***NOTE***
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. VIEWS EXPRESSED BY CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE MEANT TO BE REPRESENTATIVE OF MEDIEVAL PREJUDICES AND WORLD-VIEWS, SOME OF WHICH WERE VERY COMMON IN THAT TIME PERIOD. THEY DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE AUTHOR'S PERSONAL SENTIMENTS OR BELIEFS.

With that said, please enjoy this strange tale.



The Color of Mantis
C. Casey Gardiner

* * *

The world was hers, the whole blessed world, but she was away from it all. Simultaneously, she was within and without the world.

By the tallowflicker of candlelight, Maria Verdelanda di Conte-Pinento concentrated on the page. Some of St. Benedict's words were difficult for her; she had never seen them before, but by context, by examining the other words and phrases around the word in question, she was able to decipher their basic meaning. A part of her was off wondering about this: If one could examine the influences of a concept, but never the concept itself, couldn't one also come to a relatively accurate conclusion about the unknown? Which is to say, more concretely, if one might be allowed to examine the nature of creation on very large, and very small, and very personal and impersonal levels, then could one not come to also understand the nature of the creator, if indeed one did exist? 

Maria furrowed her brow, and the shadows on her face deepened the lines of worry. She realized these were thoughts that bordered upon heresy. In fact, they might have been heresy, but she hadn't studied too many dogmatic texts to know for certain which of her thoughts were criminal or not.

It wasn't entirely by her own choice that she was here, but there was a portion of her that genuinely wanted to learn at the Benedictine convent priory of Conte-Pinento. She recalled her stepfather Francisco's words, when he was watching her pack. It was his decision that had enabled her to be here.

"Better a sister than a witch," Francisco scowled. "Always prattling on about lodestone properties and tinctures what might resurrect the dead... How can the Kingdom of God be held aloft in the sky? Whatever might the mechanism be? Does such a mechanism also hold the sun, and the stars, and the whole damned firmament above the earth? You can trust the order to put those devilish notions out of your head. You've caused your mother too much pain."

"You're not making me go," she reminded him. "I want to go. I want to study, and there's very few places in the world..." she paused, "this world... that would ever allow it."

Her stepfather groaned. "Oh, curse my brother for ever teaching you a single, written word. I daresay that for whatever reason you've managed to hold onto a bit more original sin than any other lady I know. The taste of the fruit's never left your tongue."

She gave him an exasperated look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know very well what it means. You've got a touch of Eve in you. You always have."

She smirked. "Don't you mean Lilith?"

"What was that?"

She looked at his face and saw something fearful beginning to emerge in his expression.

"You've been running around the synagogue again haven't you?" She watched his lips curl back. "Damn you! You were to stay out of the Jew district! Did I not make myself clear? Those pig-sucklers have poisoned your mind, the same as they poisoned the wells with the Black Death and killed their fellow countrymen."

She looked away. "The world is turning, father. We're no longer the savages we once were. Scientific and philosophical advances are being made each day, each one building upon the last. We don't have the luxury of ignorance in these times."

"It's not ignorance, you silly child, it is fact! Father Morenti himself has said many times that the-"

"Oh, Father Morenti, of course!" She broke in with a false smile. "That dutiful and compassionate soul, what a paragon of virtue, he is. And wasn't it he who saw fit to have his own cousin put to the stake?"

Francisco's eyes blazed. "How dare you! That was before your time! You have no right to even speak of it."

Maria set her jaw. "Tell me father," she said slowly, watching his face. "Who holds more authority for you, the Church, or God?"

Sitting in the quiet of her cell, Maria absently rubbed at the side of her face. The bruise had faded one month earlier, but the area was still tender to the touch. When she had been brought to the gate, and her personal jewelry was presented as a tithe, the questioning nun who answered had been given the explanation that, as a girl who was still a little clumsy, she had taken a rather nasty fall in the hay-shed. Under her stepfather's watchful eye, Maria did nothing to correct him.

"It's over," she said to herself. "Let it go. It's all over now." She realized her mind was too distracted to concentrate properly on Benedict's words. She sighed, and quietly closed the Book of Hours. It would be getting late now, and even though her natural tendency was to stay up through the late, late hours, the witching-hours, as her family called them, it would do her no good in the morning. Maria slid the book to one side of the little wooden desk and opened up the thin parchment drawing folio beneath it. Flipping past buildings and people; butterflies, toads and sparrows; woods and hills and plains and desert sands, Maria settled on a blank page. Reaching across the candlelight, she picked up a simple shard of charcoal and began to carve delicate lines into the surface.

As she drew, she watched what she drew, and with a small satisfaction, she saw that it was good. At first a line, and then a thickness. A feeler? Very well, a feeler. She was drawing an insect, then, but what variety? Maria enjoyed her sketching moments, as she sometimes felt as if the universe was drawing whatever she drew for her, and through her, like a channel carrying fresh water from one side of the land to the other. It took very little effort, and almost no thought at all. Maria looked again, and was pleasantly surprised, for looking back up at her through the flat, monochromatic dimensions of the page, through swirls of charcoal dust, there was a keen creature. A praying mantis.

Maria's sudden snort caught in her throat and she coughed. "Appropriate," she muttered. She turned the page around to examine her work. The lines were sure, but now, here, the eyes! What lovely eyes.

"A comely beast in miniature, the Praying Mantis." The voice came from behind her. "Truly, one of God's beloved works."

Maria stiffened, and turned around to see the pillared form of Sister Drudola lifting a lighted candle in the open doorway. How silently the woman walked! From dusk until dawn, it was Drudola who always kept the watchfires of the priory's dorter lit. Maria knew what her presence meant.

"Might I stay up for a little while longer?" She begged, “This drawing's not finished yet."

