Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  It was on a cool Lenton day that the annalist made it covertly into Petra’s Landing. He had already traced Aeden’s steps from Bodig through the countryside, towns, villages, and cities of Gemynd. He had asked his questions, uncovered hidden records, digging ever deeper into the master arkeinist’s past, trudging through memory in an effort to seek the truth, the sharp edge of fact that shaped reality.

  Each relived memory cast upon paper was like a weight upon his chest. Revelations of truth threatened to unburden his heavy heart of the load he carried, the onus of a long buried hatred for the man he sought.

  Each difficulty the young Aeden endured was like a sliver of starlight piercing the otherwise dark night sky. There was less joy in uncovering these hardships than the annalist had originally thought. And now he was in a dangerous city, yet again risking his life, for duty to his king, responsibility to the realm, and the survival of his people. It was his last stop in the three kingdoms before heading to the deep southern deserts.

  He needed to be careful. Having studied magic his blood now coursed with the arkein, an intransmutable energy that marked every person of the second order or higher. Petra’s Landing was infamous for “blood sniffers” as they called them, ambits of singular design, to detect the presence of magic. He knew he would have to be quick about his work, attentive to his surroundings, and furtive in his dealings with the populace. Nothing less would do. Hunting the history of Verold’s most powerful man required all the skills a master annalist could bring to bear.

  Chapter 26

  “Beginnings have a way of burning themselves into memory.” Saying of the Gemynd

  The monastery bells clanged their morning song rustling monks from restless dreams. Aeden was already awake, his mind had whittled away the hours of night, imagining the path before him. Attempting to imagine the unknown was as difficult as trying to drink from a waterfall, something Devon had dared him to do once. A wry smile made its way to his lips for the span of a breath before he sat up in bed.

  As had become his routine, Aeden rolled his sleeping mat and stowed it behind his trunk. His movements were clumsy and distracted. He then folded his blanket and set it inside his strongbox. It took him a moment to fiddle with the lock, one he had purchased from the monastery black market in exchange for doing some unwanted chores.

  He glanced about the long room, noticing the other tired-eye monks going about their business. No one was paying him any attention, it was too early, and the only source of light was a fat candle burning in a far corner.

  He pulled back the thick skin of the shroud cat to reveal the dark Templas blade sheathed in its midnight scabbard. With a quick and deft movement he removed the sword from the trunk and slipped it under his robes. Aeden hadn’t touched the cool handle since he had arrived at the monastery, it felt good. His hand tingled at first contact and a renewed sense of purpose settled over him with confidence.

  Aeden took a moment to retie the rope sash at his waist, securing the sword to his hip. He looked down at the folds of his loose fitting gray robes, made an adjustment before grabbing the small leather purse and the rolled leather map. He tied the purse to his belt, which now felt heavy and tight against his hip. The map he slipped into a makeshift pocket he had sewn into a fold a month before. With one last look upon the shroud skin fur, Aeden closed and locked the trunk. It was time to begin a journey.

  The refectory was uncommonly quiet and dark that morning. While the other monks went to Morning Prayer the six chosen for the pilgrimage sat about an overly long wooden table and consumed a simple breakfast of rolled oats and buttered milk. There was no talking as was customary. Instead they eyed each other in short glimpses as they ate, anxious to start the trip and fearful of what the road would bring.

  Slowly and one by one the monks finished their meals and brought their wooden bowls to the kitchen. They rinsed them in a standing basin of water and set them aside to air dry. Without ritual or further ado the group slipped out into the dark, stone corridor and toward the nave.

  The nave itself was cast in shades of gray as the morning light had yet to cast its luminesce on the white-walled monastery. The monks passed their cushions without a second glance and came up short. Aeden noticed them first, his eyes having adjusted to the dim yellow pools of light cast from fresh sputtering candles along the wall.

