The Exiled Monk (The World Song Book 1)

by James T Wood

  He turned and looked at Peek. Perhaps it was the dizziness or the span between them, but Peek could not read the emotions on the face of Plafius. Long practice had taught Peek to suss out the slightest change, the most minuscule feeling on the face of Vlek. Knowing what he was feeling meant the difference between a beating or a quiet night. But Peek couldn’t discern what Plafius felt as he walked back toward the gathered monks. His face showed signs of sorrow and signs of hope, the marks of loss and the beginning of joy. None of it reconciled into anything that made sense.

  Monk and villager joined together in silence. Outside all could hear the raiders slinking away. A few monks thought to open the gate and allow the warriors and drum corps to reenter the safety of the monastery. Peek crawled to his knees, shakily at first, and then with the help of Dray and Locambius, stood up. Dizziness still threatened, but faded away. Locambius cautioned him to move slowly and breathe deeply. Peek had, unwittingly, used up all of his breath in defense of the monastery. Locambius assured him that it was both normal and easy enough to correct with more training. But the old monk took no time to elaborate. He disentangled himself from Peek and strode forward to meet Plafius. The two men stood in the center of the lawn, surrounded by the villagers and monks, but utterly alone. They spoke together softly, but silence amplified their words.

  “Why?” Locambius asked and then again, “why?” as if one word lacked the space to hold the depth of his question.

  Plafius looked at his friend and brother for a long moment before looking away. He tried to form words that never resolved into meaning. Finally he said, “Because I was meant to.”

  “Meant to what? Reject The Melody? Trample on everything we believe? Betray the memory of our lost brothers and sisters?”

  Plafius slumped like a man hit in the gut, but he responded, “No, not a rejection, but a true acceptance. The scriptures describe The Melody, they do not circumscribe it.”

  Locambius guffawed at the statement, “Are you drunk now? How can you truly accept something by doing the opposite of what you were taught about it? Can I ‘accept’ the wind by hiding in a cave or the sea by climbing a mountain?”

  “No, you misunderstand. I wasn’t trying to—”

  “What were you trying to do then?” Locambius pointed a finger into Plafius’ chest. “Were you trying to kill off more people than the raiders? Was it a competition for you?”

  “I stopped it—”

  Locambius interrupted again, “The fire’s didn’t burn our people, but the wall did crush a foot. Did you stop that? What you did is forbidden because it’s too dangerous, it can’t be controlled. And it can’t be controlled because we were never meant to control it. You seek to rise above yourself and you’re willing to put every one of us at risk—”

  “That’s not true,” this time Plafius spoke over Locambius, “I would never risk others. I don’t think I’m above anyone. The Melody doesn’t seek control but freedom.”

  “And that, my brother, is why you must leave,” Locambius reached out and placed a hand on Plafius’ shoulder, “We grew up together. We heard the calling song and danced together. We became monks together. We lost our dear friend Fericus together. Plafius, you are my oldest and truest friend. I want what’s best for you. I want to help you, but I can’t put all the other monks at risk. You, Plafius, are doing this.” Locambius looked at the ground for a breath before looking back into the eyes of the man who had saved them from the raiders, “Plafius, you are hereby exiled and excluded from the Darian Order. Despite multiple warnings and opportunities you have persisted in dangerous magic and forbidden songs. To protect the monastery and The Melody you are forbidden from speaking about it or playing any songs of power. Should you see the error of your ways you may petition—”

  With the sweep of an arm Plafius knocked Locambius’ arm from his shoulder and drove a finger into the chest of his friend. “I have seen the error, brother. And the error was in ignoring what we all should have seen. My error was in ignoring what a child could see. My error was ignoring The Melody for the sake of the scriptures.”

  Locambius knocked Plafius’ hand away and crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Plafius. They stared at each other for a long time while the gathered people stared on in awestruck silence. Finally, slowly, Plafius walked away. He walked toward the gate and exile. As he passed Peek and Dray he lowered his voice and spoke, “Continue to seek the meaning of the cubes. Seek the truth, no matter where you find it.”

  Then he kept walking. As he approached the closed gate, he slipped his strange dual pipes from his belt and trilled a few notes. The heavy crossbeam that barred the gate floated out of his way and the doors swung aside. He stepped out of the monastery walls and blew another few notes to seal the gate behind him.

  Peek turned to look at Dray. Her face was a mask of confusion, betrayal, fear, and wonder. Peek wanted to go away with her to the listening place and talk through everything that had happened. It all felt too big for his mind to process, but if he could simply talk it through with Dray, perhaps some sense might come. A sound distracted them both and together they turned to seek out its source.