Drudola sighed. "How would one be finished with it? How could they? The world is a shifting place -- ever-changing, ever-tumbling and grinding, and now left to be guarded by us. No, Maria. We keep a strict schedule for a reason. If you adhere to it long enough, you'll come to understand this reason for yourself."

Maria managed to accompany her nod with a faint smile. It wasn't that she disliked the woman, but there was something vaguely disturbing about her presence. Perhaps if a person walked the lonely walk of the night-watch for long enough, it would inevitably begin to change them into something more night-like. Silently, Maria thought this, but seeing the woman wouldn't be swayed, she closed the book and put things back in their place.

"I bid you good night," Drudola said, and Maria could almost see the cobwebs between her words. Soon, with candles left smoking in the darkness, Maria of Conte-Pinento let stillness overtake her.

Out of that stillness, a great, thunderous voice shook her small frame. "PATIENCE," it growled.

Maria turned to look behind her, and beheld a great and terribly emerald creature. This was an animal of armor and sinew and polished surfaces. It was like no mantis she had ever seen in her life: A veritable god of an insect, if such an insect were to have a god, and that god were not in the painted shape of the deity which mankind was reported to be a reflection of. "What?" She asked, and felt she could barely get the words out.

"PATIENCE," came the command again. It sounded less like words, and more like the scraping of metal against stone.

"I... I don't understand. You wish me to have patience? Patience for what?"

"PATIENCE."

"Patience for patience?" She tried to laugh, and found she could not. "What little sense you make!"

"PATIENCE."

Now she realized the alienness of this being. If this creature were to speak human words, why would they have to have a human meaning? Did the honeybees hum, as it had often been jested, merely because they could not remember the words to a song? Of course not. That was a purely human conceit.

"PATIENCE... PATIENCE... PATIENCE..." The words grew faster, like a heartbeat amplified by the echoes of a cavern, with smaller and smaller intervals, until she was sure she was hearing something entirely different, the sound of a mill-wheel turning.

She now saw the emerald behemoth swing into a slow motion, like some great and terrible machine. She watched it rear back, and then, she saw it change into something incomprehensibly swift.

Now she saw what was happening, and too late, she tried to run, but the monster would not be denied his prey.

Jaws closed in around her, and little Maria gasped.

She was in her room, damp in her bedclothes. Her heart was still pounding. The room was dim, but outside her open window, dawn threatened to spill over the horizon within the hour. Beside the open shutters, upon the stone ledge, a small shape moved.

"...As a thief in the night!" she said with wonder, recalling the verse from Thessalonians. Now she was sure that she was awake, and that she was looking at a mantis standing upon her windowsill, innocently. But how innocent can thieves be? She wondered. And if a god should be a thief, what is it they would steal?

"Where did you come from?" she said, now finding laughter again.

The mantis shifted its weight, and did not answer.

Maria heard the morning call to prayer echo through the halls outside. A steady rap came at her door.

"Rise," said Sister Clarissima, "And serve the Lord." She said it only once, and moved on. Maria knew by now what was and was not expected of her each day. She was expected to rise. This day would be filled with more strenuous labor in the neighboring vineyards. The Doges always made great contributions to the priory, indeed it was their financial contributions which had ensured the buildings themselves to be built, so in exchange, the clergy were obliged to return favors. One of the ways in which this was done was through the tending of the nobles' vineyards. It was tough work, somehow made tougher by the silence the nuns imposed on themselves when they labored out in the field. If you had breath to speak, Sister Altadonna had often said, then you had wasted breath. You were clearly not doing your share of the work. And we all must have our share. it was usually then that she would quote the beloved Benedict: "Orare est laborare, laborare est orare." Maria had come to disagree with Altadonna on many virtues, but this too, she did in silence.

Maria steeled herself for the day, and rose from her straw-filled pallet bed. "You may peruse this cell if you wish," she addressed the creeping mantis, "But, you won't like it. I doubt you'll find very much food here. You'll fare much better outside this drab, dark..." She reached for the insect, but it leapt up and fluttered off into the dark corners of her room. "Merda!" Her small voice swore after it, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth, and felt her ears burning.

Very well. It was a small matter, and one she didn't have time to worry about. She would find the insect sooner or later, dead or alive, though she rather hoped, alive. It would be a shame if this creature starved to death in her chamber.

The heat of the noonday sun was tolerable, and Maria was grateful for the coarse-woven straw hat Altadonna had, begrudgingly, allowed her to wear. Blinking at the array of brilliant green leaves and stems before her as the girl picked waxen grape after grape from the bushes and deposited them in her basket, she allowed her thoughts to drift off, as she had several times already that day, once even during morning prayer, toward the mantis.

In the middle of a droning Pater Noster, she had encountered it again. 

"Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie..."

Green. Flashing.

"...et ne nos inducas in tentationem..."

Patience.

"Amen..."

Was it merely coincidence that she had drawn the creature before seeing it? Dreaming about it could be no coincidence at all, for that was how the imagination worked. Troubles during the day always became the evening's nightmarish trials. She didn't have any phobia of mantises, or any other insect she knew of, really. She was unique in that way, among her peers. As a young girl in the fields, while her cousins would run squealing at the sight of a large beetle, she was always there, stick in hand, to prod the poor creature. She had to know how it was, why it was. That was the way to learn. What else was there?

Maria rubbed the dust from her eyes, and straightened her back, for a moment. The leaves were everywhere around her, and behind every one, in her mind's eye, she could almost make out a mantis hiding behind each.

Waiting.

For what?

