say, I deserved what was coming to me but as I flinched turning away from him I received nothing but a quizzical look,

"I don't intend on doing anything to you child." He said. "That's not what I'm here for. If you understand that the mark of that beast could offend one of us then that's more understanding than most of us receive. But… from the looks of it doesn't seem like you'd received much grace from it recently have you?"

I didn't know how to respond, thinking that this was nothing more than a ruse. He had every reason to retaliate and I wouldn't believe otherwise. 

"Right… right." I relaxed a little bit, looking around the building scanning each nook and cranny, and when I found nothing I felt a little bit naive about the social standings of the Island. 

"Besides, it is my utmost rule to understand the person before I judge. You'd know if I ever consider you someone deserving of it."

"I'm not sure what to say to that."

"That's fine. Sometimes it's better to keep quiet. With that marking you have, as long as you stay here, things'll get messy. I'm on a mission to change it, but try and alter the beliefs of people who'd been indoctrinated to hate you, and you'd come to see the process is slow."

"Is everyone here Christian?" I asked

"For the most part, no, most of the townsfolk are of your dominion; unfortunately, little with your range of temperament. He stopped himself from continuing, a bitterness that I picked up on immediately considering he made no way of hiding it on his face. He reminded me of a child who hadn't yet realized that he could lie, his real feelings on the subject coming out as a twitch on his eyebrow and full rotation of facial expressions to subside what I assumed was animosity leaking through.

"Sidetracked, bad habit of mine sorry. You need help getting back home."

"Right."

"Directions then I'd assume?"

"Not exactly I'm-" I stopped- no everything stopped. The sound, my movement, and even the sound of the wind ceased. A swift coldness entered and my eyes were drawn to the front of the building, everything appearing as if pulled away by something I couldn't see or understand. As the fabric of it tore so did my mind in grasping anything that happened after. I was forced down, and an immense pressure weighing me down forced me to kneel. The Bishop immediately came to my care as I struggled to understand what was happening

It was hard to breathe like the wind had been knocked out of me, blood rushing to my head, and I had a splitting headache all at the same time. The only thing I could make out from him was a few words like, "Are you, and what's wrong?" Then in the next after what felt like hours but in reality was only a couple minutes I was back, letting out a loud gasp as I shot up holding my chest. Mr. Buschart's face was the first thing I saw again. Right when I saw his smile. A blurred image of it quickly became clear and my heart stopped.

His smile took another meaning when our eyes met again as if he knew what had just happened and was amused to see it. His next words labored and grated, making every hair on my body stand, the unbridled urge to run. The only thing stopping me was the feeling of entrapment his eyes cast on me. 

"You said it didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"I stepped back slowly, the only thought drilling any answer it could get out of me, What just happened? Any answer falling on soft ground, nothing firm.

"Oh you said it, you said it. The look in your eyes I see it. I was doubtful but this confirms it." 

With one swoop, he grabbed my arm and dragged me inside the church screaming out,

"Another one John, we have found another one!" I was too dumbfounded to retaliate like any strength I could've had was turned to pure confusion. But as it subsided I felt the ever-tightening grip of his hand around my wrist feeling like a mound of wood crushing it and with each passing second panic began seeping inside.

"Let go of me!" I clawed at his hand feeling dry and rough like sandpaper filing my nails down until I bled. Even then he didn't let go. 

"For Christ's sake, Mr.Buschart drop the girl, don't you see you're hurting her." He looked down tilting his head.

"I'm hurting her?" he pulled me up to his eye level, suspended a few inches off the ground enough for me to feel like I was floating. Hot wind flared out of his nostrils as he pulled me closer. I spit in his face before he could say anything else, an action that maybe wasn't the wisest but came instinctively.

He tossed me into a gap separating the benches and open floor. Quickly I stood up, adrenaline in full drive as I reached for the door stopped by the Bishop's voice.

"Wait please!" He shouted sounding desperate.

"Why the hell should I?" I held my right arm to my side, blood trickling down my fingers.

Gray immediately tensed up rolling back his shoulders. "You're speaking to a holy man." He grumbled, his voice making my bones quiver.

"Now that's enough of you Mr.Buschart, if what you say is true then that girl is the only way we can end this tiresome existence. Now for the last time drop it and leave."

He turned his head briefly looking back towards John and then back to me, his eyes twitching.

"Mr.Buschart!" The Bishop shouted, his voice reaching every part of the church maybe even further than that. He sounded as if he were talking to a wild animal, a final act of desperation for a possibility he could not prevent. Neither could I.

"She disrespected you."

"Respect is not a given, there is no reason for her to respect me and after this exchange, I wouldn't blame her if she decided never to."

