Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

  He stopped again.

  “So,” Brome resumed. “How is he?”

  “He’s losing weight,” Cedric replied, “and I heard him cry out a few times from nightmares.”

  “It’s a shame. This could all be fixed if he just gave up his son.”

  “Would you give up your son if you had one?”

  “If he committed a crime, yes.”

  “Even if he was all you had left?”

  “Yes.” The answer was as simple and quick as that.

  Isaiah shook his head. Some people held no morals, just thought they did.

  An audible shiver. “It feels chillier than normal tonight,” Brome resumed.

  “Well it is winter.”

  “Yeah, but it still feels abnormally cold.”

  Isaiah pictured Brome hugging himself. The hauberks and tunics didn’t hold any warmth, and the fools never seemed to wear coats on duty.

  “I think it’s getting us back for such a good one last year,” Cedric continued.

  “Don’t say that!” Brome hollered.

  Isaiah flinched.

  “You’ll jinx it!”

  “You’re the jinx.”

  Isaiah resumed walking and prayed the conversation kept going. He only had a few feet left to the gate.

  “I should be at home right now with my new girl,” Cedric added on, “but noooo. I’m stuck here with you.”

  Brome laughed a deep belly laugh just as Isaiah reached the gate and sought out the lock in the dark.

  “What? You think I made her up?”

  “Sure do?”

  He lifted the latch, releasing the gate, and pulled in.

  “I heard something else,” Brome started.

  Isaiah paused, chest thrumming. The gate was barely cracked open, but he could see a sliver of the older guard on the other side.

  “You know,” Cedric supplied, “I think I did, too, but from over here.”

  “No,” Brome began, his feet crunching the packed snow. “I heard it over here, as though at my side.”

  Then a sound actually came from the other end of the house and Brome’s feet stopped.

  “I am sure it is over here,” Cedric continued, his feet crunching along in the opposite direction.

  Isaiah couldn’t believe what was happening. His son’s best friend was more than just taking care of him. He was risking his position as a guard.

  “Wait!” Brome called out. “You’re still a newbie. Let me go with you.”

  “I’m not that new, dumbbell.”

  And Brome’s feet vanished past the point of the front door.

  Isaiah opened the gate further, chanting his cloaking charm at the same time. Then he stepped through, turned just at the right moment, and closed the gate.

  “I don’t see anything,” Brome spoke up from the alley between the houses.

  “Me neither.”

  Isaiah took off across the street at a full run and slid into the alley there.

  “Might have been that cat,” Brome continued.

  Isaiah watched from the shadows as Brome and Cedric crossed in front of the house again, Cedric reclaiming his post in front of the door and Brome his spot by the gate.

  “Maybe, but now that we have that settled, what makes you think I don’t have a girl?” Cedric redirected.

  Brome laughed all over again. Isaiah could just see him close his eyes, so he bolted out and down the street. Even under a cloaking charm he could be spotted if eyes landed directly on him while he was in motion.

  “You’re still a boy, Cedric. You have some growing to do before a girl will even look at you.”

  “I am not!”

  Isaiah rounded the corner then and slowed to a walk just as Brome’s next burst of laughter echoed over. Then he smiled because he knew for a fact Cedric didn’t have a girl other than his mother. But he did have a boy he liked who was also a guard.

  “Just let me tell you this…” Brome’s words came distantly.

  Isaiah looked back, the cold making it like he had just outrun a stampede.

  “A boy is a man when...”

  And then it all faded, leaving Isaiah in a quiet were only the sound of his feet filled the air.

  Part 10

  December 26 - December 31, 4464

  Restless (Nicholas)

  The meditation room was to the left, the dining to the right. That Nicholas had figured out so far since his arrival. And the place he stood now was the sand garden – a piece of land filled with sand and three rocks of different sizes. A path ran the circumference, which was quite a distance.

  Nicholas tilted his head back, taking in the open sky and the heat blaring down on him. Then he noted the star-shaped roofs of the circular buildings.

  “Now, I know dis seems a bit strange,” came Salbatzaile’s voice.