Now, there was the noonday bell, and Maria watched the others as they each laid down their baskets and filed in toward the priory walls for the midday prayer, what was known as the Sext. As a mere oblate, Maria was not required to observe every single canonical hour of the day, but she was required to attend all of the major ones. She was not trapped. If she had wanted, Maria was sure she could leave this mode of life for good, and seek her own dubious fortune in the world. She was not ready to leave, not yet. Each day had her sitting in the middle of the choice. Would she serve God, or only herself? Was this the only way to do it? Certainly not. There was also the Synagogues, or the strange temples of the Orient. There was even the heathen mystics of faraway lands to the East, mysterious people who claimed to gain insight not from texts but from watching leaves as they fell from trees, or by tracing the aberrant movements of rabbits on the heath. But for now, at least, there was only the convent. Maria trod up the path with the others.

"Do not touch the text!" Sister Florula barked, "Until you are ready. You are not ready!"

"I... I wasn't!" Maria defended herself. "I was merely looking..." Her eyes darted back over the cascading, diamondstroke forms, so typical of Beneventan-style letters. 

"You are not fit to look!" The stout woman said, stalking over to snap the gilded book shut before Maria's eyes. "You are not fit to touch! Lovely work you have, Maria, beautiful, beautiful, but it must be perfect! How else are we to reflect the words of God?"

Maria pouted. "But... the only thing as perfect as God, would be God. How can anyone's work ever be that perfect?"

"It can't!" Sister Florula said with satisfaction. "But to realize this fact means we are now fit to approach the work."

Maria perched herself upon the groaning wooden bench with excitement. It had been with great consternation that she had been allowed to attend the woman's presence in the scriptorium, but after reviewing some of the girl's work, Florula had to admit Maria's artistic skill showed promise.

"And now, let's see that folio of yours, eh?"

Maria quickly handed her sketching book to the nun and waited with hands clasped behind her back.

Florula flipped through the pages. "Good. Very good. You're showing progress. Not so heavy on the line now... What's this?" She paused at the last sketch of the mantis. She chuckled. "Oh, Maria. Your rendition is too kind for this species. No mantis is this handsome."

The girl felt a twinge of anger. "Sister Florula, you would think differently if you ever saw a mantis."

"Child, I have seen many a mantis in my days. They were each of them, as revolting as the first. Have you ever been witness to the way they eviscerate their prey? Hmm?" She clucked. "Few sights are as unpleasant in nature as a praying mantis having a jewelled songbird for lunch. You cannot imagine. They... they pluck the feathers..." She shivered. "I cannot feel badly for one who has never witnessed it. Enough of this. Let us resume the lesson in ligatures..."

From hour to hour, the tasks and rituals were the same as they had been, as they would continue to be, for years and years to come, for the others definitely, if not for her, but now Maria's mind was pierced by something new, and it was this something which threatened to overtake her conscious mind each hour, when she could not -- was not allowed to -- occupy it with something else other than a quiet, meditative state.

She began to imagine, absurdly, a priory much like her own, but one staffed by mantises in appropriately tailored habits. As she sang, she watched the creatures, demonic perhaps, hiss and chitter and sway to the hymns. Such creatures, if they were able to conceive of a god, would doubtlessly conceive of something more universal to their own lives of waiting and hunting, gripping and tearing. They might begin to call this deity something equally monstrous, such as the Great Razored Hunter, or The Giver of Flies.

"Stop it," she scolded herself, and Sister Francesca, the pale woman seated next to her, risked a glance to see what was wrong with the new oblate. Maria now realized she had spoken out loud. She retreated to her hymnal, with her face flushed.

Mercifully, the end of the day arrived, and Maria found herself, once again, within the quiet of her own cell, but her mind was far from quiet. No trace of the insect could be found, though it was not for want of trying. Again, unable to concentrate on Benedict's words, she opened the folio to a fresh page, and let her arm move of its own accord. Within several seconds, Maria saw the beginnings of a fantastical-looking creature: A hybrid between a man and a mantis. In his own strange way, she had thought, he did look... handsome...

"This will not do!" she chided, and to rid herself of the demoniac incarnation, the young girl tore the offending sheet from the folio's binding. It was a desperate move, and perhaps ill-proportioned, as parchment was more expensive these days, but she had no other way of erasure, so it was surely necessary. Crumpling the sheet into a ball, she resolved to hold it over her reading candle until it burned away to nothing. Beside her hand, there was a movement.

"You..." Maria regarded the mantis with a steely eye. The firelight took away some of the greenness in its features, but the creature was still quite verdant. "Though you have no reason to know it, you have caused me no end of trouble this day."

The mantis trod quietly closer. It turned its head and met her eyes.

Maria's next words were cut off. What an expressive animal! Few there were in the insect world who made such emotive gestures. Bearing these phenomena in mind, it was not difficult to make the mental jump from observing a simple beast to sharing a space of time and uncertainty with a fellow being, yet another of creation's awe-inducing works.

A comely beast.

"Hold," she spoke to the mantis.  "If you would do me the honor of holding that position," She fumbled for parchment and charcoal, "We may yet make amends." Maria scribbled furiously, thicks and thins, lights and darks, steady, steady lines, but mostly shades. The mantis held still.

"There." She said, proudly. "What do you think of that?" She held up the drawing: A three-quarters' view of the specimen, rendered in thick, baroque tones. A portrait.

The mantis crept forward and nodded, perhaps, appreciatively.

Maria blinked. Had she seen what she thought she saw? Ridiculous. She was only projecting her human concept of a conscious being onto an animal's form. This creature could not comprehend abstracts such as perspective and dimensional depth. A mantis knew nothing of art.

Again, the voice behind her. "Well... you have an admirer already, do you now?" Sister Drudola's chuckle rose above the cold stone. "I am not surprised."