  Standing within a fold of shadow were all the monks of the Holy Order of Sancire, Bodig. At their approach the abbot opened the doors to the nave letting in the first slivers of pre-dawn light. A waft of cool air swept in speaking the gentle note of Hearvest.

  Aeden went down the line, nodding to Jerome who responded with a blank stare and partial grin. He nodded to Monahan who wore a heavy expression of immeasurable indifference, yet his beady eyes spoke of a hidden plan. He shook the hands of many of the monks not having been in the monastery long enough to develop the true sense of brotherhood that those who came as children had. Blaise wrapped him up in a hug and whispered in his ear.

  “Keep them safe brother Aeden. I know that of the chosen you are the one who can.”

  Aeden withdrew from the bear hug and took a step closer to the massive monastery doors. Adel was ahead of him standing before Abbot Filbert. The abbot stood there appraisingly. His face was half cast in silvery strands of light. Adel shook his hand and stepped outside following Thomas, Odilo and Neri. Aeden glanced to his right seeing Bosco with his head close to Monahan his face a mask of keen interest.

  Aeden shook the smaller hand of the abbot and stepped out into the pre-dawn morning. He glanced at Adel and saw him wipe a small tear from his eye. Odilo stood by him wearing a look of compassion. Neri seemed nonplussed to leave. Thomas stood studying the sky with a faint look of nostalgia, his hands clutching a small bit of cheese.

  Finally Bosco emerged and the group of six was ready to truly begin their pilgrimage. They quickly moved down the wide stone steps and onto the red-cobbled street of Bodig. There was little traffic at this hour. Storefronts were shuttered and streets lamps had run out of their nightly oil leaving everything to shine a dull gray-red. The sky shone a brilliant violet as the sun worked its way out of its nightly cradle. The monks breathed in the city air and followed Odilo down the labyrinth of streets toward the northern gate.

  The sights were a welcome distraction from the fear of leaving the safety of the monastery. It had become home for the monks, and even Aeden was feeling the queasy effect of apprehension play upon his innards.

  With the determination of pious action, they crisscrossed alleys, passed wider streets and finally found themselves upon a boulevard waking with the rising sun. Already merchants were opening stalls as the early risers, mostly the elderly, graced the city streets. Aeden didn’t recognize this section. He glanced about as they passed through a tall gate embedded within a wall of red. The whole city, he had read, was divided into sections to purposefully increase the number of fallback positions if the main walls had been breached. The streets were offset, staggered, winding, and sometimes dead-ended at walls or buildings, all in an effort to befuddle an enemy combatant. The consequence was few people truly knew the entire city of Bodig, it was simply too confusing.

  The boulevard sloped gradually downward toward a tall wall now highlighted by the first rays of light. The semi-translucent bricks glowed a gentle maroon. It was an image Aeden would never have imagined in a hundred story tellings.

  There were larger, wider buildings lining the broad street as they approached the looming city wall. The buildings had no windows, just oversized doors. There was a greater flurry of activity in this quarter of the Red City, mostly younger, well-muscled men moving about with great purpose. One set of the wide double-doors was open. Aeden cast a long sideways glance as they walked past. It appeared to be a warehouse of sorts filled with sacks, boxes, and goods.

  “Amazing isn’t it,” Adel said having caught Aeden’s wandering eye for a moment.

  “I had no idea a city could be so busy,” Aeden replied
.

  “You should see the ports on the southern side,” Adel said with a flourish. “They also have some of the best pastries in the city,” a grin formed on his boyish features.

  Aeden nodded watching men carrying impossible loads upon their heads and shoulders. Soon they were upon one of the massive gates of the main wall. Tall wooden doors reinforced by black metal stood open allowing a waft of air to tunnel into the city. It brought the smells of spices, sweat, and death.

  The group of six monks passed through the gates, garnering a few looks from the workers, a few paused to nod their respect, and some grunted simple prayer greetings, “may the light be upon your back.”