  His gaze drifted over to the corner where the monk had gone. The man now held two rakes.

  “De meditation room is de first buildin’ and de greenhooehs de last. So why start ‘ere?”

  Nicholas hadn’t thought of that, but as he looked over at the meditation room it did seem odd.

  “But I ‘ave dought abooeht de reason ye are ‘ere.” Then Salbatzaile handed over a rake, which Nicholas accepted without a word. “Ye stroehggled at ‘ome. Ye were a rogue for four years…”

  “Eight,” Nicholas interrupted as he lifted the object he now held and gave it a good look over.

  Salbatzaile audibly inhaled.

  “Sorry.” He placed the rake at his side and stared down to find his boots peeking out from under his kasaya, which is what the monks told him the garment was called. He was grateful they had been accepting to his request to wear boots over sandals, although they only agreed on one condition – the dagger stayed in the nightstand.

  “Eight?” Salbatzaile repeated.

  Nicholas nodded. “I became a rogue when I was eight. King of the Rogues at twelve. I am sixteen now. Eight years.”

  A sigh drew Nicholas’ attention up, where he saw Salbatzaile staring at his own rake.

  “It is so sad,” the monk breathed.

  “What is? Nicholas shifted, placing his rake in his left hand so he could lean against it without putting pressure on his wounded wrist.

  “Ye were so yooehng. Still are.”

  “Oh…” Nicholas darted his gaze about, not sure how to make the monk feel better without giving his secret up. “Don’t be. It was the best time of my life. Particularly the last four years.”

  For the first time, he and Salbatzaile locked eyes.

  “Like my father said,” Nicholas resumed, “I am restless, but what he didn’t know was that I didn’t want to be a healer like him. I wanted to be more. Do more. I got that from being King of the Rogues.” From being the Hooded Knight. Then his smile grew and he shrugged. “It’s hard to explain how it made me feel.”

  “Well,” Salbatzaile responded. “Dat joehst soehpports me reasonin’. Yer choice to be a rogue was to fulfill a need wit’in dat was eatin’ at ye. Ye were, and still are, full o’ energy dat needs to be burned ooeht. Ye are also sensitive. And don’t argue with me abooeht dat…”

  Salbatzaile eyed him that way one does when they caught someone in the act of doing just that. Arguing. But Nicholas wasn’t going to. Everything spoken had been the truth.

  “Ye ‘ad one bad event oehccur in yer life and immediately went down a bad pat’. Drinkin’, droehgs.

  Nicholas nodded, understanding perfectly where this was going.

  “Dat is why I want to start ye in de sand garden. It will tire ye ooeht enooehgh to meditate and work in de greenhooehs. But…”

  Nicholas straightened, grasping the rake. Everything in life had a but in it.

  “Ye are expected to learn soehmet’in’ from all dis as well.”

  Huh? He furrowed his brows.

  “Dese are not rakes,” Salbatzaile resumed then, showing his own rake.

&n
bsp; Nicholas glanced over at the one he held once more. The long wooden handle, the metal teeth at the end.

  “Dese represent strengt’ o’ mind. We shall use dem to smoot’ ooeht de sand arooehnd de rocks. Ye moehst go in a circle, make each row as perfect as pahsseble. No footprints. No smoehdges. Ye oehnderstand?”

  Hmm? He snapped back to attention, still processing what he heard and trying to figure it out. “Yes, I understand.” He didn’t, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.

  “Good. Ye shall do dis big rock tahday. I shall work de midioehm one.”

  “Sounds good.” So Nicholas went straight for his rock. It was only a couple paces away. Then he set the rake into place and began going backward with as little use of his right hand as possible. The sound of his rake and the monk’s feet sifting through the sand was all that filled the space now, giving him a chance to think about the goal of this exercise. “Not a rake, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “Strength of mind?”

  “Yep. Remember dat.”

  Then Salbatzaile’s feet stopped and the distinct rhythm of a second rake joined in with his. He came out on the other side of his big rock and looked over. The monk was going around his own rock with just as much ease.

