Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

Sanctus shook his head, closing his eyes. “He said he was leaving that life. You heard him.” Then he looked at him once more. “But that isn’t the point, he isn’t here for sanctuary like you think.”

  Salbatzaile felt his feet move forward, his mind faltering on the matter at hand to let his heart do the thinking. “Ye saw dis?”

  “Yes. Just Now.”

  There had never been a moment where he thought Sanctus would lie to him. But he knew, if faced with a desperate situation, Sanctus would most definitely lie. So he adjusted his sight to see, wishing he didn’t have to.

  “I saw Nicholas, Brida, their father, the gypsies.”

  No twinkle of a lie showed. Sanctus told the truth. And now Salbatzaile was filled with guilt.

  “He is not a threat,” Sanctus resumed, “and his father truly did give up his freedom so his son could live. That is something to consider before sending the boy away to a fate that may very well destroy him.”

  His gaze drifted away and around the room. There wasn’t much in there for a young man who would be staying an indefinite amount of time.

  “He is only sixteen, Salbatzaile. Don’t condemn the rest of his life away.”

  He sighed nasally as he looked down at his sandaled feet.

  “You had a son once.”

  His lids squeezed shut at those words, like they had a mind of their own, and they brought with them the son he lost forever. The wife who threw him out for no longer being among the living. He nodded then. “Fine. De authorities shall not be cahntacted. Send another letter to ‘is fat’er and let ‘im know.” Then he looked around the room again, his mind going over the things he would need to get for Nicholas. Only he stopped when he realized Brida was absent.

  “Where is de spirit?”

  His brother looked about with a shrug. “Maybe she left to check on their father again.”

  “We shall ‘ave to talk abooeht ‘er.” Salbatzaile returned his attention to Sanctus, who nodded in response.

  “I agree, but I get the feeling she doesn’t want to pass on. She is here for the boy and their father.”

  “We shall discoehss dis furt’er when de lad is well and we are able to draw de spirit away from ‘im.” He began the motion to leave, but then stopped again. “And Sanctus...”

  “Yes?” His brother’s desperate eyes met his with even more desperation, which made him realize something was off. Sanctus should have known what was wrong with Nicholas.

  “De lad is not ill. ‘e is lonely and filled wit’ moehch guilt.”

  Sanctus blinked, clearly astounded by the answer to the lad’s prognoses. But that just verified Salbatzaile’s fear. Sanctus couldn’t sense Nicholas, although his other gift had not been affected. It didn’t make sense.

  “I dink over‘earin’ ‘ow ‘is fat’er is on ‘ouse arrest makes ‘im want to go to ‘is rescue, den ye told ‘im ‘e cooehldn’t.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. He was fine until the bath.”

  He looked once more at the lad, his freshly washed hair. He couldn’t help but think Nicholas looked young for sixteen. Then he smelled his fingers to see if he picked anything up. “Did ye give ‘im soap?”

  His brother cocked his head. “What does…”

  “‘is fat’er is a ‘ealer. ‘e most likely makes de same kind o’ soap.”

  “And Nicholas’ mind and body shut down at the scent.”

  He watched as his brother looked back at Nicholas, who slept peacefully with the dagger pressed to his chest. Their hands were still clasped, too. It gave Salbatzaile that old familiar ache he thought was long gone.

  “Yes. I recommend ye stay wit’ ‘im as ‘e seems to ‘ave bonded wit’ ye.” Then he turned away one last time and stepped back into the hallway, leaving the door open as he ventured around and into the garden.

  Bad Feeling (Ángelo)

  Ángelo crossed his arms from where he leaned against the lodging wall – it was just feet from the boy’s window and inches from the entrance – and narrowed his lids. He wanted to make sure he made his point. Expressed his full dissatisfaction with the outcome of this entire catastrophe.

  That was what this was. A catastrophe. The boy… No creature… was going to be the end of their peaceful life, and as a result the entire world.

  Then Salbatzaile stepped outside, his expression elsewhere.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” he chastised then, not caring if he ripped his eldest brother from his contemplation.

