Sanctus looked to his wise brother, but he was at a loss for words. It was impossible to imagine how someone so young had managed a mid-level charm after a massive master one that had killed older, stronger sorcerers.
“I didn’t make it far before I was spotted, though.”
He heard Nicholas swallow.
“Then the bell went off. Arrows flew.”
There was silence, and the boy pushed the bowl away with a scratch of wood against wood. Only he then dragged it right back.
“I passed out in the forest and woke up at the end of the day. I don’t know what you mean by gypsy coin. I know no gypsies and possess no gypsy items.”
Sanctus nodded, sensing Salbatzaile nod as well. It seemed appropriate at the moment.
“You lie,” Ángelo blurted.
“Ángelo!” Salbatzaile boomed.
Sanctus jerked, Nicholas as well. He felt it as his palm was still on Nicholas’ back.
“You wear a very distinct coin around your neck, boy,” Ángelo continued uninterrupted, finger pointing at Nicholas this time.
Nicholas reached for the item in question, but it was hidden away.
“… and gypsies are as much outlawed as you. Though it is likely they have a bit more freedom.”
Nicholas gave off a death glare with his already sunken eyes that made Sanctus shiver. “I found it in the snow and liked it,” he iterated.
“Ah, snow,” Salbatzaile exclaimed, eyes drifting off reminiscently.
“But if you distrust me so much, why didn’t you let me die?”
Sanctus’ hand slipped, his thoughts faltering for a reaction before Ángelo could make one.
But it was Nicholas who resumed. “I honestly do not fear death. Let me go home and face it.”
Those strange eyes met his once more, but he still had no clue what to say.
“It would save my father from taking the blame for my mistakes. From suffering needlessly.”
“Don’t say that,” Sanctus found himself responding as he slid his arm around to embrace the small, thinning frame at his side. “Your life is valuable. I did spend all I had for it. I would have given all I possess, in fact.” He was positive that was true, though a part of him asked, Knowing his story, would you have? “And your father gave his freedom for yours willingly. Don’t throw that back in his face.”
Nicholas shivered in his grasp then, and he leaned over again for a better view. “Are you all right?”
“I felt a chill.” Nicholas released the bowl and gave himself a hug, letting out a quivering breath. “I have been getting them for a while now and...” He trailed off.
Sanctus darted his attention to the spot where Brida still sat. Her hand drifted just an inch over Nicholas’ shoulder and she had that contorted look again. He and Salbatzaile had both noticed how Nicholas had responded to his sister’s comment.
“Might be from your weakened state,” he replied. “You used up all your magic and are very much malnourished. Eat up and then straight to bed.”
But Nicholas only fell into his side, where his arm took him in. There was no doubt he would have given up all his possessions now, though they were few.
Wisest (Salbatzaile)
The brush against the inside of the pot filled Salbatzaile’s ears. He dipped it into a bowl, rinsing it off and filling the air with a new sound, and scrubbed some more. Then he swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his kasaya.
“I was King of the Rogues since I was twelve,” replayed Nicholas’ words.
‘e looks dirteen to sixteen, Salbatzaile responded to himself.
“He is an outlaw now,” came Isaiah’s words next, but in Sanctus’ voice.
So yooehng and sweet.
“You’re going to wear a hole into that.”
Salbatzaile twisted, not at all startled as it wasn’t that easy to do, and found Ángelo hovering over him.
“I could hear that all the way inside the meditation room.”
Salbatzaile returned to the pot, only half of it was cleaned spotless black. The rest, however, was filthy.
“Your mind on the boy?”
“Not now, Ángelo.” And Salbatzaile rotated the pot and re-dipped his brush into the water. Then he began scrubbing again, letting the sound encompass him.
Ángelo didn’t budge. His frame was just visible from outside Salbatzaile’s line of sight, so he sighed and put the brush down in the drum of the pot to look up with questioning eyes. Speaking now would most likely result in yelling.