  Strength of mind. Whatever that means.

  Burning Energy (Salbatzaile)

  The sand sifted through the teeth of the rake as sweat trickled down Salbatzaile’s skin to be absorbed into the fabric of the kasaya. He could just see his rock sitting at shoulder height as he worked. Except the monk paid no attention to any of it.

  “It was the best time of my life. Particularly the last four years.”

  He shook his head, fearing a lost cause. Those were the words of such people.

  “He said he was leaving that life,” rang Sanctus’ words then.

  He looked across at the big rock as he finished off another row, putting his own medium one further away in the process, and caught Nicholas halfway through repeating his third round once again. The first two were perfect, but this current one kept earning itself footprints and smudges and jagged edges. It was all as Salbatzaile expected. Nicholas was trying to do as asked. Now he just had to wonder if the lad was going to understand the message and realize the mistakes didn’t matter. It was all about moving forward with the knowledge learned from those mistakes.

  I ‘ope Sanctus oehnderstood Wyrd’s vision.

  His gaze drifted to the lad himself as they ventured in opposite directions, and he saw the young man was a bit pinky and wet. Sweat was trickling down that smooth face as the eyes attached focused hard on the task before them, and that sweat continued through the clean blond ponytail.

  Then he lost sight as his rock reemerged into his view, bringing with it the streets of a dark village. Nicholas was in the distance, slinking along from one alley to the next like a shadow. There the figure disappeared from view.

  Dat is no life for soehmeone like ‘im. Not anyone. ‘ow could ‘e call it de best times o’ ‘is life?

  Imaginary Nicholas reappeared, face peeking around the corner. Only his hair immediately turned red and the gold vanished from those blue eyes. He could see freckles across the nose between that weren’t supposed to be there.

  Salbatzaile blinked, clearing the vision.

  “Hey!” Nicholas called over.

  “Hmm?” he answered distantly.

  “On guard!”

  Salbatzaile paused and twisted. The lad was standing straight across from him with his rake in fighter position, chest heaving and his eyes burning with excitement.

  “Come on,” Nicholas pressed, “on guard!”

  “Nicholas…” he sighed, pity filling him as he sank into his own losses for the first time in many years. He could see the true child in those mysterious blue-gold eyes now.

  Then the lad lunged.

  The monk’s eyebrows rose, but then he spun away quickly. He wasn’t frightened, just surprised. “Nicholas…” he repeated, more insistent as he focused on the individual before him and not the ones in the past.

  “Defend yourself!” The lad twirled beautifully into position once more, eyes going much wider and catching the sunlight, and he flipped the rake into a complete three-sixty and brought the handle down.

  Salbatzaile dodged again. “Nicholas, stop!”

  “What is going on?” bellowed Ángelo from the meditation room. It was just within view.

  Nicholas halted, slipping the rake through his palm to drop the metal end into the sand.

  “Did he just attack you?” Then his brother’s frame came down the steps. There was enough anger in each stride that it could be seen in his peripheral.

  “No, Ángelo.” Salbatzaile held out a hand to have his brother stop as well, but he didn’t take his gaze off Nicholas. The lad had truly done as requested, and he did not appear ready to attempt another attack. “De lad ‘ad soehme energy build oehp and it got de best o’ ‘im.”

  Nicholas’ lips twitched as he looked at his rake, then at the messed-up rows surrounding them. His features saddened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Dat is all right, Nicholas. Dis is what we are workin’ on.”

  Ángelo shook his head, though, as he turned back inside. It was easy to see what he was thinking; it was what he had been thinking since the agreement to shelter the lad.

  “Let oehs start over.”

  Nicholas met his gaze and inhaled what seemed a bit shakily. “I just thought we could have a break. I started to feel agitated. I didn’t think you would get upset.”

  “I oehnderstand.” He motioned to Nicholas’ rock, and the lad obeyed. “And I am not oehpset.”

  Their kasayas touched, creating a breeze as they swished silently. Then came a mumbled reply.

