by CW Thomas
Through the trees at Brayden’s back, Broderick saw the tiny shape of Nairnah Kholoch moving toward them. Her once cream-colored dress had become so dirty from weeks of living in the wild that she looked almost like a part of her surroundings.
Broderick groaned to himself as Nairnah stepped out and greeted them, her tiny voice like the summer chirp of a songbird.
Nairnah had taken an inexplicable interest in Brayden over the last few weeks, and Broderick couldn’t figure out why. She was ten years old, but small, looking closer to age seven. He had asked Dana once why the young girl spent so much time with Brayden, but his sister only smiled and looked away. Girls. They were such odd creatures, puzzling to the mind of a ten-year-old boy and not worth trying to figure out.
“Did you catch all those?” Nairnah asked, looking in amazement at the collection of dead fowl hanging from Brayden’s grasp.
“Three of them are mine. Two of them are Broderick’s,” he answered.
“Do you need any help?”
Brayden handed Nairnah two of the dead birds for her to carry. “Thank you, Nairnah.”
Broderick rolled his eyes, not caring if they noticed. “I’m going to find Clint.” He hurried off.
Broderick sprinted over the uprising roots of a dead tree and descended a crumbling slope of dirt and leaves where he took off up a wooded ravine. He had always been a graceful runner with a keen, almost innate sense of his surroundings. He never tripped and he never got lost. His stepfather, Lord Kingsley Falls, had once said that Broderick’s mind knew instinctively north from south and east from west, which was the only compliment Broderick could recall ever getting from the man.
He came upon his cousin, Clint Brackenrig, whose once refined appearance had become soiled in recent weeks by hard living. Clint didn’t seem to care, however, taking the dirt and grime of life in the wild with a kind of recklessness that he seemed all too comfortable with.
He stood with the point of a sword aimed at the ground pressed into the nape of a rabbit’s neck. Broderick slowed as he approached his cousin, noticing Clint’s sick grin, and wondering what he found so fascinating about inflicting pain upon animals.
“What are you doing?” Broderick asked.
“Look how it moves,” Clint said, not taking his eyes from the animal.
The rabbit was still alive, but only just. It appeared as though Clint had broken its rear legs, though how he had even managed to catch it in the first place was a mystery.
“That’s gross,” Broderick said. “Just kill it, Clint.”
Clint pushed a lock of oily black hair behind his ear. “Watch its mouth when I press down.” He put a little more weight on the blade, which made the rabbit’s eyes tremble shut and its mouth open, like a yawn, except its tongue went straight out, stiff as an arrow—disgusting. “I wonder if I’m fast enough to cut its tongue off before it closes its mouth again.”
Broderick forced out a laugh to hide his discomfort. “Who cares? Just kill it and get it over with so we can go back to camp and eat supper.”
Clint applied more weight to the blade, driving it through the rabbit’s neck and into the ground.
“Where did you get the sword from anyway?” Broderick asked.
“I took it from Pick.”
“I thought he told you to take his bow.”
“What are you, the weapon master? I’m older than you by two years. You don’t tell me what to do.”
Broderick lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I wasn’t.”
“Besides, your sister had his bow. What does she need a bow for anyway?”
“She’s good. Got better aim than me or Brayden.”
Clint huffed. “She’s a girl. How good could she be?” He continued poking his sword through the dead rabbit’s corpse, making Broderick’s stomach knot up.
Kneeling, he tried not to watch.
“What’s with you?” Clint asked.
“Nothing.”
“What? You going to sob over a stupid rabbit?” Clint twisted the blade in the rabbit’s neck.
“No, I don’t care about that,” Broderick said a mite too quick.
“Didn’t your father ever take you hunting?”
“Ha! Let me put it this way. When he took Brayden hunting he’d actually teach him how to hunt. When he took me hunting, he’d let me watch.”
“So how did you get to be so good with a bow?” Clint twisted the sword again and almost pulled the rabbit’s head off.
