Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

  Sanctus smiled. It wasn’t a smile like he approved of the question. It was a smile like he knew something Nicholas didn’t.

  “Because,” Sanctus resumed, “He cast the full protection charm around the monastery grounds. It keeps this place locked down tight. No one and nothing can get in without permission, which in the process...”

  “Limits the casting of other shields within,” Nicholas finished.

  “Exactly.” He gestured onward with that. “Now come along.”

  Nicholas’ feet finally shifted away from the glimmering curtain and rejoined Sanctus’, but now he was curious as to why a full shield was necessary for the entire monastery. It was completely irrational to focus all the protection on such an insignificant place and not the so-called important library within.

  Or maybe the main protection shield is also for the library, came his inner voice.

  Now that was something to look into, so he darted his gaze about to take in his location more carefully while his mind created a mental map of what he already knew of the grounds. It would be a long while before he dared his idea. Then he looked up at another one of those upside down trees, which he noted grew more than just leaves – round citrus fruits protruded from the branches. He was right under them, too, and he found himself reaching out and touching the trunk.

  “There are some orchids by the pond,” Sanctus sidetracked, his voice was ahead of him. “Not sure if you saw the ones outside the dining room, but there are more by the pond.”

  Nicholas let his hand slide along the trunk as he walked past and stared at the monk guiding him. He couldn’t recall seeing orchids by the dining room, but he had to admit he hadn’t been looking for them. The expanse and wonder that was the garden made that difficult. Except… “Orchids were Brida’s favorite,” he let slip, thinking of the monkey-shaped ones his sister used to have in the window. Or rather, still did. The flowers died off quick, and the rest of the plant followed when no one dared enter her room. And just like that he felt bad for not noticing.

  Part 11

  December 28 - December 31, 4464

  Unexpected (Isaiah)

  A stream of magic guided Isaiah’s feet through the forest. He was dozing and walking. Stopping was too risky this close to Haven’s wall, and he also knew the journey would take a month on foot at the rate this weather was going. He didn’t have a month to waste away, and then another month on top of that when he managed to board a ship. Every moment was going to be put to use getting him to his son no matter what obstacles arose.

  Then a beam of light flicked through his lids, a warmth mixed with icy cold brushed his cheeks. He carefully slit open his eyes, even brighter rays greeting him as they spilled through the canopy of winter trees and cast shadows all about. The night that had started what felt like moments ago was over.

  One day closer.

  He inhaled shakily, the cold of the foggy air that lingered sticking to his lungs and throat, and coughed. A shiver came next, and he pulled his coat tighter and looked up at the sun. That brief moment of warmth upon his face was gone. Not that he was terribly affected by this year’s winter – his coat was magically warmed. Even his boots and trousers were spelled. But cold tended to get under clothing no matter what.

  A slam. It resembled a rickety door.

  Isaiah’s feet crunched to a halt, his pupils darting around as his body stiffened.

  Another slam, then booted feet against both snow and debris.

  Wagons. Isaiah wasn’t so sure he wanted to run into anyone, and he twisted about carefully to find a place to hide. But only trees surrounded him.

  A third slam.

  “Brother,” came a soft, delicate female voice.

  Isaiah sucked in a batch of air and dared a leap to the closest tree, arms shooting out despite the bag of clothes he held. There he grabbed what he could of the trunk so he only made one crunch. But that crunch echoed louder than anything else in the world, and it clung to the fog and branches for an after effect.

  “Today marks thirty-eight days and we have yet to hear from that beautiful Sir Nicholas.”

  Nicholas? He shifted despite not needing to, but dared not peek out to see where these individuals stood.

  “What if he didn’t arrive or he got caught?”

  No, it can’t be. He was stuck on the title part. His son had no title, and even if his son did it definitely wasn’t Sir. And his son definitely would have protested the use of it.

  “I can assure you, sister, he is safe in Tibinda,” a rather attractive sounding male voice replied.