  That annoying way Salbatzaile had of not being bothered by anything showed itself as he drew to a halt on the path and directed his attention back into the world. “I dought ye weren’t goin’ to be ‘ere when I returned de dagger.”

  “Well,” Ángelo began, straightening and raising his chin. “I wanted to make sure Sanctus didn’t sway you, but apparently it didn’t take much. You must not have meant what you said. And here I thought you were the wise one.”

  “I meant what I said,” Salbatzaile responded as he redirected to face the clear sky, lids squinting as the sunlight hit his pupils. “At least at de time. I was goin’ off what I knew and what I needed to do to prahtect oehs. Now dings are different. De lad needs oehs.”

  Ángelo breathed loudly – it wasn’t quite a sigh but more out of exasperation – and shook his head. Then he dropped his arms. If what he had overheard was true and Wyrd truly was involved with why the boy was here, what were they to do when things went south. “And what if someone comes for him?”

  “We shall deal wit’ it den, but we shall not turn ooehr backs and give ‘im oehp.”

  “Fine.” Then Ángelo looked up to the sky as well, wondering now what his wise brother was staring at, and found it difficult to do so without shading his eyes. “But why is he here if not for sanctuary?”

  He caught Salbatzaile shrug and return to face him.

  Ángelo did the same, blinking as his pupils tried to adjust. He always forgot that Salbatzaile spelled his sight so he could look up into the sky.

  “We can ask when ‘e wakes. Right now ‘e needs ‘is rest. But as ‘e is associated wit’ Wyrd, it will be Sanctus who shall be carin’ for ‘im.” And that was when the anger crossed Salbatzaile’s features and he pointed a threatening finger at him. “Do not oehpset eit’er one of dem. Ye ‘ere me?”

  Ángelo puffed his chest with a single deep breath and let it out heavily. I have a bad feeling about this. But he nodded even though his gut told him to give the boy up.

  The Reason for His Visit (Nicholas)

  A light scratching sang from the front of the room. Nicholas perked his ears, pried his reluctant lids open, and followed the tune.

  It was late afternoon, by the light shining through the window. He hadn’t slept long. So he went ahead and sat up with a grunt, palm bending his wrist back painfully against the mattress as his dagger dropped to his side. There he found Sanctus sitting at the desk he had spotted earlier.

  “What are you doing?” he heard his voice crack.

  The monk twisted in the seat and offered him a smile that stretched into his muddy brown eyes. “Writing to your father. Would you like to add anything? Maybe write something yourself on the back?”

  Nicholas crossed his legs as he looked down into his lap, regretting not taking the risk to see his father before he ran off. But writing didn’t seem like a good idea if his father was under house arrest. Owls would eventually be intercepted if too many kept flying into Haven in the direction of their home.

  “It might ease your conscience.”

  “He has only received one so far…” Nicholas returned to look back up at the dark-skinned monk. “… correct?”

  “Yes.” And curiosity sparked in Sanctus’ eyes as he cocked his head. “Why?”

  “I just don’t want to make things worse for anyone, particularly my father.” He looked back into his lap with that, taking in the shades of red and gold in the kasaya he wore. I’m not even dressed lik
e myself anymore. Not even close.

  “Here,” Sanctus replied as the chair screeched backward, and then he walked across the room. He sat on the side of the bed, positioned to face Nicholas. That smile was still on his face. Finally he held out the sheet he was writing on and a quill. “Write what you would have said that day had things gone as planned.”

  With a sniffle, Nicholas accepted the items, taking in Sanctus’ old-style scrawl, and flipped to the blank side.

  Then a knock intruded.

  “Come in,” Sanctus hollered for him.

  The door creaked open and Salbatzaile stepped inside, Ángelo on his tail.

  “Good afternoon,” Salbatzaile began, and Nicholas noted his eyes scan him over. “Are ye feelin’ better?”

  That was a debate. It was hard to say, so Nicholas just stared down at the blank side of the sheet and thought about what he wanted to write.