  Salbatzaile turned. “What was dat?” He hoped the lad wasn’t getting mouthy with him.

  “I miss training with the pages,” Nicholas mumbled just loud enough this time for him to hear.

  “Pages?” That got his attention, and he dropped his guard at last.

  Nicholas nodded but kept going.

  “As in pages to becoehme knights?”

  Nicholas nodded again. Then he stopped and placed his rake next to the rock to restart his first row.

  “Dat can wait, Nicholas.”

  The lad turned his attention up, rake still at the ready, and his eyes sparkled with restrained tears and confusion. It hurt to see him as he knew what he was looking at was pain.

  “Please.” Salbatzaile gestured for Nicholas to be at ease. “Let oehs talk for a mahment.”

  A blink was the next reply, but Nicholas repositioned the rake and leaned into it.

  “Explain to me dis page trainin’.”

  The lad’s next response was a shrug and he turned to look at nothing. That pain was now regret, it made Salbatzaile glad Sanctus couldn’t sense him as just seeing it was enough.

  “Did ye used to train to be a knight?”

  “No,” Nicholas breathed. “My father wouldn’t let me. He said I was a sorcerer, not a fighter.”

  “I see, so ‘ow did ye get into page trainin’?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Salbatzaile raised a brow, which drew Nicholas’ head down. The lad’s words were contradicting themselves.

  “It started off as random, playful attacks at different times of the day,” Nicholas finally began. “Sometimes sword training. Other times staff. I got into the hand to hand combat a few times and bow practice, too. Lord Colville always chased me off, until I got hurt and he had to take me to my father for healing. That was when Lord Colville told me I had spunk and gave me some padding and a detailed schedule so there would be no more accidents. It became a routine for me every morning to surprise the pages. Keep them all on their toes.”

  “I see,” he repeated.

  “Do you?” drifted over Ángelo’s voice.

  Nicholas glanced over, cheeks brightening as he clearly
fought harder to not cry.

  “Ignore ‘im, Nicholas.”

  Tears fell, though, when the lad redirected.

  “Tell me, is dat ‘ow ye burned yer energy? In page trainin’?”

  He nodded.

  “Not as a rogue?”

  The lad shook his head. “Being a rogue was something to do. Something…” He paused, wheels clearly turning in his brain. “Fulfilling. Productive.”

  Prodoehctive? ‘ow can stealin’ and poachin’ be prodoehctive?

  “It gave me a reason to live. To wake up every day. I felt like I was doing something important in this world. But training made me happy in a way I never had been before. I was free to have fun and get my blood pumping. To pretend I was someone else in some other place.”

  “I guess I am going abooeht dis all wrong, den.”

  That confused deer look crossed Nicholas’ features.

  At least from de standpoint of burnin’ ‘is energy. It still made no sense that Nicholas found rogue life worth waking up for. Maybe ‘e is a lost cause. “Ye don’t need soehmet’in’ like dis to burn yer energy, dough ye still need it. Ye need movement.”

  Salbatzaile looked around. Thought about what they had inside the monastery walls. He could feel Nicholas observing him as he did so, but nothing existed in the area that would give anyone the type of movement desired. Then he noted the stone path and how it ran the circumference of the sand garden, which was a fairly large space.

  “What do ye dink abooeht goin’ for a run?”

  “A run?”

  He looked back at Nicholas, who only appeared more confused.

  “With you?”

  “Oh, no,” Salbatzaile chuckled as he clasped his chest. “I can’t run to save me life. Ye are goin’ to run oehntil ye can’t anymore.”

  There was that blinking again. “All right.” And then the lad handed over the rake.

  Other Than Human (Ángelo)

  Heavy boots thumped against the stone path one after the other. The boy was keeping a steady stride despite the kasaya catching around his legs. Despite the sweat-soaked hair that had just been released dancing heavily on his shoulders and the labored breathing that turned his cheeks red. Then Nicholas bounded past the meditation room where Ángelo stationed himself. It was the perfect spot for the monk to observe the boy as Salbatzaile busied himself with raking around the medium rock.