Read Online The Seer and the Scribe by G.M. Dyrek - Free Book Online

being Brother Paulus’s apprentice.
    The heavy oak doors of the Library stoically served as guardians to the region’s most prestigious collection of literary and canonical 30 works. They were propped open to allow the Librarian to participate in the holy offices of prayers without having to leave his post. Reverently, the young monk entered, surveying the vast room hung majestically with iron balconies. Every available wall was lined with leather-bound books and scrolls, top to bottom, stone floor to vaulted ceiling. Volmar breathed in their familiar smell. If only his mind could take in as easily what his eyes marveled at. Among the treasures of Disibodenberg’s library was a Latin-German dictionary dating back to A.D. 790, a German translation of the Lord’s Prayer, and a copy of the Nicene Creed. The pride of place, however, was reserved for a three–volume giant Bible given to the monastery by visiting brothers from Britain’s Tewkesbury Priory. Their library was in a condition of ruin and decay, and many of their valuable books were brought to Disibodenberg for safe-keeping after Brother Cormac became the Librarian and his acquisitive reputation spread.
    There were many empty carrels 31 , but only one heavy table in the center of the large reading room, and it alone had light. Almost everything else was shapeless and lost in the dusty edges of the encroaching twilight shadows. Such austerity suited Brother Cormac, who was seated at the table. He was alone as usual and bent over, dutifully and meticulously writing out his newly revised contents list of the monastery’s vast collection. Beside each entry he assigned a mysterious location number and alongside it he inscribed an even more inscrutable symbol of which he alone committed to memory its meaning. Once he completed the last entry he would start all over again, as was customary. In this way, Disibodenberg’s incalculable treasures were fully known to only this one man.
    â€œDo not breathe on any of the books,” he snapped automatically without looking up. “Hot air curls the pages.”
    Volmar recalled his first visit to Cormac’s library and the dread this man had provoked in all the younger students with his litany of rules. Punishment for disobedience was immediate, severe, and unpardonable: banishment from the collection. To Volmar, such an edict seemed unduly harsh, as if he were being forced to leave Eden. In this way, Volmar realized, Cormac had kept his own contact with the outside bustling world of Disibodenberg on only a need to know basis, nothing more. Cormac went on in his gravelly voice, still not lifting his head up from his work, “Be sure to put on a mask and gloves. They’re in the cumdachs. 32 ”
    Volmar knew all this. Quietly, he lifted the book-chest’s lid, finding the mask and gloves in the crimson velvet interior. As he took them out, Volmar wondered to himself how he was going to get this obstinate, surly monk’s attention without regretting it.
    He cleared his voice and began, “My soul is lost in here. Surely, if God had a dwelling place on Earth, it would be in this Library.”
    That did it. Even though he had his back to him, Volmar could feel the sting of Cormac’s piercing gaze. He had the Librarian’s undivided attention. Deliberately, he took his time slipping on the gloves. They were especially soft and supple, made from deerskin. The mask was equally soft, with leather straps to hold it over the mouth. No one was allowed to handle the manuscripts without such precautions.
    Cormac pushed his paperwork to one side and rose. Who was this young intruder who spoke so well of his own sentiments? He was intrigued. “Speak up son,” Cormac said, knowing full well his hearing was impaired simply from disuse.
    â€œIsn’t it a shame that most people live and die without ever having the opportunity to set a finger on a book?” Volmar said,