“I taught myself.”
“I bet that impressed your father.”
Broderick shook his head. “Not one bit.”
“Well, I hated my father.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you know? He was a madman. Half the realm knew that he was nothing but a useless codger. It was embarrassing.”
At that moment Broderick felt a strange connection to his cousin, strange because he couldn’t recall them ever relating over anything before. Yet he and Clint had both grown up with distant father’s who all but ignored them, Clint’s due to poor mental health, and Kingsley Falls because of nothing other than disdain, or so Broderick assumed. He had never been sure why his stepfather had resented him so much.
“Gross!” came Nairnah’s high-pitched squeal when she saw the bloodied rabbit with the sword through its neck.
“Clint!” Brayden scolded. “What are you doing?”
“None of your business.”
“It is my business,” Brayden said. “We’re all in this together. I’ve told you that.”
Clint snorted. “And now that you’ve said it again you’ve become even more annoying.” He jerked his chin toward Nairnah, his lip curling in disgust. “What’s she doing here?”
“She followed us,” Broderick said.
“Don’t you know hunting is for men?” Clint looked her up and down. “Stupid girl.”
Brayden stepped up to Clint, his fists tightening. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Broderick was surprised to see such confidence in his brother.
“What, do you like her or something?” Clint’s lip curled at the notion. “I’m telling Khalous. She shouldn’t even be here. She’s too young.”
“I just wanted to help,” Nairnah said.
Clint waved them off with his hand and knelt down to pick up his rabbit. He swung its bloodied corpse toward Nairnah’s head, eliciting a horrified scream from her, before he started back for camp, laughing.
Broderick stayed with Brayden and Nairnah this time as they made their way back to camp.
According to Khalous it would be their last night in the wild before they reached the temple, or Halus Gis, as Placidous called it. He said it was a church where people like him went to study, but as for what they studied Broderick didn’t know—nor did he want to know. Halus Gis had food and warm beds, and that was all he cared about.
They found the others camped within a circle of fir trees near the edge of the northern cliff. Khalous nursed a growing campfire while Pick and Stoneman entertained some of the children with music. Pick kept rhythm with the rapid slapping of a knife between his palm and leg while Stoneman’s deep voice provided the bass. The children in front of them were spinning and dancing, falling over and giggling whenever Pick sang, “Boom, boom, doom!” The tune was an old children’s song popular among the folk of Aberdour.
Sister Ariella saw Nairnah walking out of the woods with Brayden and Broderick and hurried over to the girl, shaking her head in disapproval. She took her by the hand and led her away. “It’s not appropriate for you to be with boys,” she said. “And I had told you to stay near me.”
“I’m sorry,” Nairnah said.
Ariella led her way.
Broderick looked at his brother. “So? Do you like her?”
“Maybe.”
Broderick just rolled his eyes.
Preston and Ashton Stonefield came sprinting toward them through the grass, whirlwinds of youthful energy. Nash jumped toward Broderick as though
he were going to tackle him, but turned at the last minute and ran by.
“Made you flinch!” he teased.
“What is that?” Preston asked, taking one of the birds from Brayden’s hand and inspecting it.
“A stone partridge,” he said. “We don’t have them on Edhen.”
“Looks like a chicken.”
The boys neared the campfire where Khalous was waiting to prepare their catch for stew.
“Good work, boys,” Pick said. “Thanks for getting ours. Where’s yours?”
Stoneman feigned a wince. “Uh-oh. They gunna have to get more.”
“Not funny,” Broderick said.
Khalous, Pick, and Stoneman proceeded to prepare the pheasants for supper.
Placidous joined them a short while later. The slender priest looking ragged in his brown and beige alb stained with dirt and the blood of refugees that he’d helped. His once clean-shaven head and face sported two weeks’ worth of a stubby growth. Dark patches from many nights of uncomfortable sleep underscored his eyes.
