Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

  That was when Soto grunted.

  Isaiah mentally shook his head and focused, everything around him coming back into view. Including the warrant, which basically stated how Nicholas was under arrest for a good list of things, mainly for being King of the Rogues and outrunning authority. Isaiah flipped to the next page without finishing, but it was only the public sheet deeming his son an outlaw. The image on it was quite good.

  “I must request,” Soto resumed, “that you hand over your son immediately.”

  Or else… Isaiah thought to himself as he flipped back to the first page, wondering which street rat or rogue gave Nicholas up. He only recalled ever meeting Rusty, and he didn’t get a good impression from the boy.

  “If you refuse and are later found sheltering him,” Soto resumed, “or keeping his whereabouts a secret, you will be tried and sentenced along with him or in his place. Either way, Nicholas will remain an outlaw. Bounty hunters are already out looking for him.”

  “He isn’t here.” Isaiah despised speaking those words as he let the papers roll through his palms and back into their original state. He hated even more that he had to return them with the knowledge that someone could have come to him before releasing the public sheet.

  Soto’s forehead creased as he reclaimed the documents. “Sentencing is a week chained to the village circle.”

  The image was clear. A circular platform filled with old symbols and containing a heavy bench and chains. Food and water could only be supplied by one of the prisoner’s closest relatives, which for Isaiah and Nicholas was just each other. He actually couldn’t recall the thing ever being used, though. It hadn’t been touched since before King William’s reign; possibly before that, even.

  “After that, the mines at the border of Haven and the sea for the remainder of his or your life.”

  Isaiah nodded as he clasped his palms before himself and considered his next words. It truly wasn’t a bad deal, but he preferred to not see it placed upon his child. “He still isn’t here.”

  Then the glare came. “Step aside.”

  Isaiah did as request, letting the over-sized guard into his home. From there, he peeked outside to spot two other guards standing in the melting street under the partially cloudy sky. He watched them converse as he listened to Soto’s boots begin the path through the hallway, doors opening and slamming on their journey. They faded only slightly on their way into the kitchen and around to the sitting room. Then Soto stomped intentionally louder on his way back into the entry.

  “If he comes home…”

  Isaiah twisted to follow Soto’s steps back toward him.

  “You are to hand him over.”

  It didn’t take much to meet Soto’s gaze, the desire to be openly defiant sweeping through his insides. “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Soto halted just like that, his presence like an evil watchtower as he bent over and stared him down.

  “Nicholas is my son,” Isaiah continued rather calmly, “and being an honest man, I will tell you that whether I knew of his whereabouts or not I would not tell you.”

  Soto’s lids narrowed, but Isaiah stood his ground.

  “My son, despite his actions of late, is a good boy. He has never harmed a soul or acted against the King and Prince.”

  Soto didn’t listen. He just looked out the door and waved to the two guards outside, one of which Isaiah realized was Cedric – Nicholas’ closest friend outside the Court of Rogues. “You are hereby under house arrest until Nicholas is found. Then sentencing will be decided.”

  “And what of work?” Isaiah replied as Soto proceeded his way back out into the dreary day, the other two coming up the sloshy path.

  The guard halted. Then twisted. He held a look like he couldn’t believe he had just been asked that question.

  “I work for King William. In the castle.”

  “His Majesty,” Soto emphasized, “has given me the authority to remove you from the position of royal healer and spell caster until further notice.” His eyes darted to the other guards, glancing between Cedric and the one Isaiah couldn’t recall.

  “Brome.”

  The said guard snapped to attention. “Yes, Captain Soto?”

  “Stand by the garden gate. I want to know every time Master Isaiah enters and exits it.”

  “Of course, Captain Soto.” And Brome strode off to the side.

  “Don’t try to sneak out,” barked Soto in the harshest tone so far, and then he stormed off.

  Isaiah shook his head as he exchanged glances with Cedric. The third year guard didn’t look happy about this, either. And then he sighed heavily and closed the door.

  Part 4

  November 13 - November 20, 4464

  New Friends and Old Faces (Nicholas)

  With the rise and fall of his chest, Nicholas noted something tight struggle to stretch along with his abdomen. Whatever it was scraped against his wound uncomfortably. In fact, his wound felt strange. He considered shifting, getting into a better position, but that drew his attention to the same material around his shoulder and thigh.

  Then his stomach growled. The sound was hollow and loud and echoed against his insides.

  Nicholas groaned, face contorting.

  It was the quiet that reciprocated, bringing with it pleasant sounds of fire cracking and owls hooting. It was the melody of a campsite, which reminded him he was in a wagon.

  “Manfri?” he croaked. All he could recall was a mess of black hair. Jewelry. “Theodosia?”

  No reply.

  He cracked open his lids to find dark fabrics along the wooden walls surrounding him. The space was small, but cozy.

  And he was alone.

  With that realization, he shoved himself onto his elbows with a seething grunt and gripped his side. He looked down, expecting to see the bandages he had felt earlier, and found he was in gypsy attire. Unfortunately, he had sweated clean through each garment and the materials now clung to him.