“I just want to make sure you are thinking about what we learned today about the boy,” Ángelo resumed in that direct way he had.
“I am,” Salbatzaile managed calmly.
Ángelo nodded as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight. He was waiting for more.
“But I shall not talk abooeht it right now.”
“You feel sorry for him, but you shouldn’t.”
He gazed back into the pot, the brush just sitting there waiting to be used. Ye joehst don’t oehnderstand. ‘e is only a lad.
“You are the wisest. You should know what harboring an outlaw means for us. Who we are. I know we made a vow to help everyone who comes to us, but sometimes that isn’t possible. Right now, Sanctus’ judgment is clouded, but I believe you will make the right decision that will sway this situation.”
Salbatzaile motioned back to Ángelo, but his brother was already walking away.
Everyone shall learn what we are if dis lad brings de authorities onto ooehr land.
Larger Role (Ángelo)
This has nothing to do with what the boy is, Ángelo told himself firmly as he made his way through the bit of live garden leading along the dining room. Salbatzaile simply had to be reminded that we must protect ourselves sometimes. We have a larger role on this earth than other beings. We have abilities people would kill for. Enslave for. Destroy entire kingdoms for.
The foliage came to an end, and he strolled out onto the sand garden path to reveal three rocks of different sizes. The sand around each was smooth and perfect, making looking at it all feel like a sin.
Sanctus most of all would be in danger. He can’t just see the dead, he is an empath who can see through time.
He sighed with that thought. He loved Sanctus deeply and worried about him often. Loved both his brothers deeply, in fact. There hadn’t been a day that had gone by that he hadn’t feared losing one of them, and now he thought of just that. Then he slowed his pacing as he ventured around to the other end. The sun felt much hotter in this area, it being much more open and drier than the rest of the monastery grounds.
And we are all immortal to boot. That wouldn’t take long to figure out if we are tried for harboring an outlaw.
Then he stopped at the bottom steps to the meditation room and stared up into it. Only the sun lit it enough to see the randomly placed cushions.
That was when he shook his head and walked on in, heading for his favorite spot at the center. He sat down, crossing his legs and placing his palms face up on his knees. But his attention fell on the yin and yang forecourt and he just stayed like that.
Honey and Wheat (Nicholas)
With Sanctus’ palm in his grasp, Nicholas slipped into the cold pool of the bath chamber one small step at a time. The short set of stairs ran the circumference in a shape similar to flower pedals. Then he sat down on the bottom step. The water felt great on his body after the heat, and he could feel the sweat and grime from the last month and a half washing away already.
“Any soap?” he asked as he slipped off the step and dropped to the pool bottom. His head still floated above the surface here.
“Yes. Let me get it.”
He twisted to watch Sanctus walk over to the wall and press in a stone. It turned inward to produce a hole. Then he pulled out a brown lump.
“This is where you will find the new bars Salbatzaile makes,” Sanctus explained. “He fills it every week just in cas
e one of us runs out.”
With that, Sanctus sealed the hole. He strode back over and bent down, stretching his arm across to hold out the lump. “Here.”
Nicholas waded back over and leaned across the steps, feeling himself begin to shiver.
“Don’t spend too long in there,” Sanctus added as Nicholas claimed his bar of soap. “You will turn into a prune.”
Nicholas chuckled as he sat down along the wall and began soaping up, filling the water with the honey and wheat scent. It reminded him of home. Of the times as a small child when he would watch his father make soap for him and Brida.
The smile he was slowly forgetting fell then, tears escaping with it, and he bumped his way down the steps with each fall of his heart. He was back to that spot at the bottom, his lungs the only thing fighting him as he worked not to cry.
“Nicholas?” came Sanctus’ concerned voice.
Nicholas pushed away from the wall further, soap particles tickling along his skin as they floated by, and drifted his way from the side with the lump of soap held tight to his chest. Then he vanished below the surface with a restrained sob and several streams of bubbles. He glanced around only to see Sanctus kneeled over, his face a mismatched mess and his mouth forming words that sounded not much different from his name.
