Mikael Pacioli

"Father?" George, the youngest at St. Xavier's Abbey, poked his chestnut head around the doorway of the accounting room. Father Pacioli looked up from his books, his eyes appearing owlish behind the thick glasses.
"Yes, George?"
The young man hesitated in the doorway, his height making him take up almost the entirety of the frame.
"It's Mikael." he said, and his voice was so full of worry that Father Pacioli began to close his papers up immediately. "He's worse."

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The doctor rested his stethoscope around his neck and looked gently down at his young patient.
"It's not illness." he said, simply. "It's the Change."
Father Pacioli, if he had any reaction to this, did not show it. But Mikael had to grip himself to keep from falling over.
"How?! It can't be - I haven't - " he lowered his voice, "I haven't had any pain."
The doctor regarded him with a sort of gentle indulgence.
"It will come. Within the next day or so."
Mikael swallowed and ran a hand through his short, sandy hair.
"It can't be anything else?"
The doctor shook his head.
"It's a very simple thing, to test for this. I've checked you twice."
The world was blurring into strange colors in front of Mikael's eyes, but he blinked it away.
"You're sure, doctor?"
The doctor leaned forward and put a hand on Mikael's knee beneath the blanket. The young man almost flinched, but caught himself at the last second. The doctor looked him in the eyes.
"I tell you what, Mikael. If there is no pain in 24 hours, you call me and I'll arrange for a new doctor personally."
Mikael watched as the man patted his leg comfortingly, then rose, gathered his things, and with a nod to Father Pacioli - "Padre, always a pleasure." - left.

In his absence, only Mikael, Father Pacioli, and the unfaceable future were left. Mikael looked down at his tanned hands, trembling atop the cream cotton blanket. Father Pacioli, still lingering by the fireplace, waited for him to speak first.
"I - this is incomprehensible." Mikael finally managed, by way of an opener. Father Pacioli fingered the rosary in his left hand, leaning forward to look into the fire.
"The plan of the Almighty usually is." he answered, not revealing anything. Mikael swallowed down the itchiness in his throat.
"Well. It'll - it will be a change, but I'll only be out of commission a week, at the most, and then I can get back into helping Brother Heron with the shipments for next month, and I suppose the beehives will keep until I'm back. At worst - "
"Mikael." Father Pacioli had turned from the fire and was looking at him now, the rosary tucked back into its little pocket, the elder man's hands clasped behind his back.
He turned sorrowful eyes on the young man in the bed.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
Mikael had feared this. He had known what might be said, but he had to try, hadn't he? Had to at least attempt to hold on to himself. He licked his lips and swallowed.
"I'll be good." he promised, feebly.
Father Pacioli crossed the room with his usual slow gait, stopping just at the head of Mikael's bed. The younger monk moved to give him room to sit; he did so.
"You understand, Mikael, the conventions of the monastic."
Mikael swallowed again.
"Yes, but what of the sister orders? They practice in concert with - "
"You are not a sister." Father Pacioli told him, firmly. Then, more gently, "Those orders are few and far between, and for good reason. In the state of things, they are...an impracticality."
Mikael surged forward, struggling to sit up despite his aching head.
"Physically, yes, but there are real spiritual needs that continue to be - "
"Mikael." Father Pacioli turned halfway, resting his hand first on Mikael's fevered brow, then on his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the thin cotton shirt. His expression was regretful, and sincere, and it broke through the last of Mikael's protests and justifications. "Mikael." he repeated, and the young man beneath his hand shivered and gave way and began to cry.
"Please don't send me away," he pleaded, "Please don't make me leave."
Father Pacioli watched his son with a sort of anguished pity.
"Mikael, St. Xavier's will always be your home. But you cannot hide within its walls."
"I'm not hiding! Please, Dad, just don't - " he took a few breaths to collect himself and Father Pacioli could see now the strain on him, the damp pallor of skin and the straining of muscles. "Don't make go, please, don't make me go."

Mikael began to cry again, this time in earnest, and Father Pacioli sat with him, waiting for the risen tide to fade again. Eventually, the shuddering subsided to a shiver and the heart slowed to an almost-normal beat.
"You can stay here to complete your change. George and I will watch over you. But after the week, Mikael, we will have to move on."
Distress made the young monk heave forward.
"Why can't I stay here?!" he enjoined, voice so near to a whimper that Father Pacioli felt pangs of sorrow strike his own heart.
"Because you are very special, Mikael." he answered, settling his hand on the boy's own, as he had done since Mikael was a child. "And your place is elsewhere."

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