Maria turned around, blushing. "Sister, I had the most frightful dream last night." She told her about the terror of being devoured, and the cascading, possibly sinful thoughts she had been host to throughout the day. "And I might blame it all on this little one," she nodded to the mantis perched on her desk. "Please take it away for me, Drudola, won't you? Place it in the garden when you go out tonight."

Drudola pulled a face. "Oh, you've no right to be upset, Maria. Each one of us is an instrument of the Lord, from the very large, to the very small. It seems to me that you might have been chosen."

"Chosen..." Maria frowned. "By God?"

Drudola shook her head. "By Mantis. And by God, yes. Who among us can fathom the infinite mind of creator and created? Who can count the number of his servants? And who, dear Maria, knows the depth and breadth of his court, or the cunning of his messengers?" She reached out to pick up the mantis.

"Be careful," Maria warned. "He's a quick one." She swallowed when she watched the Mantis step calmly onto the woman's hand.

"Is he?" Sister Drudola gently lifted the creature. "Well, I must be terribly quick myself. We're all quick, then. If we wish to be."

Lying awake, or half-awake, Maria recalled Drudola's words. Chosen by Mantis. She had heard her say that. Was that a heretical conceit? Did it matter? Could a god have practical use for lesser god-like, archonic beings? Was she allowed to think such things? She shut her eyes and tried to forget it.

Instead, the girl found herself, in time, or outside of it entirely, it was difficult to say which, as a mote drifting through the cosmos.

Spread out before her, as a great celestial backdrop, were all the rotating crystalline wheels and spheres of the machination of the universe. Great and thunderous balls of liquid fire, dancing comets with foxish tails spread out behind them, and the magnanimous, rolling marbles of heavenly planets all spun and moved along their ancient, unfathomable tracks. And there was Maria, floating, like a feather, among them. Her apparent destination was now within view: An unearthly, circular-domed pavilion with a lit gazing pool in the center, but with no structure beneath it. The vast, polished marble-esque floor and columned arches hung unsupported in the darkness. She landed, touching down gently with one foot, and then the other, and saw that on the other side of the glowing pool, there was a tall, armored figure.

A great distance was still between the two of them, for the stone floor, more like a plaza, was expansive. It was difficult to tell if this was because she and her host were very small, or if the pavilion itself was very large, but mostly, it was difficult to tell who or what her host was.

The figure slowly strode toward her. "Magnificat." His arms, all four of them, were wide open. "Ah, truly the Giver of Flies blesses me."

Maria stared at the arrowed head and met the creature's eyes.  "I know you... you're-"

"Yes."

She tilted her head. "Mantis?"

The verdant being took a step to the side and made a low bow. "At your service this evening." She watched with morbid fascination as the antennae atop his head flicked. Maria saw now that what she had at first perceived to be armor instead appeared to be a silken coat that was roughly the same color as the creature who was wearing it. What manner of beast was this?

"This is a dream," she said suddenly. 

Mantis looked up again, and smiled. He nodded. "That is true, sweet Maria... but what is life itself, but a dream of the ‘Great Razored Hunter?'"

She flinched. "You mustn't say those names."

"Why not?"

"They're monstrous."

He rubbed his chin with one large, clawed hand. "And, you do not believe your God to be monstrous?"

"Certainly not!"

"Why not? Because he resembles humanity in every aspect, from having five digits upon each limb, to being burdened with the necessity to eat quantities of bread and meat, and relieve himself daily?"

"Of course not," she scoffed.  "That's absurd!"

Mantis scratched his chin. "Is it? Where do the similarities end, I wonder?"

She laughed. "This conversation, and the entire situation accompanying it is absurd."

"Oh, so you're not one for conversation, I take it."

She folded her arms. "I did not say that."

"Let us dance." He said, suddenly. "That is, rather... Would you care to dance?"

"What?"

Mantis fumbled with his words. "I apologize if I have offended you in any way, but the truth of the matter is, I have wanted to dance with you, from the very first moment I met you..."

"The first moment you met me?"

"Yes, the very first... I had the insatiable urge to ask you to dance. It sounds absurd, I know. It may be absurd, but the heart itself is absurd, as we all know, that is how the creator saw fit to make it, and that is how I truly feel." He finished, and then made another, hesitant bow.

"Why now?"

"Life, milady, is short."

"Is it?"

"It is."

A strange smile crept into Maria's face, and she shrugged. "Very well."

Mantis leaped to attention. "Really? You mean it?"

"If that is how one's heart feels, then there is little one may do about it, is there?"

"I do like a woman of reason." Mantis took a step forward and gently took hold of Maria's hands in his own monstrous, claw-like hands. She flinched, and then realized with surprise how warm he felt.

"But, there's no music."

Mantis smiled a monstrous smile. "Isn't there?"

All at once, Maria heard it, like a troubadours' ensemble whose music was wafting over the hill from a village far away. The sound was like bells and drums and airy, echoing horns. It sent a shiver up her shoulders. "What is it?" She asked, trembling.

"The music of the spheres."

And they danced. And as they danced, the wheels and spheres and fox-comets danced with them. As they danced, the universe danced. Being within and without time and within and without space and cause and reason, the whole of creation swung back and forth, like a great, ferocious pendulum of light and matter. And then she felt it: the rising of the dawn. Her dawn. Her own and everyone else's.

There was a knock. "Rise, and serve the Lord."

Perhaps she would, but perhaps, she might do it in a different way. One that might have been more meaningful, even with infinite meaning, because she herself would create it. Already the dream was fading, and Maria found she could no longer recall that strange and timeless music anymore. The air was dry, and she let out a cough. Perhaps this was heresy. Perhaps it was the Tempter's work.

She scowled. "The Giver of Lies."

It hardly mattered. The day would be as quiet as all the others, if she could manage to keep her own mind quieted.