  A wide road already lined with carts trailing into the distance traveled northward away from the capital. A small town of sorts had grown up outside the city walls. There were wooden structures that had the hobbled appearance of a quick assembly. Wagons and carts were scattered about in a semi-orderly fashion. City guards were posted near the city gates overseeing the chaos as Bodig inspectors, merchants, and traveling salesmen discussed prices. It was a chaotic and organized mess.

  Odilo had turned and paused facing the city wall behind them. Aeden turned to see what caused the senior monk to stop. Swinging gently and suspended from the red-brick wall were a series of cages. Each cage contained a person in various states of decay. Aeden couldn’t have been more shocked if Odilo had turned to punch him in the gut.

  He was transfixed by the sight. Part of him wanted to turn and look away. Another part of him was morbidly curious. As much as he wanted to look away he could not. Aeden held his hand reflexively to his nose as the smell of rotting flesh blistered by the sun created a stench unlike any other.

  The cages on the left held the barely living; their heads were shaved and tarred. Their skin was burned by the sun as intense thirst robbed them of coherent thought. The cage in the middle held a naked man of indeterminate age whose body was held together by rope. His limbs had been severed from his torso only to be crudely attached by hooks and ropes, all suspended from the iron ring at the head of the metal coffin. Those on the right held the decaying remains of men with crude signs strapped to the bars, “thief,” “rapist,” murderer.”

  He had seen death’s hand before, but in S’Vothe the dead were treated with respect and burned in pyres. They were never allowed to decay. It was revolting. Even the metal bars of the cage were in a state of atrophy. The wind, the rain, and the corrosive effects of too many wasting human bodies had painted the joints and edges in various stains of red, white, and yellow.

  Aeden swatted at an angry black cloud of flies that buzzed about the scene. Groaning and desperate pleading cut through the din of merchants like the hiss of a startled newborn draccus weasel. The sounds turned his stomach.

  “They’re called gibbets. They’re here to punish particularly severe criminals and function as a statement of warning to potential criminals,” Adel whispered to a shocked Aeden.

  Aeden glanced at Adel. His young aquiline features seemed unaffected by the cruelty of the punishment. It was in juxtaposition to moments before when tears stained Adel’s eyes at the prospect of leaving home, his family, his friends. Was this normal? Was the unreality of death too far removed from juvenile mental wanderings?

  Odilo had already begun murmuring a quiet chant that was soon taken up by the small group of monks.

  “Passing life, fading light

  Release this soul to flight

  So that peace sought

  Hard one and fought

  Becomes eternal light.”

  The monks did this at every gibbet, hands raised in prayer. Merchants and city inspectors paused to watch them pray, some whispering the same words under their breath. A quiet settled briefly over the area as if Salvare himself had stepped onto the scene ushering those present into silence. Even the groaning stopped as tortured ears strained to hear the sacred words of passing, so that they too could leave their mutilated existence and find peace in the afterlife.

  The prayers stopped and the trance was broken. Debate over taxes and the value of wares resumed as the monks left the final gibbet that contained nothing more than the tattered rags, bones, and bits of decaying flesh of what once was a man.

  Chapter 27

  “The road oft frequented can bring greater disquiet than the one less traveled.” Book of Khein 8:4

  The stone road was long and heavily traveled. The kingdom of Bodig was far larger than Aeden could have imagined. They had walked for hours and as far as he could tell they had only made it a quarter of the way to the first monastery marked on the map.

  It was a warm day that only served to lengthen the passage of time. They had left behind the hubbub of the Red City and fell into a quiet rhythm. The road fell away before their feet as the sun burnt away the few stray clouds that were unfortunate enough to remain. It wasn’t until the early afternoon that they stumbled upon their first respite from the sun.

  Ahead was a caravan along the side of the road. Three loaded carts sat heavily upon the cobbled stones. A tall, young man stood watch and eyed their approach. Another older man with a balding head clasped a hand onto the younger man and yelled out to the monks.