He sat down, Brayden noticed, as far away from Stoneman as he could get.
“Do they eat this well at Halus Gis?” Khalous asked as he seasoned the soup with some herbs.
“I’m afraid you will find the eating customs of my people quite different from what you are used to,” Placidous said.
“I hear the Efferousians eat raw snakes and lizard eyes and stuff like that,” Clint said, horrifying a couple of the younger children seated by the campfire.
“That’s nonsense,” Nash said.
“Like you know,” Clint spat.
Placidous laughed. Brayden thought it was a kind, pleasant sounding laugh, one that made it hard to believe that this priest of the Allgod was an alleged rapist.
“I suspect some of the primitive tribes probably do eat those things,” he said. “But, no, not those of us in the church.”
“What do you eat?” Broderick asked.
“I think we eat pretty much the same things you eat on Edhen,” Placidous answered, “but we do not place such a high value on the manner in which it is served. On Edhen there is much effort put into preparing a meal. The way a meal is served can say a lot about how the host family reveres, or doesn’t revere, the guests. I must admit your perceptions on food bewildered me the first time I visited.”
“We like our traditions,” Stoneman said.
“Oh, yes, I know. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am fascinated by the myriad differences between our cultures. I just don’t want some of the young people in our company to be offended when they are served food in a manner inconsistent with what they were raised with. I assure you it will not be a reflection upon how we feel about you.”
“How far is the church?” asked Broderick.
“We should be there by tomorrow afternoon,” Khalous said.
“Will they have enough room for everyone?” Brayden asked.
“It will be tight quarters,” Placidous answered, “but they will manage. Servants of the Allgod are not known to reject those in need.”
Stoneman humphed. “I seen otherwise.” His deep gravelly tone was stitched with contempt. “I seen a church filled wi’ yer so-called servants shut its doors up good to a whole town burnin’ to the ground. Men, women, li’l children, bangin’ on ’em doors, beggin’ for mercy, and those servants of the Allgod never let ’em in.” Stoneman’s brief but haunting speech sucked out whatever cheer was left in the air.
For a moment, no one said a word.
“I cannot presume to know their motives,” Placidous said, “but in my fifty years of walking the lands of this world I’ve learned one thing: no one is perfect.”
“Least of all priests,” Stoneman said, holding Placidous’ gaze.
“Let us change the subject, shall we?” said Ariella as she came and sat down around the fire. Her feminine voice, such a stark contrast to the gruff qualities of the male-dominated company, rang like a song over a battlefield. The mood changed the instant she arrived.
“My lady, your gentle voice never fails to soothe our hard-bitten souls,” Khalous said, stirring the soup.
“How come you don’t wear your hat anymore?” Broderick asked, noticing for the hundredth time since they left the western shores of Efferous that the middle-aged nun no longer wore her head covering.
“It’s called a wimple,” she answered with a half-hidden grin. “And it was, um, damaged in…” she paused, looking ashamed. Her eyes went to Placidous who smiled as though he knew something the rest of them didn’t. “No,” Ariella continued. “That is a lie. High Lord, forgive me. I have left the church, and so I do not need to wear the head covering anymore.”
“Does it feel strange?” Khalous asked.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” she said, and Broderick noticed that she had the same distant look in her eyes when she looked at Khalous that Brayden had when he stared at Nairnah.
“We all have our journeys to undertake,” Placidous said. “The Allgod will get us there one way or another. We just have to be brave enough to take the steps.”
Night had settled in around the group by the time the stew was ready. Khalous scooped it into what few bowls they had brought with them from the ship. The bowls were then given to groups of four and five where each was passed around so that everyone could take a sip.
Broderick ate by the campfire in a small huddle with Brayden, Dana, Preston, and Nash wondering, as he often did when the night closed in, about Lia, Brynlee, and Scarlett. Three nights ago he had asked Brayden about them, if he thought they were alive, or if he thought they had been taken captive, but the question seemed to upset Dana too much. As a result, Brayden hadn’t answered and Broderick didn’t bother to ask again. The answers that he conjured in his mind were too disturbing to contemplate on his own, and so he made great effort not to think about it despite how much he missed his sisters.