  I must have had a fever. And from there he encouraged himself to push over and stood up. But his head nearly hit the ceiling and he ducked.

  Hmm. He looked about, nothing else filled the wagon, and then he spotted the door. Sunlight streamed through crevasses in the wood.

  “Manfri?” he croaked out again as he crouched his way over. There was no knob on the door when he got there. Just a latch. So he flipped the thing and pushed.

  The first evening light slapped him in the face, signaling the end of a cold, cloudy day, and he carefully hobbled out onto the small steps as he absorbed his surroundings.

  Which was a small clearing, and it was warm despite all the snow. Sixteen wagons formed a border around it. At the center sat much more than sixteen gypsies, all in their own circle with a fire strong between them. Each and every individual present had their heads tilted back and lids shut.

  Nicholas quietly closed the wagon door, unsure whether to interrupt or wait. But the latch decided that for him.

  “Come forward, Sir Nicholas,” drifted over Manfri’s voice. “Join us.”

  Uh… “It’s just Nicholas,” he replied as he returned to face the gathering, remembering Manfri had used the title before without correction. The gypsy man was clear at the other end of the circle from him.

  “For now,” Manfri replied. “But please, join us.”

  Nicholas nodded, not sure what that last statement meant, and limped his way around the bodies of people and to where Manfri and his sister sat. It didn’t seem like there was enough room for him, though.

  That was when Manfri and Theodosia let go of each other and slid with ease a bit further apart. It was rather eerie as they had yet to open their eyes, but he went ahead and took the offered spot with a restrained seethe. It literally took his entire body stiffening to hold back the audible pain. Finally, he looked between his new friends.

  “Just close your eyes,” Manfri resumed, “and feel the world around you. Let it become a part of y
ou.”

  Um… he thought, stealing a peek around at everyone. He hadn’t expected to join in on whatever this was they were doing. He wasn’t sure what he expected, actually. All he knew was that he didn’t want to cause offense, although not knowing what was happening was a good reason to decline. Would they notice if I just sat here?

  “Do you feel the earth beneath you?” returned Manfri’s instruction.

  He decided against faking and thought about what he was just asked. Feel the earth? He was pretty sure he could. It was a solid, frozen surface of dirt. The only barrier truly preventing him from feeling it was his trousers. “Y… yes,” he ventured then.

  “What about the air?”

  Nicholas hesitated there as he searched out for the breeze that pushed the flames high. Made the fire crackle and snap. Except he had that unnerving brain tickling sensation that something more was meant by the comment. Something more complex than just feeling the air. Feeling the earth.

  “Just note the way it brushes your cheeks,” Manfri added, clarifying the request. “The way it runs through your hair and against your clothes.”

  He sighed, unfortunately a little too loud, and his cheeks pinkened. So he proceeded to follow along to correct his mishap. It was also the least he could do as Manfri and his family patched him up without question.

  Did they ask questions?

  He sought out memories of the day, but none came.

  “Listen to them now,” returned Manfri’s directions. “The earth, the air. They are speaking to you.”

  Nicholas’ lids flew open, chest stuttering as the memory part of his brain flicked on like a torch.

  “Can you hear them speaking to you, Nicholas?” came Seraphina’s voice. The woodsy tone was as clear as if she still lived.

  He darted his attention at those around him, taking in their serene faces. They all looked so harmless. Unaware of his reaction.

  They couldn’t possibly know, he told himself then. It’s just a coincidence. He wanted to laugh with that, disbelieving a single comment was what got him riled up.

  Then the image of his stepmother in the early morning garden danced into his thoughts. Baby Brida in her lap.

  That desire to laugh faded along with the clearing.

  “Each flower and shrub and plant have a voice,” Seraphina continued from that long lost memory. “Have feelings. Even the fruits and vegetables. Listen.” Seraphina pushed her brown hair behind her pointed ears here, exposing the hidden vines that marked her as half wood nymph, and bent closer to smell a flower. Her brown eyes drifted up slowly as she paused, breathed inward, and met him.

  A hand tightened around his. That wasn’t part of the memory. So he looked over in that direction and landed on Theodosia’s smiling face.

  “Don’t ever think you are alone,” the gypsy woman spoke in a voice that didn’t sound quite right.

  Nicholas blinked, catching brown eyes he had sworn were green the first time he saw them.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Manfri interrupted.

  Theodosia blinked as well, eyes going to that green.

  “You are all wonderful, beautiful beings. Remember that and have a lovely evening.”

  Everyone stood up, whispering and chattering breaking out, and Nicholas redirected to Manfri slowly.

  Did that just happen?

  “You did great. Don’t be embarrassed.”

  That is so far from what I am, he replied to himself as he wondered if he was going insane. First I think I hear Brida speaking, and then I see Seraphina.

  “Now come…” Manfri stood next, dropping a hand down to him. “… You can eat with my sister and me, and my wagon remains open to you as well.”

  Nicholas took the gypsy man’s hand once more and let him pull him off the ground as he groaned from the stitches and bandages that stretched. No, I am not insane. I am simply drained and weak. Yet…

  “He needs new clothes, too, brother,” Theodosia added.