  “Welcome brothers! Please come and join us for some rest, food, and shade,” he said in an accent that Aeden couldn’t place.

  “Thank you friend,” Odilo shouted in return, startling Thomas.

  The monks hastened their step and entered the small circle of shade cast by the towering goods stacked precisely on the carts. Two women stepped out from a cart, one older and one younger. The younger one caught Aeden’s eye. She wore a simple dress of sorts, but its thin fabric clung to parts and hid others in a manner that beckoned to him in a non-clerical manner.

  “Have a seat, you must be tired and thirsty,” the older man said as he stepped forward offering a smile.

  Thomas placed his hands together in thanks, as did everyone else except Bosco and Aeden. Bosco seemed too discomforted to make the effort. Aeden on the other hand was still mildly distracted for at that moment the girl caught his eye and smiled a smile of knowing innocence.

  “Have something to drink, it isn’t much,” the older woman said handing a water skin to Neri.

  Neri took a quick sip and handed it to Thomas. Thomas didn’t drink and instead handed it to Odilo. It was passed around. Bosco took a long pause to quench his thirst before it finally arrived to Aeden. The water was stale and tasted of minerals, but he was thankful for something to quench his thirst. Traveling as a monk seemed to have its benefits.

  “Where are you headed,” Adel asked with genuine curiosity.

  “The Red City,” the man said gesturing to his carts, “we’ve got the finest pottery this side of the Dath River,” he said proudly.

  “You hail from Somerset,” Odilo stated.

  The man seemed mildly surprised, but the expression passed from his face quickly. “Yes, you’ve heard of our craftwork then I see.” He said the last touching his nose.

  “You make very fine wares, but as simple monks we have no need for such beauty and extravagance.”

  “It’s a shame, had you asked I’d have offered anything of your choosing,” the man replied.

  With those words Aeden glanced once more at what he assumed was his daughter. The older man saw the glance but mistook it for curiosity.

  “Illiana why don’t you grace our guests with a song,” her father stated with the authority of age.

  The mother brought out some dried meat and stale bread as Illiana began to sing. Her voice was as sweet and pure as a mountain spring. They ate and listened. A gentle breeze rustled the wagon’s tarp. The shade was cool and comfortable.

  Soon enough her song ended and the food was finished.

  “What can we offer for your kindness,” Odilo asked.

  The man looked to his wife before looking at Odilo. “A prayer for our second son, he’s been injured and his arm can’t lift what it used to.”

  �
�Can I see him?” Aeden interjected before realizing he may have spoken out of turn.

  If Odilo was irritated he didn’t show it. The man nodded his head, “of course, he’s in the back of our wagon.”

  The man led Aeden to the cart, the other monks curiously following. The third cart was laden with personal effects. Inside a boy of approximately twelve lay on top of a blanket that was laid amidst pots, pans, bundles of clothing, and other effects.

  “Hello,” Aeden said as he climbed into the wagon.

  The other monks and the father stood outside watching in earnest. Aeden knelt as best as he could next to the boy as Odilo led a healing chant.

  “Oh Salvare, father of life, mother of health

  we call upon you for your strength,

  your power over us,

  send goodness to this body...”

  Aeden listened to the low chanting tones of the monks as he whispered to the boy.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  The boy pointed to his right elbow. Aeden nodded to him and smiled.

  “May I place hands upon you?” Aeden asked.

  The boy nodded.

  “...as your children we ask of you

  send down a sliver of your power

  power from the divine love...”

  The prayer continued as Aeden felt along the boy’s arm for muscular tension and bone placement. As part of the gevecht every member of the Thane Sagan were trained in simple healing arts. They learned to brew their own herbs to reduce the pain and swelling that came from stone fist training. They learned how to manipulate stagnant blood to allow it to flow properly, they learned how to reset simple bone misalignments so as to help create a greater bond with each other and to allow training to resume as rapidly as possible.