At the priory's simple breakfast meal of bread and beer (for the wells were dangerous to drink from), Maria discussed her mantis obsession with her bench-neighbor, Sister Francesca. She did not tell of last night's dream. The woman had no need to know of such oddities. Francesca was surprisingly consoling, and claimed to know of an excellent remedy for Maria's dilemma. She resolved to share it with her after Vespers, the evensong prayer hour.

The day's labor went on, much as before. Altadonna was especially rueful this day, as this was one of the last days for the vineyard's summer season. All the grapes for summer wine had to be collected within this day or the next, or else the flavor would begin to sour. Maria ignored the sharp pains running up her back that she received for pushing herself, and concealed her grimace beneath the brim of a straw hat. Her mind, now, was elsewhere. Beneath and above a shimmering field of gold and silver stars, she retreated into the arms of... whom?

Her fingers were raw.

"Whoever you were," she whispered to the vine-fields, "I did enjoy your company."

In the evening, Sister Francesca was true to her word, but rather than explain anything within the short time the two passed each other in the corridor after Vespers, she pressed a small, weighted pouch into Maria's palm. "You may keep it," she confided. "I have others."

"What is it?" the girl asked, turning the pouch over.

"One of God's instruments," Francesca smiled. "Discipline."

Retiring to her cell that evening, Maria was dismayed, but not surprised, to see what was in the pouch. Rather hoping it was a rosary or scapular, instead she stared at the fine strands of linked metal rods and rings, gathered together at one end by a worn, wooden handle. She had seen a flagrum before, of course, many times when she was a young girl, wielded by the marching bands of penitents who occasionally passed through the town square, singing their loud, mournful songs, the geisslerlieder as some called them, and keeping rhythm upon each other's backs by each lashing stroke. She recalled their white robes, soaked with crimson, and their shuffling gait as they marched in endless, occasionally stumbling circles. She knew it was common practice. She understood, at least abstractly, why they practiced their faith in the way they did, but she could never shake the idea that there was something untoward about the acts of penance through corporal mortification, each time she saw it. To feel the sting of the whip, the pains, at least the physical pains, of Christ, of the world -- this may have been laudable, but she was not as brave.

She tucked the object back into its case and carefully set it on a shelf.

Under the blazing beacons of stars and planets, Mantis embraced her again. "You've returned!" The pool's light reflected rippling, liquid shapes upon the insect-man's beaming face. Maria felt her heart race. He paused a skipping, fidgeting moment before blurting out, "Let us be wed."

"What?" Maria pushed away from him.

His twitching antennae drooped. "I... uh... perhaps that was a bit hasty."

Maria, more confused than angry, asked, "W-why... in the world would you say such a thing?" She paused to reflect on the absurdity. "And besides, I am to be wedded to the church, to God!"

The creature seemed to shrink before her as he avoided her eyes. "Yes, but, uh... you have not made the vows... and can't one be married to a creator through his own creation as well?" He shrugged, "It all emanates from the same place anyway, does it not?" He cleared his throat. "That is... in... theory..." He tapered off, miserably.

Maria shook her head, trying to find words. "How... why did you wish to marry me? We've barely met!"

"Yes! True! But... but... I feel as if I've known you for ages now!" Mantis scratched quickly at the back of his collar. "Tell me, truly. Don't you feel the same way?"

"Perhaps," she admitted, and was surprised at her admittance, for it was only after that moment that she had realized it to be true, "But you're not even... well... look at you!" She gestured to the monstrous man in his silken finery. "You're a... a... demon!"

He scoffed. "And you are not?"

She tilted her head. He gestured to the pool. Looking into its luminescent waters, she caught her own mysterious reflection.

"I was going to tell you..." he offered.

Shock was on her own mantid face. "What in heaven's name have you done to me?"

"This is dreamspace," he reassured her. "The change isn't permanent... unless you wish it to be."

She studied, with curiosity more than revulsion now, her own visage. "Strange..." she said, tracing the joints of the plates comprising her verdant face with delicate claws. "So strange are the ways of demons!"

Mantis looked hurt. "Not so, milady. I am no maleficent thing." He began pacing. "I am no Tempter, nor a servant of him, nor a servant of his servants... You have met my master. I am certain you remember the encounter."

Maria realized what he was talking about. "That... THING? It tried to devour me! It DID devour me!"

"He did not really try to eat you, Maria... it was a gesture of respect. A sign of acceptance into the idea and being that is Mantis. Try to understand."

"A sign of acceptance is to bite someone's head off!"

"It's the way things are done. The ways of totems are ancient, unfathomable, but they are important. These are strange customs to you, I realize, but they're no stranger than some of your own."

She took a step back. "I have not an inkling of an understanding for what you are talking about."

Mantis rolled his claws around each other as he paced. "Your order... they do strange things. That Sister Francesca, what use does she have of flailing herself? How does this bring aid to the world?"

"How do you know of that?"

"I hear the rumors."

Maria frowned. "I don't fully know, to be honest... I suppose it is to emulate the misery of the world." 

"It is a comfort to know there are some who can choose when to have their misery." Mantis turned away. "Or ecstasy."

Maria caught the emphasis. "That is not what it is about." She folded her arms, all four of them, across her silken carapace. It was a peculiar feeling.

"Isn't it?" he snapped. "Did King Solomon, when he built his temple, beat at the walls until cracks formed?" Then his armored face softened. "I apologize, milady. That was... rude, to say the least. The truth is, I can scarcely endure the idea of harm coming to you." He placed his claws upon her plated shoulders. "Promise me you will treat yourself kindly."

She looked away, but didn't pull away from his touch. "Why... Why all this attention? What could you want of me?"

The creature lifted her chin upward, gently, with one claw, to meet his eyes. "Dare I say it?"