  What was with Theodosia? And he adjusted his sight and side-eyed the two gypsies.

  No auras ignited.

  “You are right, sister,” Manfri answered, “I have a few more to spare.”

  Nicholas glanced around the clearing, sight still adjusted. If any gypsies were sorcerers or magical beings, their auras would spark up and be visible to him despite the dying light.

  But nothing showed.

  “Well?” Manfri nudged him.

  Nicholas looked over, confused.

  “You all right with wearing my clothes during the journey to Roupan?”

  Clothes? He looked down at what he wore. “I already do, don’t I?” he replied. And in all honesty, I don’t have anything else to wear.

  “Fabulous,” Manfri replied, and he nudged him toward the wagon. “Let’s get you into something clean. You sweated straight through this one in less than an hour. That fever of yours was quite high.”

  Nicholas refocused back into the natural world and took in his two new friends. Something told him he could trust them even though they officially terrified him.

  Not His Clothes (Brida)

  Her brother dropped out of Manfri’s wagon with a face that made her hurt. He was now dressed in freshly pressed black puff pants and a white long-sleeved shirt, which fit around his frame uncomfortably perfect. It was like they were made for him, but weren’t. The only thing that truly belonged to him were his boots – their father’s old boots.

  It was a relief, though, when she noted one thing missing to the outfit. Well, two. The sashes and jewelry. Except that drew her to the fact he wasn’t wearing a coat, and she saw red. Nicholas never had his own coat, but she knew he had intended to buy one before leaving on this trip.

  So Brida twisted around toward the rest of the caravan with an exhalation. Nothing had gone as planned. But then she realized that none of the gypsies wore anything for cold weather.

  Her brows rose. Is it warming? It wouldn’t have been a surprise, being only fall.

  “Oh my,” came Theodosia’s voice.

  Brida returned to her brother just as the woman strolled up alongside her wagon and up to Manfri’s, making Nicholas pause like a startled deer.

  “You blend right in now.” Those green-gold eyes drifted over Nicholas, taking him in like he was food.

  Brida rolled her eyes, catching a glint in the woman’s gaze as she did so. It was getting tiresome the way Theodosia fawned over her brother, who was a decade younger than her.

  “You sure you’re not a gypsy?”

  “No, he’s not,” Brida found herself responding for him. “Now stop looking at him like that. He’s not interested.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Sorry, no. Just an everyday sixteen-year-old boy.”

  “Sixteen?” Theodosia sang as she slipped a palm over his shoulder affectionately and slid in far too close to his side, her eyes scanning him up and down again.

  Brida crossed her arms, forehead furrowing. She could have sworn smoke emitted from her ears, too.

  Then Nicholas grunted and scratched the back of his neck.

  The gypsy woman’s hand slipped off.

  “Looks like I was correct,” came Manfri’s voice from behind.

  Brida twisted again just as the gypsy man brushed by, sending that unnerving sensation of being touched yet not touched.

  “You look great. Just like a gypsy.”

  “I thought that same thing, brother.” And Theodosia’s eyes fell on Nicholas once more. “Such a handsome one, too. Open up that collar, dear boy.” Then she reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Looks much better this way.”

  Brida’s eyes widened as Nicholas glanced down at his bare chest, a blush forming across his cheeks. Her own went as red as her sight.

  “Now that is enough, sister. You’re embarrassing him.” Then Manfri slipped on over, taking a hold of Nicholas’ other shoulder. “Come along. There is still some dinner left and a few people who
wish to meet you. I had to shoo them away all day so you could rest.”

  “Make sure to button that shirt along the way,” Brida submitted as she fell in behind her brother.

  No one did a thing about the shirt.

  End of a Long Day (Isaiah)

  Isaiah climbed into bed like a man hit by a stampede of horses. The day had drawn out far too long. Torcher, he was sure. The gods were punishing him by first taking all he loved and then making him stew in the misery. He groaned at the aspect he would be doing this every day until his death and pulled his blanket over himself. Then he curled up, stomach growling demandingly, and hid his cracked face and sore eyes away in the pillow.

  And there his tears stopped. Dried out at last. All that was left to prove they had existed were the stains on his cheeks and neck. They ran along his chest.

  Please, gods, protect my son, he prayed as he closed his eyes. And for the hundredth time he pictured his son in an alley, hiding behind crates and boxes starving. He wanted to go out and find him, let him know he was safe. But he couldn’t, and the fact his son’s own rogues would most likely not bother to help hurt him even more. His son had been betrayed. He is a good boy. If anything, take me instead.

  That final request took him back, to that first night Nicholas spiraled out of control. It led to the next night, and the next.

  So many signs my son needed help.

  And his chest tightened in grief just as he drifted off.

  Doomed (Nicholas)

  There was a boom not unlike a cannon. Nicholas tumbled off his pile of fabrics, a groan near the edge of a scream as his stitches broke open. He felt blood trickle into his clean shirt, and then his heart and nerves took off without him.

  “Now!” a voice broke through. The boom had been a man, and he had demanded something.

  Nicholas shifted shakily, Manfri doing the same within the dim light that shined through the flimsy door.