  “His heart is torn between writing to his father or not,” Sanctus replied.

  “Ah. I see.”

  That was when Sanctus gripped his knee and squeezed. “I am sure he wants to hear from you at least once to know you are thinking of him as much as he is thinking of you.”

  Nicholas nodded and prepared the quill, which drew his attention to the realization he was trembling. That and his wrist was stiff and didn’t want to bend properly as he worked his way slowly across the paper.

  “I hope you don’t mind…” Ángelo chirped at last.

  Nicholas paused on the greeting and shifted his gaze enough to see Ángelo step forward. Both Sanctus and Salbatzaile gave the other monk a look at the same time that he caught from his peripheral.

  “… but I brought something for Nicholas.”

  Nicholas gratefully put the quill and paper aside and examined this third monk who had not once expressed kindness toward him. His hands appeared empty, and he was taking the space across the room strangely cautious. Then Ángelo slipped in on Nicholas’ other side and extended an open palm to reveal a hair tie.

  “You can call it a peace offering. Plus, it is too hot to keep your hair down.”

  A few blinks passed by, and then Nicholas accepted the peculiar peace offering. “Thank you.” He looked over at the other two monks after that, wondering what they thought about this as he took in their features once more. Do they want me to tie my hair back? Is that a thing here? Tie hair or shave it?

  But they both held blank expressions.

  Nicholas mentally shrugged, not wanting to be offensive, and went ahead and proceeded to awkwardly pull back his hair. The strands were as stiff as his wrist, and his face scrunched as he tied it off at the nape of his neck. It was the last twist, though, that sent the jolt that made him cringe.

  Then Sanctus’ smile came back. Even Salbatzaile smiled. Ángelo, though, looked a bit confused.

  “What?” he asked self-consciously, wanting to reach for his hair that no longer sat on his shoulders.

  “Ye truly look like a yooehng man now,” Salbatzaile answered, but it appeared a lot like he was holding back laughter.

  Nicholas grabbed the end of his ponytail at last and pulled it to the side, his fingers running along the ends.

  “You do look good, Nicholas,” Sanctus confirmed. “But if you don’t like it, you can keep your hair down.”

  He breathed in as he shook his head. “No. I like it this way.” It was the honest truth. Having his hair back made him feel better. Gave him a connection with his father. So he picked up the paper and quill once more and continued to write through the now throbbing pain in his wrist.

  “Well it is good to see ye are lookin’ better,” Salbatzaile resumed. “Which reminds me, I am curious as to yer visit.”

  Oh! His hand jerked, mussing a letter. He had completely forgotten. “I, uh…” Now he truly felt embarrassed. “I came for lessons.” He didn’t want to say enlightenment lessons. It was one thing to say it in his head or to other people, but here, at this moment with the monks, it sounded ridiculous.

  “Meditation lessons?” Sanctus inquired.

  Nicholas didn’t look up, though he was trying. Meditation was something he had read about in that book as well. It was a path to enlightenment. So he just nodded and went back to writing.

  “We can definitely do dat,” Salbatzaile concluded. “Ye shall find it beneficial. For controllin’ yer temper…”

  “I don’t have a temper.” He continued to write as he said that.

  “Den to ease yer mind and soul and keep ye calm as ye work drough changin’ yer life. Would ye agree wit’ dat?”

  Nicholas nodded, focusing on his final words rather than the fact it wasn’t necessarily change he was looking for. He wanted to find himself again, whether that was the old him or a new him he wasn’t sure.

  Then he signed the letter,

  With all my love,

  Nicholas

  Part 9

  December 27, 4464

  Letters of Truth (Isaiah)

  Isaiah petted the messenger owl, this time a snowy one, as he read through Sanctus’ new letter.

  Isaiah,

  That was how Sanctus began the greeting this time. The man had dropped the Master as he had hoped.

  There is no need to worry. Nicholas is in safe hands. My brothers and I will watch over him as though he were our own. We are all glad to have him. He is sweet and kind and charming. You have raised a good young man.