She faltered. "Say what?"

He gazed at her. "That I care for you."

There was a long moment when Maria forgot to breathe, and then she shook her arrowed head. "This is a trick. A snare."

"It isn't... I promise you."

She straightened her back. "You promise me?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Prove it."

Mantis nodded. "Yes... I will. How do you wish me to prove it?"

Maria pointed a claw finger at him. "Be honest."

"I am, milady."

"And explain yourself... What is it that you really want?"

His eyes widened. "I speak truthfully, milady... I want-"

"No. What is it your master wants you to want of me?"

"Oh!" His monstrous face brightened. "A simple matter. He wants an emissary."

"A what?"

"An emissary," Mantis stirred his claws again, "An agent for his work and purpose, someone to enact his bidding in the world. An emissary will gain the blessings and freedoms of their host."

"What blessings?"

"Oh... flight, speed, metamorphosis... The totems will give many."

"Totems?" She felt her antennae fold back, and the feeling was mildly disturbing. "You speak of pagan gods."

"Not at all, dear Maria... I speak of nature and her keepers."

"Servants?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

Her eyes narrowed. "What bidding?"

"A virtue. A simple one."

Maria puzzled for a moment before she straightened up. "Patience."

Mantis nodded.

"But I serve the creator."

"Yes, yes, so do we all."

"You do?"

"Of course! He who gives of flies, also lends his own patience. In this light, our duty is clear... to wait until the perfect moment, to strike."

Maria shifted her weight. "To strike at what?"

The keen creature grinned. "The Giver of Lies."  

A knock. 

Celestial lights gave way to the dimness of early morning. 

"Rise," came the call after knocking, "and serve the Lord."

Perhaps she would, Maria thought, while stretching her two, thin arms above her head. It was a peculiar feeling. Although, perhaps there was more than one way to go about it. Perhaps there was as many ways as there were grains of sand upon the shore, or stars in the heavens. Perhaps there were infinite ways. Ways to explore, ways to learn and study and grow. Ways to fight a world of lies and peel away the layers of accumulated pain and deceit, until the truth was found.

And perhaps, now, as strange as it sounded, she would not have to do it all alone.

Maria swallowed. This was madness. It was heresy.

Wasn't it?

In the cool of the morning, Mother Consola reclined in her seat between open leaves of vellum. The abbess rested her head upon one gnarled fist, her wrinkled face curled into a single, timeless, unanswerable question. Her eyes were closed, and for a moment, between heaving breaths, Maria thought the old woman had fallen asleep.

Then the abbess spoke. "Who else, besides Sister Drudola and Sister Francesca have you consulted about this?" Her face looked out through pale, clouded windows.

Maria straightened herself. "No-one at length, Mother. I must know... Is this a trick?"

The abbess sighed and stretched herself like an old hunting hound. "My child, the whole of the world may be seen as a trick, if one chooses to see the world this way. There are many who say the earth is the devil's domain."

The girl frowned. "And what do you say? Surely this is the most bizarre thing anyone has told you."

The woman shrugged. "Many years have passed before me. Many secrets I have heard in these walls, and kept, and I will keep them all, Maria, until the Lord asks for them back. I understand you to be a woman of science, Maria. A dangerous vocation in these times, but perhaps, in the future, not so unheard of..." She leaned forward, and Maria felt surprise at her own fear of this dusty relic of a woman. "Tell me, child... in your studies, have you ever heard of anything as ridiculous as the story you have told me?"

Maria felt indignation rising in her gut. "There is nothing ridiculous about it!"

"Isn't there? You understand mantis-men in long coats to be an everyday occurrence here?"

The girl faltered. "I... no... but I have not lied to you!"

"I didn't accuse you of lies," Mother Consola now watched Maria with a strange, unsettling look. "I asked you, have you heard of anything similar?"

She shook her head. "In truth, I have not."

"But I have."

Maria looked up, and watched the woman turn to pull a brown volume from the shelf, and lay it before Maria between all the others. The girl read the title with interest, and then undisguised revulsion. The Malleus Malificarum. The Witches' Hammer.

"How dare you! I am a good person!" The girl yelled.

The abbess did not flinch. "Then, you are familiar with this work."

"I am... I have not read it, but, Mother, please believe I have never done any witchcraft, at all!"

"Again, you leap to conclusions..." The abbess grumbled, and Maria was quiet. "If you have not read the Inquisitor's work, I may tell you, it is out-dated, to say the least. The Inquisitor's words are contradictory, sometimes upon the same page, and the whole of the work serves no better purpose than to fuel the hellish fires within the hearts of the cruel. Yet, it is still endorsed by the Church, and we still bear the weight of its blood-stained pages. Why, Maria?" She thumped the cover with a stony fist, and the girl was startled. "Listen! I will disclose the secret. There are many in this world who cannot conceive of miracles. They speak of miracles, and preach of them, but they cannot believe in them, because they have never felt a miracle themselves. So what do these people do, Maria? They tell the others that any time anything strange happens, it is because the devil himself has made it happen. Tell them of Fair Folk, and they will see demons. Tell them of voices in the wood, or visions in the glass of a lake, and they will cry the name of Lucifer. You see what they do, Maria? Without realizing it at all, they place all of their faith in the hands of the enemy." The woman stood up, slowly, like a great wave rising in the sea, and pulled the book away. Sliding it back into its place on the shelf, she said, "And I have learned, I learned it long ago, that it is not for me to decide of whom has been visited by the devil, and whom has been visited by God... That decision, and where you choose to go with it, is solely yours, Maria." Then the woman slumped down in the chair again, like a bundle of dropped sheets, and looked again to have fallen asleep.

Maria continued. "You said you've heard of something similar."

