“Our Father…” Benoit stammered.
“Yes, my son.”
“Who art in Heaven. Hollow by the name.”
“No, no. ‘Hallowed be thy name.”
“Hallowed be thy name,” Benoit repeated. He started the prayer again: “Our Father, hallowed be thy name..”
The Master looked down at Benoit with a face that was a mixture of pity and slight annoyance. “My son, you are missing much here. Did your parents really lose the faith so much that they neglected to teach you the very basics of Christ’s teachings?”
“I’m sorry, but me and churches have never been well acquainted with each other.”
The Master let out an audible sigh. “Alas, this makes you ineligible for membership.”
Benoit raised himself up in the bed. “No! I went through all of that last night just to be denied over something trivial—something repeated by rote by millions who have lost any belief in it?”
The Master turned stern. “The Lord’s Prayer is not ‘trivial,’ son. It was given to us by our Lord, the supreme king of Heaven. Your life would be better served by following the Good Word rather than wallowing in self-pity. Your tribulations so far pale in comparison to the tortures suffered by Christ, let alone by one of my men.” The Master’s scowl lingered on his face for a minute before receding. “You are tired, my son. I shall leave you now to rest.”
“But…but let me try it again,” Benoit pleaded. “I can remember.”
“I doubt that very much, my son. Rest now and forget about it.”
Benoit pleaded his case, but only received the Master’s back as he left the room. Defeated, Benoit leaned his head back on the pillow. Within seconds, he was in a deep and dreamless slumber.
…
“Haven’t you slept long enough!!!” The powerful bellow woke Benoit in an instant. He looked up from his bed to see an unfamiliar face. It was a hard face full of scars, including one long and diagonal wound that connected temple and chin. Below the face, the figure wore well-pressed fatigues and suede combat boots. Even without absolute certainty, Benoit recognized the man as some kind of drill sergeant.
“Get up! Get up! Get up!” the figure repeated until Benoit left his bed. The drill sergeant barked about getting dressed. When Benoit hesitated, the drill sergeant barked even louder. It took the frazzled Benoit a minute to recognize that he was supposed to put on the neatly folded set of fatigues that someone had left at the foot of his bed. The speed of his dressing did not please the drill sergeant, who continued to berate Benoit about his slowness, his stupidity, and his unwillingness to listen to simple directions.
“How do you expect to be a successful Witchfinder if it takes you forever just put a pair of pants on, Recruit Benoit?”
“A what? A Witchfinder?”
“Do not speak, do you understand that? From now on you will be as silent as a church mouse. I do not want to hear a complaint, a sigh, a laugh, a cough, nothing. Do you understand?”
Benoit moved his lips to say “yes, sir” like he had seen a thousand times in war movies but kept them closed at the last minute. The drill sergeant saw this and nodded.
“You’re finally showing signs of intelligent life, Recruit Benoit. Now get your butt in gear.” Benoit followed the drill sergeant at a gallop. He was led outside into a large backyard area behind the mansion. The well-tended grass gave way to the raw wilderness as the two jogged deeper into the woods behind the palatial home. Benoit felt the sweat pool around his armpits and on his neck as he leaped over rocks and fallen branches. The running went on and on until the entire front of Benoit’s fatigue blouse was damp with perspiration.
The drill sergeant came to a halt at a clearing. To the left, was a series of tires hung from metal chains. To the right, a small sand pit featured a large tree trunk with metal pipes jutting out in all directions from its body. A sinking feeling came over Benoit. He knew that what was in store for him would not be pleasant.
“Recruit Benoit. Your first mission to execute will be as follows.” The drill sergeant crouched down like a spring and jumped into the center of the first suspended tire. He then proceeded to crawl through each tire until completing the circuit. He then repeated the exercise twice more.” When done, he turned and faced Benoit.
“All exercises on this course will be done in threes. Everything that a Witchfinder does will be done in threes. The three is the trinity, and the trinity is holy. Do you understand?”
Benoit nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Begin exercise!” Benoit threw himself at the first tire and somehow missed. He landed on his face in the dirt. He did not get time to soothe his wounds, as the drill sergeant grabbed him by the seat of his pants and pulled him up. Benoit attacked the first tire again. He successfully entered its hollow portion, then proceeded to flounder like a beached fish. What had taken the drill sergeant seconds to complete took Benoit over a minute. The second run through showed a slight improvement, while the third pass was his best.
A panting Benoit stood at attention as the drill sergeant explained the second exercise to him. The drill sergeant took a combat stance by the weaponized tree trunk. Using his left hand, he showed Benoit how the metal pipes could be turned either to the left or right. Next, Benoit was shown the basics of defense and pugilistic footwork. He put two and two together. The second exercise would see him brutalized by the metal pipes for undisclosed amount of time. Benoit bit his lip and assumed a fighting stance. Benoit was pulverized by the metal pipes for three rounds of thirty seconds. His poor defense and atrocious footwork meant that the pipes rarely missed. Rather than sympathy, the drill sergeant made jokes about Benoit’s pain and the small, bloody wound below his eye.
The pair continued to perform exercises throughout the day, including push-ups, sit-ups, and various calisthenics. Every new exercise was prefaced by minutes of basic running. By the end of the first day, Benoit felt on the verge of death. He could not believe that a heart could beat so much without exploding. And yet he stood as straight as he could as the drill sergeant spoke to him.
“Recruit Benoit. You have completed your first day. Tomorrow will begin at dawn. You will now report back to your room for Bible study.” Without another word, the drill sergeant disappeared into the thick of the gloomy forest. A bewildered Benoit tried to make his way back to the mansion but found himself lost on two different occasions. As a result, by the time he finally returned to his sleeping quarters, he was late. The Master did not hide his displeasure.
“Punctuality is a Christian virtue. Timeliness, like cleanliness, is close to godliness.”
“With all due respect, I thought I had already been removed from this program due to my lack of Christianity. And what in the world is a Witchfinder?”
“It would be best if you kept silent. I know that our dependable Mr. Rousseau told you as much. And, ultimately, sometimes rules are more suggestions than not. Now, without delay, please pick up your Bible.” On that night, with a window full of stars, Benoit listened as the Master recited chapter and verse. He took notes on everything the Master said. The same scene would be repeated every single night for a fortnight, with Benoit coming back to his chambers doused in sweat and ready to listen to the Master’s private homilies. Benoit’s change was as rapid as it was unexpected. He became faster, more agile, and better adept at combatives as the drill sergeant Mr. Rousseau pushed him harder and harder. He also felt the first inklings of genuine faith, as Benoit took to heart the Master’s readings and summations. By the Sunday of that second week, Benoit was asked to recite the Lord’s Prayer. He did so without hesitation:
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”
The Master looked at his charge and smiled. “You have finally passed the test. God favors you, my son. Tomorrow, you will finally learn what it means to be a Witchfinder.” The Master rose from his seat and made to leave the room, but at the last second turned back to Benoit.
“Underneath the bed you will find two items that you will need for your advanced training tomorrow. Good night.” With that, the Master left the room. A curious Benoit leaned over and plucked from underneath his bed a small wooden box without a cover. Benoit stared at the box’s contents. He knew what they were and suspected their use, but each time rejected his ideas out of hand as too fanciful.
The box contained a mallet with a hard rubber head and a single and very sharp wooden stake.