It was just a glance, though, and he closed his eyes to see his father’s face one last time. Brida’s. Seraphina’s.
Dead (Brida)
Brida paced about by the pond, imagining the grass folding under her shoes to create an infinity knot. The world around her was a mirage of colors and distorted images as she focused solely on the dark green blades and how they were supposed to bend under her will. A few times she thought she saw them obey, but when she looked again everything was as undisturbed as ever.
Then a sigh escaped and her feet halted. She was out of places and things to do. People to visit. It was hard being limited, so she looked to the pond that shimmered in the sunlight as if an answer would appear there. Her gaze went around to the garden that towered tall next.
There was not a bit of a distortion after her pacing and constant staring downward. That was something she missed terribly now that she thought about it. But she had to admit, either way the place appeared, the garden in the monastery was the most beautiful she had ever seen. The most spectacular, though, she knew was Neraida, where her mother was born and raised.
Her thoughts trailed off to her father with that. She had never asked how he met her mother. If he had ever been to Neraida or Trowroa. Then before she knew it, she had her father’s dark bedchamber in mind, and the sunny monastery dematerialized from view.
Sentimental Value (Salbatzaile)
Salbatzaile pulled open his nightstand drawer, revealing the simple white sheet he had used to stow the lad’s five daggers.
“Don’t do it.”
It didn’t take much to twist around to face Ángelo, who had appeared in his doorway at some point. He should have expected to be followed today.
“We need to contact the authorities. Have him picked up and taken back to Haven for punishment.”
“Ye are right…” That was when he turned back to the nightstand and reached in for the wrapped weapons. It was, without a doubt, out of his hands what happened to the lad. The law was the law. “… but I shall not be de one to deprive de lad o’ ‘is last bit o’ comfort. De dagger ‘e mentioned means soehmet’in’ to ‘im.”
He placed the items onto the bed and began unwrapping.
“And what if he uses it against us to avoid the consequences awaiting him?”
Salbatzaile found himself chuckling. “‘e is, I am guessin’, a mid-level spell caster. If ‘e wanted to ‘urt oehs, ‘e would ‘ave doehne it by now.”
“He’s weak, Salbatzaile.”
“And dis dagger isn’t a weapon.”
The five sheathed daggers appeared, and for the first time he realized all but one was a matching set.
“So he says.”
“Ye ‘ave no fait’, Ángelo.” And Salbatzaile picked up the dagger with the hilt of vines, only he was caught by surprise when it revealed itself to be light weight. Dis is elf made. He unsheathed the dagger with that, wondering how he missed it the first time, and noted how thin and smooth the blade came out. Then he turned the dagger in his palm, the bit of light coming through the window catching the steel and lighting up the room.
Ángelo seethed from the doorway, and Salbatzaile sheathed the dagger before they went blind.
“That is an elf blade!” Ángelo spit with pure spite.
“Dat it is.”
“A human shouldn’t possess it!”
Salbatzaile set the dagger aside and rewrapped the other four, stuffing them back into the nightstand. It was obvious what his narrow-minded brother meant. The lad wouldn’t possess such an item if he were truly human. “It was a gift, and der fore it shall be returned. It matters not what we dink.”
There was a sigh as Salbatzaile turned around. He found Ángelo shaking his head.
“Ye don’t ‘ave to be dere when I return it.”
“Good, because I won’t.” And with that Ángelo walked away.
Salbatzaile shook his own head, then he strode across the room and into the hallway. There was only a brief pause to close his door, but after that he huffed out a sigh of his own and took the final few paces to Nicholas’ room. He had to admit, he wasn’t fond of returning the dagger – it was against what he believed. The lad, however, had truthfully stated the dagger was of sentimental value and not a weapon. His only lie was the gypsy coin, but that was understandable. If they helped him, he would pretend to have never met them.