"Yes... the Benandanti of Friuli," the abbess heaved. "They who once called themselves the Hounds of God... They were a band of men who, nightly, claimed they were each awakened by a war-drum at their door. The men found themselves changed then, metamorphosed into fierce wolf-beasts, and joined into a fearsome army."

Maria marvelled. "An army of beasts! To what end?"

"To protect the village against witches, of course. What else would a ‘hound of God' do with such a frame? Nightly they went out into the fields around Friuli, and fought, and were victorious, and nightly they each returned to bed, thus having served the mystery of the Lord."

The girl swallowed. "Astonishing... What happened to them?"

The abbess turned around and tapped her finger on the spine of the Malleus Malificarum. "They were tried, of course, but despite being involved in such untoward activity, the judges, to their dismay, could find little wrong with these Benandanti. The reasoning was, if they were enemies of the devil's minions, well, we can't find anything wrong with that, can we?" The abbess let out a soft cackle.

The girl pondered over the old woman's words. "Are you suggesting that I'm to be recruited for some sort of... insectine army?" 

"I suggest nothing, child... But if you want to know more about it, perhaps you should ask him yourself."

"Who? Mantis?"

The abbess shook her head. "I will say no more. This is not my jurisdiction. However, I will insist," She stood up and took Maria over to the door, "that what we have discussed will not leave this room, for obvious reasons. You have nothing to fear, Maria. I trust you will make the right decision."

That evening, when she touched down and glided across the stone floor to him, Maria Verdelanda di Conte-Pinento was ready for the mantis-being. She snapped her pincers at him, "I know what you want. I have heard about the Benandanti. I know what you mean for me to do."

Mantis stopped in his tracks, and his grin faded. "The Good-Walkers... So, you know of them. Yes, Maria. I must be honest. There is a similar threat to that which they faced. We have little time to prepare." He scratched at his collar. "I was going to tell you."

She placed her arms, all four of them, at her waist. "You think me to be suitable for a soldier! I am no fighter. I have never raised a weapon or worn armor in my life!"

"Maria!" Again, his claws rested atop her shoulders. "You have a strong heart. That is armor enough."

She pushed away from him. "Enough of this. What sort of foolish army recruits its minions from a convent?"

Mantis looked away. "It is time you met the others."

Maria tilted her head. "Others?"

The creature took hold of one of her clawed hands. "Come with me, now." The wings on his back now rose and fluttered, and Maria, fluttering with him through mechanisms that she was still completely ignorant of and found bewildering, flew, hand in hand, with him to another place and time. The stars around them flashed and pulsed, and the wheels and spheres ground faster and faster, until everything became a blur of sound and light. Maria shut her eyes.

"Dioneo!" A high-pitched voice called out, and she opened them again. The two of them were now standing in a dark field. Overhead, the stars shone as they had always shone, in a normal manner. There were no levitating pavilions, and no great celestial wheels. There were however, more monstrous creatures.

"Dioneo!" The voice called again, and the Maria's friend let go of her hand to greet another mantid-being. "Who is this you have brought, this night?"

Maria watched the two of them greet each other and exchange pleasantries, with a hurt expression. "Dioneo..." she repeated. "You told me your name was Mantis."

Her host turned toward her with an apologetic smile. "Ah, Maria... I am sorry. By night, yes, my name is Mantis. But by day, it is only Dioneo." He gestured to everyone, standing around, twitching their antennae and tilting their arrowed heads one way or another. "By night, we are all Mantis, as we serve his army. Maria, may I introduce my little cousin, Salvestra."

Salvestra's high voice lilted. "Maria, I have heard kind things about you."

She folded her arms and looked away. "I want nothing to do with these abominations," she huffed. "I have no desire to fight some strange battle in some far-off land."

Mantis, now known to be Dioneo, looked surprised. "Maria! This is not just any battle. Take a look around you!"

The mantis-girl looked around, and saw that she recognized the field which they all stood in. It was the Doge's vineyard just outside of the priory's walls. In the distance, Maria could make out the silhouette of the bell-tower, where Sister Drudola would be seated. She now felt dizzy.

"I thought this was a dream," she whimpered.

"Oh, Maria," Dioneo now reached for her. "Do not fear. This night we have all been chosen to defend our home... The minions of darkness are many, buy they are weak, compared to us. We will all of us be victorious."

The mantis-girl now studied her neighbors and tried to see if she recognized any of them. She did not, but then again, none of them were human now. She looked into Dioneo's eyes, and saw the stars, the real stars of the Milky Way, reflected in them. "You brought me into the middle of a war, with no warning, no insight, no training. I may not forgive you."

His antennae lowered. "I am truly sorry, but we had no time..."

"Take me back," she snapped.

Dioneo looked startled. "Alas, I cannot!"

"No?" The mantis-girl hissed, "Then I am leaving."

Dioneo's eyes widened. "What? No! You cannot go!"

"And why not?"

"Because, we need you!"

Maria strode away, into the dark. "You do not."

Dioneo's voice cracked with desperation. "I need you!"

The girl felt hot tears running down her plated face. "Damn you," she said under her breath, and continued walking. Dioneo did not follow.

A short time later, when she was about halfway between the vineyard and the gate to the priory, Maria heard a commotion. She turned to see a cloud of winged creatures descend upon the field, with a great thundering hiss. Without realizing it, she felt her wings lift her up and toward the fray. The field rushed up to her. Dioneo was locked in a struggle with a fearsomely hairy and demonic creature, something which resembled a housefly, if a housefly were to be the size the weight of a man, and walk upright. She watched the thing take a swipe at him.

Maria hissed and grabbed the fly-beast by its neck. Without knowing exactly what she was doing or why she chose to do it, Maria bit the head off at the neck, and then reeled back as the creature left a stinging wound on her arm.