I didn't move, staring down Gray as he did the same to me. The overall scaling of the two of us was clear, his shadow completely eclipsing my own. But instead of fear, all I felt was the instinct to face him down, like if I hadn't, he'd charge at me without a second thought. Standing my ground, the large beast sized me up as if looking down on someone lesser than him, flaring his nostrils, and clicking his tongue.

"Never again." He snarled wiping the strand of spit off his cheek he pushed me aside, throwing me down on my rear, slamming the door shut with enough strength not just to rattle the door but also the foundation of it. Even the ground beneath me rattled slightly while the Bishop rushed towards me.

"Are you okay?" He asked with such a worried expression that it was hard for me to keep up my bitterness.

"Yeah… yeah I'm alright." I held out my good arm and he pulled me up tending to my wrist.

"It might be broken." It was a mix of purple and black, tender to the touch, I winced a little. He looked back to the front of the church and shouted,

"Meribeth come here quickly!"

"No, no it's alright, I'm fine, really"

"Oh please, no one knows that man's strength better than I do. Immediate care, that's what you need, I'll explain as much as possible to you then." I could tell there was nothing I could do to convince him otherwise.

Meribeth came out with a stretcher and bags full of equipment that were completely useless in treating whatever I had. The first thing I noticed about her was how she kept her hair. An uneven, matty mess that distracted me from the pain, which I was grateful for but every part of me wanted to either cut it all off her head or have a full day just to fix it. Too bad half if not all my equipment was covered in at least some inch of Gryce's blood.

John didn't seem surprised when she came in stammering for the right equipment just guiding her through the array of appliances landing on a jar of what looked like oil. It was labeled with the word "Arnica" never heard of it. When I asked what it was both of them looked at me confused, John asked,

"Where are you from?" I was confused for a second, taking a moment to realize that everything that I said to him hadn't happened. Going through the same course of events, he once again looked at me like Mom but the response after of course was different. 

"That explains it then." He put two fingers in the jar, applying it on my wrist thanking Meribeth as she hurried off with the excess items telling her to come back once she was done.

"How much do you know about outside of Ashton's Venue?" I begrudgingly admitted that it was limited. To be perfectly honest all I knew about home was the name. I wasn't the only one, I know I wasn't, everything outside of town was so far away, and in terms of information being distributed, I learned whatever the church permitted me to and so did everyone else regardless of whether you followed it. Something as little as a flower brought here by a Visitor would be the last thing I'd ever hear of. The Bishop said Arnica was found on a boat from outside the Island, the date unspecified, location even was inconclusive but from all accounts everyone inside was dead, mutilated, with a hole in every one of their stomachs, the life, the color drained out of them. The only things left behind were a journal taken to Solomon, a crate of Mountain Arnica, and how they used it. After finding out how it was grown it was distributed all across the Island, except Ashton's Venue that is; something about the tradelines, inexceptible during the time, he didn't know either. 

"That was a long time ago." He wrapped my wrist in a bandage, not too tight, wiping off the blood that had gathered around my fingers. "People show up here usually with no clue -how or why, lots of people."

"Do you know how it happens?"

"An Idea, but that's not for me to tell you, it's what you people would call heresy, forbidden knowledge." He took a look at my marking and winked. I awkwardly smiled in return. 

"But I'm just joking, I don't like thinking that way. There's no escaping it, the more you try and separate it from yourself, before you know it you've unknowingly made it closer. It's been a long time since we've been out of here, I don't know if that's a very popular way of thinking- Right! You asked how it happens sorry." He reached into his pocket and handed me a small black journal. "I wrote it down, as it was happening, read it when you have the time. Should answer any questions you've been asking yourself." He patted me on the shoulder and hurried off to where Meribeth went. Waving goodbye one last time before hurrying away, my full attention was on the book. Ignoring the pain and whatever grievances I had I opened the journal as if someone was attempting to take it away from me and as my overwhelming eagerness to finally answer my questions was in my hands, it slipped.

 I swiftly grabbed it by the back end a loose piece of folded paper slipping out. It was yellow, tattered with a large tear in the middle, fastened by a strip of tape.

"Looks like one of Luka's drawings." It looked like his original copy of it same tares and everything.

I picked it up and unfolded it, being extra careful as I could tell it was fragile. I was right, the same mystery that continued to puzzle him was the same as this one, " I wonder if he knows what it is." I remember when Luka finally gave up on trying to understand what it was and came to each of our doors we'd never seen him so frail and defeated. Being only ten at the time I didn't understand why he'd let something so meaningless weigh on him that much. But, having it in my hand I, sort of, understood.

It had the same allure as why I gravitated towards following the eye as if it invited me to look further into it and invest my life in figuring it out. However, there was one thing different about the drawing if Luka had seen it would have more than likely understood it. On the bottom right corner of the drawing were the initials, E.M.G.