Lustration Rites

Lustration Rites

By David L. Carter

Illustrations by Brian Walsby

Lustration Rites

Copyright © 2018 David L. Carter. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

Eugene, OR 97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-3532-8

hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-3534-2

ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-3533-5

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Prologue: Déjà Vu

Chapter One: As Above. . .  So Below. . .

Chapter Two: Bloody Mary

Chapter Three: Holy Ground

Chapter Four: Precious Angel

Chapter Five: Housekeeping

Chapter Six: Orientation

Chapter Seven: Christian Education

Chapter Eight: Cavity-First Communion

Chapter Nine: Pestilence

Chapter Ten: Excommunication!

Chapter Eleven: Breaking the Law

Chapter Twelve: COPS

Chapter Thirteen: Suicide Solution

Chapter Fourteen: Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners

Chapter Fifteen: Lustration Rites

Epilogue: Sanctuary

For ‘E’

Prologue

Déjà Vu

Where do you come from?

The question, from the oral cavity of one of his hundreds of great-great-great grandchildren, came as a surprise. The founder of the earthworm colony was caught off guard. Of all of his offspring, none had ever before expressed any curiosity about his origins. He found that he did not know what to say.

Who, me? He blurted after a moment, and as soon as it was out of his orifice he experienced that peculiar, disturbing and disagreeable sensation known as ‘déjà vu.’ He uncoiled and recoiled himself agitatedly.

Yes, sir. Replied the younger worm, not a little puzzled, for he and his ancestor were alone together. "My father said that you are the one who started this colony, so you must have come from somewhere else. I asked him where, but he didn’t know. So I thought I’d come over and ask you. Is that okay?"

The ancient worm became very still. It had been a long, long time since he had given any thought whatsoever to the days of his youth, for, as the progenitor and leader of a thriving earthworm colony there were far more urgent and far less emotionally taxing matters to consider than the distant past. And yet, the question stirred in him, along with some uneasiness, a surprising nostalgia. Names and faces, feelings and places rose to the surface of his consciousness and he uncoiled. His path, or tunnel, as it were, to eminence had been far from straight and narrow. He was not ashamed, nor was he proud, of the mistakes he’d made along the way. He regarded his small descendant warily. Could the young creature handle the truth? For that matter, could he, the patriarch himself?

Oh, what’s the big deal? The patriarch mused. It all worked out in the end. Still, what’s the use of digging up the past?

Why do you ask? He inquired of the young worm.

Because I don’t know. Was his descendant’s seemingly tart but thoroughly ingenuous response. These youngsters today, thought the patriarch, are certainly bold. Or at least this one is.

Well. Said the patriarch. If you insist… He felt a sudden apprehension, but let it pass. I couldn’t tell you exactly where I come from. . . but it was nothing like where we are now…

Chapter One

As Above. . .  So Below. . .

The Ancestor’s very first memory was of feeling resentful and envious. Worms, it must be said, are naturally communal creatures, and as a hatchling A. Crawley—for that was the patriarch’s given name—quite naturally wished to be a part of things in his colony. But he found it difficult to fit in. He was never sure of how to. . . extend himself. When he asked himself why he seemed to be always on the fringes, his answer to himself was that he lacked the advantages of many of the others. His siblings and other contemporaries were all longer, stronger and better equipped to succeed in an underworld made up of innumerable obstacles and dangers. Convinced, therefore, of his essential inadequacy, A. Crawley kept to himself. Other worms overlooked him completely, as if he were a mere stick. He was neither ally nor rival to any. Even his mother and father’s attention was consumed by the needs of more outgoing and vigorous offspring. His family did not mean to neglect him. They simply did not notice him at all.

He did make an effort to fit in from time to time. Whenever a group of his siblings or other age mates gathered to frolic or dig, he would tag along. But while he was not turned away, neither was he included. It was while he was dangling at the edge of just such an attempt at socialization that A. Crawley was approached by an important looking elder worm.

Having fun? The old worm inquired.

Huh? Said A. Crawley dumbly.

The old worm was silent, but attentive; at least, he gave a strong impression of attentiveness. He regarded A. Crawley with a steady gaze. A. Crawley did not think he had ever been looked at for such a length of time in his life. It was unnerving.

Are you talking to me? Said A. Crawley.

To whom else would I be talking? Replied the elder worm archly, yet with a note of amusement.

A. Crawley glanced around, and sure enough, the group of worms he’d been following had moved on without him. The elder worm slithered up alongside A. Crawley.

Let them go. . .  The old worm said. You need not follow them. You are precisely where you should be. You are one of a kind. Have you not sensed as much? Have you not always felt different. . . set apart. . . special?

A. Crawley looked around, once again unsure, in spite of all evidence to the contrary that this important looking old worm could be speaking to him. Perhaps I presume. . .  The old worm said. . . . but you seem to be a more self-sufficient youngster than most. Tell me, then; are you content to follow the crowd? Are you one among many? Or. . .  The old worm’s gravelly voice lowered so that A. Crawley was obliged to lean forward in order to understand. "Or are you an individual? Is the life you are living now the life you are designed to lead? Or do you long for fulfillment? What’s more, are you willing, my friend, to be a catalyst? Will you be master or slave of your destiny? Only you can choose. . . "

Huh? Said A. Crawley. He was still so astonished to be spoken to at such length that it was difficult for him to follow the old worm’s discourse, which was delivered in a low, gravelly whisper and with a slight swaying motion which made A. Crawley feel strange.

