Priest Robert has found his salvation in the Church and now blesses old pagan shrines into the light of the true faith. Until one day, an innocent is chased by a beast into an abandoned temple, and all of his prayers and symbols fail. All except the icon of a heathen god he ought to think a wicked demon and a little rhyme his mother uttered while tucking him to bed. -- Anon Guest
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... Robert crossed himself as he entered the heathen temple. Graven images everywhere. Well. The wrong kind of graven images. Holy Mother Church was fine with reminders of what the Lord and Saviour, Holy Mary, Mother of God, or the assembled Saints and Angels looked like.
Spreading the holy word and saving the souls of these heathens was a tough job, but someone had to do it. Saving them from Hell was Robert's purpose. His mission from the Allmighty.
In order to stay alive to complete his mission, he had to visit every temple and at least explain the benefits of Catholicism, and convince the local heathen leader to allow a reminder of the Lord and Savior or Mother Mary or both.
This heathen temple... was not in use. Robert had just enough time to wonder if the locals had given him the wrong directions or if he had misinterpreted them. Then a shrill shriek and pattering feet prevented his conclusions.
A very small child, wearing only a wrap of thin cloth around their nethers according to local custom, ran screaming into the empty, vine-wrapped space. Robert instinctively scooped up the child and made soothing noises for them, and saw exactly what this child was trying to escape.
Yae, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
It was a cat. A cat larger than most dogs Robert had ever known. Bigger than a pit pony. Black as the depths of Hell itself. And standing in the only door. And this temple had no windows.
He hefted the child up into the vines, hopefully out of the demon's reach. Robert held up his cross and recited part of the exorcism... but the devil cat would not be swayed from its prey.
Robert had no weapons, save for some of his statuary. But he was not about to swing the Holy Mother at a demon's face.
Wait.
Music had charms, didn't it? Mere feet away from the devil cat, Robert sang the first song that came into his head. Not a hymn. Not a psalm. But heathen words his grandmother sang to him as she tucked him in at night.
"Huna blentyn ar fy mynwe/ Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon/ Breichiau mam sy’n dynn amdanat/ Cariad mam sy dan fy mron/ Ni chaiff dim amharu’th gyntun[1]..."
The devil cat paused, apparently shocked by the sudden revelation of a tenor and Welshman singing perfectly on key. They didn't have those in these heathen lands.
Inspired, Robert went for a high note.
The beast fled.
So did Robert, after he got the child down from the vines in the ceiling. He let the little one lead him to their home, and a weepingly grateful mother. The story of his victory over the devil cat would come back to him through a translator, and the result was very, very garbled.
He'd have to confess to his administrating Bishop that he'd used a heathen tongue instead of the words of God to repel the beast.
Later. After he used his reputation to save as many souls as possible.
[1] Welsh lullabye from this site: https://www.famlii.com/suo-gan-welsh-lullaby-lyrics/
[Photo by Patricia Hansen on Unsplash]
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