  Isaiah covered his mouth as his heart leaped into his throat. That, without a doubt, indicated they were talking about his Nicholas.

  “He is healing. When he is better, we will hear from him.”

  “I fear we won’t get that chance, brother,” the woman resumed.

  “Now don’t make that face. I know you are afraid, but we all have a purpose here. If we don’t hear from our Victory of the People…”

  Isaiah shifted again, not sure he heard that correct.

  “… then that was the way it was meant to be. You know the prophecy laid out.”

  “I do, brother.”

  A fourth door slammed, then a fifth and sixth.

  “Go help Sabina. She has had her hands full without the children to help.”

  So they know Nicholas, Isaiah mused as he listened to the crunching of snow fill the forest with the gathering of multiple feet. And they think he is part of a prophecy. Their Victory of the People.

  The crunching grew nearer. At least one set seemed to be coming nearer, that is, and his heart picked up a pounding against his chest in an attempt to rise to his throat. He looked around again, but once more only trees filled his view.

  Then a hand slipped over his shoulder and he leaped out of his body. For a split second he swore he was looking at himself as the scream that was supposed to follow crammed itself inside his throat.

  “Welcome,” spoke that male voice.

  Isaiah twisted just enough to find himself face to face with a man who wore his black hair in a mess. He wasn’t wearing a coat but a cloak, which covered most of his half-unbuttoned white shirt and purple sash with dangles. The single hoop earring was caught last.

  “I am sorry to have frightened you. My name is Manfri,” the man Isaiah realized was a gypsy redirected with such a smoothness that any fear that had existed vanished.

  “Isaiah.” He held out a hand, and the gypsy smiled as he took it gently. That was something to note about Manfri, he was gentle. Despite the light calluses marking him has someone not afraid to work, he was gentle. “Did I hear you right a moment a go? You met my son, Nicholas?”

  Manfri’s smile deepened across his features, a shimmer catching in his eyes. Isaiah noted they were green-gold. “I did, Master Isaiah.”

  “It’s just Isaiah.” And he worked not to tilt his head. The gold in the irises was rare, something he only saw in his own family line.

  Manfri’s smile grew. “Like father like son.” Then his hand returned to Isaiah’s shoulder and he slid up to his side. “Come. Breakfast will be ready soon and you look as though you need some sleep.”

  Isaiah let Manfri guide the way from the tree as he adjusted his sight and side-eyed him. No aura appeared, which meant the gypsy possessed no abilities. That honestly wasn’t a surprise considering the things he grew up hearing about gypsies, so he went ahead and returned his normal sight just in time to step into a clearing with an eight wagon caravan. Not the standard sixteen. And as he overheard, there were no children.

  “Your son was a pleasure to have around,” Manfri resumed.

  A nudge sent him slightly right. The wagons were in a rather hastily made circle with a fire in the center. That fire was where he was being taken.

  “A pure delight. We all miss having him as our guest.”

  Isaiah took in the logs surrounding the fire, the flames that crackled
and sparked in the rising light of the new morning. It was heartwarming to hear Nicholas found such welcoming friends, but then his heart shattered just as fast when he realized his son was alone later. Alone and hidden away like a rat.

  Manfri gestured to a log as they stepped up and Isaiah took the spot on the edge, dropping his bag at his feet. The gypsy man was quick to slip in at his side.

  “Tell me…” Isaiah directed, looking over and seeing something he hadn’t noted earlier. The gypsy man was young. Early twenties. “… was my son well when he was with you?”

  That handsome face saddened, and Manfri’s eyes dropped a bit. “He was drained and weak.”

  Isaiah bit his lip and fought back the tears. Knowing his son had gone through the wall was one thing, but hearing his son had overexerted himself, used magic he didn’t understand, just to stay alive…

  Manfri scooched close and breathed slowly in and out. His hands twitched. There was more.

  Isaiah straightened and prepared himself.