  He smiled. Those words warmed him. He had worried he had failed his son. Particularly after the first letter when he learned Nicholas was malnourished. He had never imagined himself the type of father who would allow his son to starve, so this news pleased him.

  I do, however, want to give you an update as much as possible. Let me know when that needs to change. I don’t want to endanger either of you.

  Right now, Nicholas is resting. He gave me a scare in the bath chamber. Salbatzaile looked him over, being a healer like you, and said he had a panic attack. Apparently, the honey and wheat soap reminded him of home. Salbatzaile will be making your son his own soap from now on so it doesn’t happen again. He thinks maybe some forest or garden scents, unless you think otherwise. We don’t want Nicholas falling ill again because the soap or something else reminds him of Brida or his stepmother. Or his real mother.

  Isaiah paused there to look down at the white owl. The creature had its head tilted and was enjoying a scratch by its ear. “Your owners are very considerate.”

  The owl hooted softly, prying its lids open a slit to look at him.

  Also, Nicholas wants you to know he loves you.

  Your son just woke up, the letter redirected suddenly. I will let him write something on the back. I think it will ease the strain on his soul.

  Sanctus

  His forehead furrowed as he turned the letter over. He had seen writing on the other side but had figured it was a continuation. Looking at it now, though, he saw it wasn’t in that old-style writing. It was in Nicholas’, but it was off somehow.

  Father,

  Please accept my apology for any stress I have caused. It pains me to realize I drove you into house arrest. Put you out of work. Left you worrying if I was dead or alive. All I can think about is how I could have prevented all this by turning myself in when I heard of the warrant.

  “Oh, Nicholas,” Isaiah shook his head, heart wrenching. “No. No, no, no.”

  I fear I hadn’t been in my right mind. Maybe I’m still not. I just hope it doesn’t make you think I don’t love you, because I do. I love you with all my heart and soul. I have looked up to you my entire life. Wished every day to be like you. Brave, strong, sensitive, caring, wise, powerful.

  A smile creased into his cheeks again despite the tears that were beginning to well up, and he released the owl to clasp his chest before he began to sob. It wasn’t just the words, however, that were getting to him. It was the fact it was his son speaking, which he rarely heard over the last several years.


  I always wondered if I got even a little bit close. If I made you proud at any point. As proud as I am of you. Knowing that you knew I was a rogue, and King of the Rogues, I was never sure. It was hard to tell how much you knew of my exploits.

  That is why I hate myself for not finding a way to see you. To tell you everything before I left. There was so much I wanted to say that I cannot say here.

  So for now, know I am sorry and that things weren’t as they appeared.

  With all my love,

  Nicholas

  He dropped the letter onto his lap as the owl hooted for more, so he resumed petting the creature and stared off out the window into the partly cloudy noon sky. Let random sentences flow through his mind. There was a slight chill escaping his spell and tickling his cheeks.

  Then his fingers stopped and his gaze drifted to the pillows as he recalled his son’s normal way of writing. His attention went back to the letter from there, and he took in the smudged word, the many shaky phrases. The spot where he had to decipher a few words.

  “My son is unwell,” he whispered into space. Yeah, he already knew that. But now he could see it was more than what he was told. “That’s why the writing looks strange. He was trembling.”

  The owl hooted what sounded hesitantly, and Isaiah glanced toward the creature as he thought about what would harm his son enough to cause him to tremble. Cause Nicholas to doubt his actions and state of mind. And it was there his eyes immediately fell on those large orbs, which reflected the moment he felt the breach in his shield.

  “No,” he breathed. The small figure darted through his memory. No clear features had been visible, not even hair color. “No, it couldn’t have been. Nicholas is a lower-level spell caster. That cloaking charm, the walking through the wall…”

  The owl blinked, and Isaiah flashed to an image of Nicholas running wounded through the forest, blood dripping into the snow. He could just hear the calling of bounty hunters and guards, the thump of hooves.

  All that led to the various times he had discovered his books missing, but then found them weeks later right where he had left them. Even his potion and tea ingredients vanished, except those never returned.