"Oh, God!" She stumbled away from the flailing, headless monster-body as it tumbled to the earth, and she fell back into Dioneo's arms. "What... did... I... just... do?"

Dioneo hugged her. "You saved me, Maria."

"I... I..." She risked another look down at her fallen foe. "I did, didn't it?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes! You did!" Then another shadow closed over them and Maria shrieked. With a violent twist of his razor claws, Dioneo felled the buzzing, screeching creature. "And now I've returned the favor!"

Maria shut her eyes. "This is horrible!"

"Yes!" Dioneo panted. "It is! I am so glad you are here by my side at this time! I don't think I could bear it, otherwise." He darted off to crush another creature that had landed in the vineyard, and left Maria by herself. She turned to watch the others, defenders of the town, of order, peace and sanity, wave their razor arms around like brandished steel.

"This is... insane." She said to herself, then heard another heavy buzzing directly behind her. She turned to face the fly-beast. "If you walk like men, then surely you must reason as men do! Who are you?" She took a step back as the thing advanced. "What do you want? Who do you serve?"

The thing twitched its hairy head, and let out a low growl that Maria had to pause to interpret as words, "WEEE SERRRVE THE LORRRD OF FLLLIES."

"And who is that?" she hollered.

But the beast closed the distance between them and leapt at her. A verdant blur crashed into its side and sent it tumbling. Dioneo looked up and yelled, "Who do you suppose?!" Then, he pounced upon the shadows, and sliced through the air, until the hulking figure lay still.

"The Giver of Lies..." she growled.

"Exactly the same," he countered.

"In case you were wondering," she glared at him, "This is no way to court a woman."

Dioneo exhaled. "Yes. I know. I promise we'll do it properly, after tonight."

"If we survive!"

"We'll survive. We have before... many times."

Maria's eyes widened. "You've done this before? How many times?"

Dioneo stood up and dusted himself off. "Five times, for myself. Some of the others, they have served for many years before me. I imagine their battles number into the hundreds."

Maria gasped. "I don't want to do this!"

"Would you rather they took hold of the field?" He gestured to the hovering fly-horde.

She shivered. "Never! But, what on earth do they want with it? Why fight these bloody battles here? What could these..." She spat out the taste of her foe on the cold soil. "These demons want with our town?"

"Conte-Pinento has long been a cross-roads for otherworldly peoples... These ones would have control over all other people, including ourselves."

"Then this is an ancient battle!"

"Very ancient..." He said, gravely. 

"Is it..." she stared at the crumpled, eviscerated figure. "Is it real?"

"Of course it's real... This fight does not take place in our world, though. It is parallel to it. We dare not let them set foot in the real Conte-Pinento!" His head snapped up as he heard a cry. "Meet me tomorrow, at the center of town, beside the well. I'll wait for you." He flew off.

She called after him, surprised. "What time?"

She thought she heard a smile in his voice. "At midday! Or any time afterward!"

She turned to see another hideous fly-creature land and stalk toward her. She wanted to turn and run, but she did not.

Instead she charged toward her aggressor, and as she rent the monster from the monster's limbs, her mind flitted from question to question. How could such a thing come to be? How could it remain unknown? Ever since she was young, Maria was certain there were bands of angels, or some sort of protectors looking out for her, and the other innocent people of the world, but she could not guess that such a protector would turn out to be her own self. She had rather hoped the land to be watched over by someone else, someone more competent. "I am not ready for this!" she snarled, as she dealt the killing blow to another beast.

There was the sound of footsteps, and a gentle knock. "Rise," Sister Clarissima called out, "and serve the Lord."

Maria stretched. "But, I just did..." Then, she realized she was awake.

She put her face into her hands. "What a horrible dream!" she groaned, but now held her breath as she saw a fresh scar on her forearm. 

Impossible.

Wasn't it?

"You wish to leave the grounds?" Mother Consola raised an eyebrow as Maria stood across from her in the study. "Has this anything to do with yesterday's discussion?" The old woman leaned across her desk. "How were you, last night?"

Maria's own brow was furrowed. "You knew, didn't you?" she said, flinging her hands up. "You knew the entire time, what would happen! Why did you not warn me?"

The abbess was unperturbed. "I don't know what you're talking about. What was I to warn you about?"

"The..." Maria stopped, and lowered her hands. Should she be speaking about this? "Never mind it, Mother. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"Hold." The old woman ordered. "What is this scar upon your arm?"

Maria pulled her sleeve down, and looked away. "It is nothing, Mother."

"Nothing? It certainly looks like something."

Maria swallowed. "Sister Francesca has lent me her flagrum. I made... use... of it last night."

The abbess groaned. "Perhaps you have made too much use of it, then, but I suppose it is not for me to decide how others will conduct their own private penances. Do mind your own health, Maria."

"Yes, Mother."

The abbess smiled softly. "A day's reprieve may be good for your nerves. Frail as they may be. I will allow it."

Maria made a bow and thanked her. After she left, the old woman leaned back in her chair and sighed. "After all," she murmured as she tided the folios and books on her desk, "The Benandanti work just as hard as the rest of us."

Outside, with the midday sun's warmth upon her shoulders, Maria strode softly to the top of a hill. Looking down over its crest, she could see the citizens of Conte-Pinento going about their daily lives. Cheerful. Ornery. Swift. Slow. Content.

Safe.

In the distance, beside the small grove of trees, there was a tall figure in a long coat leaning against the town's stone well, hands in his pockets.

"I'm terrified," she said to herself. "I cannot move." But, slowly, one pace after the next, Maria found herself walking, and then running, down the hill.

* * *

--by C. Casey Gardiner--