  “He was injured, too,” Manfri added at last as he returned his attention to him. “Theodosia and I patched him up at best as possible with what we have on hand and he stayed in my wagon.”

  “Thank you, Manfri,” he tried not to choke as his eyeballs began to drown in tears.

  Then Manfri slipped his palm into his and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you worry, Master Isaiah. Sir Nicholas is safe in Tibinda. We can get you to Roupan and onto a ship as well if you desire.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I must get to him as soon as possible.”

  “Oh my,” came that soft female voice.

  Isaiah looked over his shoulder, the heat of the fire slipping along the back of his neck, and met a raven-haired beauty that had to literally be Manfri’s sister.

  “He looks just like Sir Nicholas.”

  At last he smiled, a chuckle right behind. To think his son had been treated like someone of importance was amusing.

  “My name is Theodosia.” She offered a plate here. “I brought two when I saw we had a guest.”

  “Thank you.” He took the meal just as his belly growled and set it on his lap. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just rabbit and bread. “And another thank you for taking care of my son. He is all I have left.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she replied, slipping in on Manfri’s other side. “He is a beautiful young man.”

  He peeled off a piece of the rabbit and looked ahead into the fire. All he could hope was that his son was doing better than he was imagining and not going insane from a master level spell that killed more sorcerers than anything else.

  “When you finish eating…” Manfri spoke back up as he stuffed food into his mouth as well. He was going to talk between chews it seemed. “… you may use my wagon to rest. It is just me in there, so plenty of space and blankets.”

  “Thank you,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. This was all unexpected, but it put him ahead of time by weeks.

  Seen (Brida)

  The monastery pond glistened in the moonlight as Brida strode up. It was a strange sight when not that long ago she had been looking at a fire in the middle of a sunny snow-filled forest. But her new view was peaceful, particularly accompanied by the quiet sounds of a warm night and orchids along the pond’s edge.

  She stopped, glanced around one last time at the beauty that surrounded her, and then sighed. Everyone, including her brother, was fast asleep and safe. Now she could relax.

  “‘ello, Brida.”

  She jumped and spun around, sure that if she still had a beating heart it would have leaped straight out of her chest, and found herself face to face with that Irenan monk.

  Salbatzaile, she reminded herself. I swore he was asleep.

  The monk brushed the edge of the green patch, his feet remaining on the path leading to the lodgings, and raised his hands nonthreateningly.

  Wait. Did he say my name? Brida looked around, not sure what to do.

  Then grass rustled.

  Her attention snapped back. The monk had left the path, so she took one step back. Can he see me?

  “Please don’t,” Salbatzaile confirmed with two single words, but he stopped as quick as lightning, nonetheless. “I joehst want to talk to ye.”

  “Have you always been able to see me?” Brida shifted, mind going to the clearing and the wagons. Her father in particular.

  “Yes. As can me broeht’ers.”

  Brida looked beyond the monk, but it was too dark to see very far.

  “It is joehst me.”

  She looked back at the monk.

  “May I coehme closer?”

  It was still like her nonexistent heart was thrumming away, but Salbatzaile’s hands were up and he looked completely harmless. So she nodded.

  Salbatzaile stepped off the path and made his way across the grassy patch, arms dropping to his sides. He was at her side just like that. Then he just stared out at the shimmering night pond.

  With only some reservations, Brida did the same.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Salbatzaile offered up then.

  Brida side-eyed him, then nodded again. “Yes. I have never seen anything as grand as your garden.”

  “I shall let Sanctus know ye like it.”

  She blinked as she returned to face the monk. “This is Sanctus’ work?”

  There was a small smile, but the monk didn’t budge. “It is. ‘e enjoys nature a lot. It calms ‘is mind.”

  “That is understandable,” she replied as she turned back to the pond. “Nature makes me feel like I am with my mother even though she has been gone most of my life.”

  Crickets sang.