Then he gave the door a light rap.
“Come in,” Sanctus beckoned from within.
That was a slight surprise, but he figured his brother hadn’t been comfortable leaving Nicholas alone yet. The man’s empathic ability tended to get the best of him. So Salbatzaile just reached out and opened the door.
“I ‘ave yer dagger,” he explained. Then he caught the lad’s gaze. There were pillows all around him, keeping him propped up, and his hair was wet. “I figured, bein’ oehnwell and withooeht yer family, ye would like to ‘ave it now. Ye did say it was special.”
“Thank you,” the lad breathed, quite heavily in Salbatzaile’s opinion. His lids even looked like they sagged more.
Salbatzaile furrowed his brows and continued forward. “When did dis start?”
“In the bath,” Sanctus answered. “He said he couldn’t breathe. He nearly drowned.”
Salbatzaile sat on the side of the bed and took up the lad’s wrist. His pulse felt steady, so he went for his forehead, where he met natural warmth and sweat. “‘elp ‘im lean forward, Sanctus.”
Nicholas pushed away from the bed just as Sanctus slipped an arm behind him, and then Salbatzaile placed a palm on his chest and another on his back. The gypsy coin was just noticeable under the fabric of the kasaya, particularly with the magic beating off it.
“Breat’e in deep,” he instructed then as he shoved his inner eye into the void. It was there Nicholas’ heart and lungs appeared to him, and they looked perfect. “Now let it ooeht slow.”
Nicholas obeyed, but it came with a struggle. Then he caught Sanctus offer the lad a hand, which was accepted with gratefulness.
“Does yer droat ‘urt?”
Nicholas shook his head.
“I think he may have picked up something on the way here,” Sanctus admitted.
That was definitely a possibility, but the lad wasn’t ill based on what he was seeing. So he drifted deeper into Nicholas’ core, where he found a soul that struggled to remain in the light. And that aura that burned a peculiar combination of blue and gold flickered there, too, though weakly. “Ye can lay ‘im down.” And he pulled himself completely back into the world with that.
“Just imagine the living conditions on a ship, Salbatzaile,” his brother resumed,
guiding Nicholas with careful ease and a gaze that only looked at the now trembling frame in his hold. “As a stow away, he could have been hiding below deck, which is far worse. One month down there with the rats and wet air…”
There was pain in Sanctus’ eyes as he fought to look up.
“Could you brew something for him?”
“I shall see what I can do.” Then Salbatzaile slid the dagger into Nicholas’ palm and guided his fingers around it. There were no more qualms about returning this particular item. “‘ere. Keep it close.”
“Thank you,” Nicholas breathed again, clearly forcing back a gasp. “And I am sorry about earlier.”
“Don’t be. Ye were frightened by what ye saw, which we shall discoehss soehme ot’er time.” And he patted the lad’s hand with no intention of doing any such thing. “For now, be strong. I shall be back wit’ yer medicine.”
Nicholas closed his eyes with that, which was when Salbatzaile noted the gold in those ocean blue irises, and pulled the sheathed dagger to his chest like a doll. It was there that a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Let my father know I love him, too.”
“Will do, yooehng man.”
“He’s out again,” Sanctus announced.
“Good.” Salbatzaile rose and strode back across the room. “Let ‘im rest. Rest is de best for ‘im.”
“Do you trust him?”
He stopped, hand gliding up to grasp the door, and twisted reluctantly. His pupils darted from Sanctus, who looked desperate, to the unconscious lad who had journeyed across the sea for sanctuary. They were both making it difficult for him to be impartial. “Yes. ‘e is good at ‘eart. Joehst lost.”
“Then don’t do it.”
Salbatzaile released the door and turned around completely.
“Don’t contact the authorities. He is no threat. He needs us. Please.”
“‘e is an ooehlaw, Sanctus. Ye know what dat means… for ‘im, for oehs. Ye in particular are in danger.”
Rogue Beyond the Wall Page 11