The old worm slithered even closer, and in a suddenly much more voluble tone of voice that somehow expressed at once patience and ultimatum, he asked: What do you most desire, Son of Crawley?

The sound of his own surname brought A. Crawley to attention, overriding the uneasiness he felt. Hey! You know my name!

Indeed I do. The old worm replied. You are A. Crawley, son among sons of Undular Crawley, are you not?

Yeah! I mean, yes, sir. Do you know my dad?

The elder worm stretched himself vertically to look slightly down upon A. Crawley. I know everyworm and everything of significance to our colony, my young friend. I am Wormuspex, and if your development had not been so woefully neglected. . . at least up until this point. . . then you would know what that means. I am what you might call the High Priest of the Colony; I am responsible for the spiritual well being of every inhabitant, particularly those who possess certain qualities of leadership and majesty. It is among my duties to identify and to guide those most exceptional among us into an awareness of their gifts and responsibilities. And that is why I have come to speak to you, young Son of Crawley. Your qualities have been observed with exceeding interest by the Council of Elders, and I have been appointed as your mentor. . . 

A. Crawley shivered from tip to end. He felt like he was in a dream. Am I dreaming? He said.

Life is a dream. The old worm said. "As you will come to discover. But leave that for then. For now, however, Son of Crawley, it is for you to make your choice. Will you accept your unique destiny, and myself as your guide towards its fulfillment? There is a place prepared for you among the stars. . . "

What are stars? A. Crawley wondered, but he did not want to interrupt. He could not quite understand what the old worm was saying about him, but it certainly sounded as if he thought A. Crawley was important. And that was certainly something else!

. . . and all that will be required, Son of Crawley, The old worm continued, ". . . is that you shall serve the colony with wisdom and valor when the time has come for you to rise. With that in mind, Son of Crawley, are you prepared to accept your destiny? Will you leave the company of your peers and their transient preoccupations behind? There is no turning back; I must advise you. If you accept your destiny you must renounce all that you have known heretofore. . . if you have the courage. Only you can decide, Son of Crawley. . . but decide you must, and soon, for, as you can see, I am of advanced age, and have only a short time before I am summoned to the depths to guide no more. . . you are very likely to be my final adept, Son of Crawley. . . that is, unless you choose the crowd, out of which I would then be obliged to designate another. . . " The old worm withdrew just a bit.

No! Said A. Crawley in a louder, stronger voice than he had ever before heard himself use. "I mean, yes! I want to go with you. I don’t want to be just like the rest of them. I am different! You’re right! I am unique! I’m not the same! And I don’t want to be!"

So mote it be. The old worm bowed low; then curved his tail end around A. Crawley in a subtle, corralling motion. Just follow me. . . 

***

And so it was that A. Crawley came to be discovered. He followed the old worm Wormuspex down and away through what seemed like endless tunnels deep into the soil, deeper than he ever knew the colony could descend. Most worms of the common sort dwelled closer to the surface, because it was widely held that moles and voles and shrews and other devouring monsters inhabited the depths. A. Crawley wanted to ask Wormuspex if they were in any danger, but Wormuspex wriggled through those ancient and narrow tunnels leading downward with such dexterity and assurance that it was all A. Crawley could do to keep up. It was as if the old worm’s eldritch appearance and august manner concealed an immense vitality, and A. Crawley was impressed. In time they came to increasingly wider passageways, and finally to a large, relatively open chamber. Wormuspex ushered A. Crawley onto a slight mound in the center of this clearance. After a moment, A. Crawley perceived that he was surrounded on all sides by a throng of pale, gray-cilia’d worms almost indistinguishable from Wormuspex himself, who had taken his place among them. A. Crawley scanned the crowd to find his new friend, but it was not until the old worm spoke that A. Crawley could pick him out.

This is the High Council, Son of Crawley. The worm who seemed to be Wormuspex said. These are my fellow elders, with whom I consult to determine strategies for the increase and well being of our colony. As an exceptional young adept, you may someday take your place among the members of the Council; or, as I suspect, you may be marked for an even more glorious destiny. That is what we are here to discern. Gentleworms. . .  Wormuspex stretched and swayed to address the gathering. I present the Candidate. Let the examination begin!

And with that the elder worms advanced upon A. Crawley as if they were driven by one will. A. Crawley was terrified. He coiled himself as tightly as he could against their slithery proddings, sniffings and murmurs.

Fear not, Son of Crawley. Came the stern, familiar, gravelly voice of Wormuspex. Do not resist. No worm means you harm. The examination is a necessary procedure. No worm may ascend unless he is determined to be of sound constitution and willing heart. Just think of this as a check-up.

And so A. Crawley tried to relax as an extremely old worm repeatedly poked him in the clitellum. I’m in pretty good shape. A. Crawley said to the throng. I’m a little small for my age, but that’s because I hatched late. At least that’s what my mother said, that time she talked to me. But I’m sure I’ll get bigger. . . 

Indeed you will. Came the voice of Wormuspex from amidst the throng. Of that there can be no doubt. Only the longest, strongest, stoutest. . . and of course the most pure and upright of worms. . . are fit to lead the way. We have in store for our Chosen Ones the finest and richest of foodstuffs, reserved especially for the cultivation of their bodies. You will surpass your generation in magnificence so long as you are in our care. That is, of course, if you are found to be pure. . . Gentleworms!? Wormuspex called out. How do you find the candidate?

There was then a gravelly, incomprehensible muttering among the slithering mass of old worms; then a very old, pale and etiolated worm spoke