  Brida shifted her spiritual weight as she felt that missing piece of her life snag her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, but she didn’t break the quiet. Despite the longing to have someone speak to her, the quiet was nice.

  “May I ask ye a question?”

  “You want to know why I am still here, right?” It had to be if he was talking to her.

  That was when Salbatzaile turned.

  “I had my chance,” she revealed, her mind drifting to that peaceful dark realm. The light. There had been two choices, she recalled. “It had been my choice to die, you know. I was ready to be done after spending a year unable to control my abilities. Unable to step outside alone. I know father meant well, particularly with the shield around the property, but I felt caged. When that time came, though. That time to pass on, you know? I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t as ready as I thought.”

  The monk simply tilted his head. It was caught in her peripheral. “Ye didn’t want to be wit’ yer moeht’er?”

  “Of course I did,” she answered as she looked up into the starry sky, wondering if her mother was watching right now. No offense was taken whatsoever to the question as it was a reasonable one to ask. “I definitely wanted to meet her, I just realized at that moment I wasn’t ready. I don’t know how to explain it, but...”

  “Ye regret dyin’.”

  She shook her head. “No.” Then she paused, fully aware the monk was eyeing her curiously. There was just no proper way to explain what happened in that place. “I…” she tried to begin. “I felt like… like I wasn’t supposed to leave yet.” Her brows furrowed at those words. “Not like I shouldn’t have died, just like I wasn’t supposed to fully leave. Nicholas and my father need me.”

  “I dink ye want dem to need ye,” Salbatzaile responded.

  Her attention snapped back to the monk, eyes wide in shock. Is that what it is?

  “Ye were tired of dis life, yes, but ye love yer family so moehch ye desired to stay wit’ dem. ‘elp dem in ways ye couldn’t before.”

  That was hard to believe even after the monk explained. It just didn’t feel right, so she shook her head.

  Salbatzaile nodded. “Ye need to move on, Brida. Yer life ‘ere is over and a new one awaits. I can ‘elp ye if…”

  “No.” She sh
ook her head forcefully this time as she stepped back. “Stay away from me.” Then she pictured her father and the camp and dematerialized.

  Special (Isaiah)

  Isaiah took each frozen, creaky step down from Manfri’s wagon cautious and stiff, one hand holding onto the frame. At the bottom, he jumped to the ground with a grunt.

  “You are moving slower and slower every morning,” came Manfri’s voice playfully.

  He chuckled as he made his way toward the fire. His offered help had been politely turned down several times over the past couple days, leaving him to his own devices.

  “Let me help you.” And just like that Manfri was trotting over. His arm slipped around his waist just as fast.

  “I think I am getting old,” Isaiah joked in turn, noting the day of the month. It was the last day of the year, too. Funny how that worked out for him.

  “Naaww,” Manfri sang. “What are you, like thirty?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  The log appeared and Manfri guided him down to his normal spot. It was obviously a different clearing, but he had always claimed the log on the side closest to Manfri’s wagon. Always the edge.

  “Today is my birthday.”

  “Your birthday!”

  An owl hooted, smothering out the surprise of the news, and Isaiah looked up into the cloudy morning sky. Snow would be falling soon, and it could only be hoped it was mild.

  “It’s no big deal,” Isaiah resumed. “I haven’t celebrated a birthday since my wife died.”

  The owl, a very familiar barn owl, swooped down below the canopy and Isaiah straightened, signaling his lap for the creature’s landing.

  “A friend of yours?” Manfri asked as he stepped back nervously.

  “You could say that.”

  There was almost no talons or weight as the beautiful animal landed. Then it tilted its head back, eyes large and yellow. Its leg stuck out from there and it hooted once more.

  “Thank you,” Isaiah replied as he reached for the shackle, wondering if this message was from Sanctus or Nicholas. And the note hit his palm, where he acknowledged the fact every inch of it was written on in the tiniest letters possible.