His dreams, however, had other plans.
Later that night he woke on a portion of earth dampened by his own sweat, haunted by images of his sisters being whipped and abused. He saw Lia in a dungeon with chains on her feet, being driven mad by the tight confines of her cell. He saw visions of Brynlee being put to work in a field next to a long line of other shackled slaves. When one of them fell, Brynlee stooped to help her, and was whipped for her compassion.
When Broderick saw Scarlett, his heart broke in half. The poor mute girl had been tied to a wagon wheel and forced underwater. She opened her mouth and screamed, releasing a flurry of bubbles that choked Broderick and shook him awake.
The campsite was quiet, offering no comfort. Everyone was asleep. The stars were out, and he could hear the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliff far below.
Broderick took a deep breath to calm himself and lay back down. He remembered a time not too long ago when he could visit his mother’s bedroom after he’d had a nightmare and she would walk with him to the family’s fireplace and tell him tales of pixies and talking dragons to ease his mind. He could never count on Kingsley for comfort, but his mother never once withheld a tender hug, never once missed a chance to speak a kind word.
He saw Lilyanna’s face just then, smiling at him as it flitted through his mind. Broderick slammed his eyes shut as tears gushed forward. He tried his hardest to hold them back, but nothing could sway the avalanche of grief that erupted within him. He missed her. More than anything else in Aberdour, he missed her. Lilyanna. His mother. Everything else that he had loved could be replaced—his horse, his bow and arrow, his favorite shirt, his home—but the one thing he had loved the most was the one thing he could never get back.
Morning came with the bitter breeze of an incoming ocean storm. Khalous roused everyone, hurrying them through breakfast and out of the campsite before the worst of the storm drifted their way. By midmorning they had cleared the forest and were traipsing over long, broad swathes of emerald hills that permitted a view to the south where a bright green forest faded into a di
stant fog.
Cold gray clouds had closed in around them by the time the group came within sight of the monastery. Sitting atop a hillside on the northern cliffs of Efferous, the stone of the tiny village rose from the surrounding greenery like a gray oasis. Among the many buildings visible from within the abbey’s stonewalls was a church towering twice as high as any of them.
Khalous Marloch flopped his arm around Broderick’s shoulders and sighed with satisfaction. “There it is, lad. Halus Gis.”
“Why do they call it that?” Broderick asked.
“Halus means chapel in Efferousian,” Khalous answered. “Gis is the name of the holy man who built it many centuries ago.”
The refugees behind them began expressing joy and relief when they saw the sanctuary standing on the next rise before them.
“How does it feel to be home?” Khalous asked Placidous as the weary priest looked upon the monastery.
“Very well indeed,” he answered. “When we arrive, allow me to go inside ahead of you. I will speak to the duktori alone and explain your situation.”
“Duktori?” Khalous asked.
“Our leader. What you call an abbot. His name is Bendrosi. He is wise and kind. He will help you, but I should speak to him first.”
The monastery matched nothing that Broderick had pictured in his mind. The grounds were far bigger, containing more than he had expected, including a dormitory, a school, a hospital, a library, barns, storerooms, workshops and acres upon acres of gardens, orchards, and grain fields.
“How many people live here?” Broderick asked, as they wandered through the western gate.
“That depends,” Placidous answered. “During war times Halus Gis can be filled to the brim with the wounded and the displaced. The servants here welcome any and all in need.”
“Servants?”
“That’s what we are,” he said. “All those who follow the Allgod are his servants. We serve him by serving others. It is our mission in life.”
While they strolled up the main road to the church, Broderick noticed a couple of male lay servants fixing a wooden fence surrounding a pigpen. The two men stopped their work and eyed the group of passing strangers.