  Locambius had dropped to his knees where he stood and sobbed the broken cries of a lost child. Dray frowned, but Peek melted. He had to go to the weeping man. He had to go and offer some small measure of the comfort that had been offered to him. Peek stepped forward, but Dray stayed. Peek tugged at her, wordlessly asking her to support him as he walked over to the leader of the monks. She would not. So he slipped his arm from around her shoulders and slowly walked over to Locambius. The whole village and all of the monks watched in silence as Peek approached and then gathered Locambius. They walked off toward the huts with Locambius still sobbing uncontrollably into Peek’s shoulder.

  Just before they left the clearing Peek turned and addressed the crowd, “The fight is over. Go back to your homes. Rest.”

  After Peek put Locambius to bed, he wandered around the monastery. The raiders were still too close for him to seek the refuge of the listening place, but he needed the solace of looking out over the water at the mottled reflection of the moon on the waves. The shushing of the tide over the rocks stilled some of the thoughts that cavorted in his mind — stilled but not erased. There, standing atop the monastery walls looking out over the rocky base of the out thrust thumb of land on the north side of the sheltered cove, and seeing the ocean ignore all the violence of the previous day as it proceeded about its orderly business, Peek lost himself. He floated like the splinters of a Markay shield bobbing between seabirds. He drifted from thought to thought — hoping, dreaming, even daring to pray for some solution.

  Dray found him there. She didn’t try to sneak up on him, but Peek’s reverie stole his senses. He jumped when she announced herself and they both laughed together, an island of respite in this day. Dray joined Peek in leaning against the parapet, standing so their arms and hips touched as they gazed out over the moonlit water together. After a moment she leaned her head over to rest on Peek’s shoulder. Despite what had happened that day, Peek wanted to stay there forever with Dray. But necks and nights can’t hold still for long.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t keep my neck that way,” Dray said as she raised her head to look at Peek, “it started hurting. What are you doing up here?” Peek looked over at her by turning his head to rest on his hands. Dray mirrored him and they shared the cool night breeze.

  “I wanted to try to figure things out.”

  “Any luck?” the hint of a smile touched the edges of Dray’s mouth.

  Peek blew out a short laugh, “Hardly.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Problems,” Peek corrected with his own hint of a smile.

  Dray lifted her head and turned her shoulders to face Peek, “What problems do you want to solve from up here?”

  Peek buried his face in his hands for a moment. What could he solve? Could he do anything at all? Even his attempt to stop the raiders had failed.
But he knew that Dray was trying to help, so he turned to her and said, “You know most of them: the raiders, Plafius, Locambius, the villagers, Vlek, training…” he stopped short of adding Dray to that list.

  But that didn’t keep her from hearing the unspoken, “And me?” Peek’s silence was his only response. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to stay and train with the monks.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I need training. Because I want to learn the magic. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Yes but…” Peek didn’t want to say the words.

  “But what about Plafius?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He told me to stay,” Dray turned back to the sea.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” her words were as distant as her gaze, “but he said that the only way the monks would survive was if they kept growing.”

  “So he wants the monastery to get bigger?” Peek followed Dray’s eyes to the horizon of stars against the sea.

  “I think that’s part of it, but I also think he wants the monks to grow personally. I didn’t follow everything that he and Locambius were saying earlier, but I think Plafius discovered something that he wants the rest of the monks to know.”

  “If Locambius won’t allow Plafius to say those things, why would he allow you?” Peek swallowed against the rising fear and bile in his throat.

  “Sometimes Plafius would talk about Locambius,” Dray rested her chin on her folded hands on the edge of the parapet, “They really do agree on most everything. It’s just that what they disagree on is something that Locambius won’t admit and Plafius won’t stop thinking.”

  “What is that?” Peek turned to look at her.

  “I’m not sure I fully understand it. Plafius was always pretty drunk when he talked about these things. But as best I can tell Plafius thinks that The Melody is more than what’s in a book or a scroll and Locambius thinks that’s all The Melody can be.”

  Peek laughed, “I’m not sure I fully understand either.” That brought a smile to Dray’s face. “So, you’re staying to learn from the monks, but also to help the monks grow past what Locambius is teaching?”

  “Something like that,” Dray furrowed her brow then spoke the words that Peek was already thinking, “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. It seems like I’m a spy or something.”

  “Are you?”

  Dray looked to Peek and then the moonlight dancing on the water before sighing, “No? I don’t think so?”

  “What do you want to do?” Peek stepped closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I spent my whole life being told what to do and just trying to figure out the best way to not get hit. Don’t do that. Don’t just try to make other people happy. Dray, what do you want?”

  Peek felt her nuzzle into his embrace. Then, quite suddenly, she turned and buried her head in his shoulder. Peek wrapped his other arm around her and held her tightly, fiercely, as if his arms could fend off doubts and dangers to keep her safe and whole. After a few minutes, Dray pulled back and looked at Peek with tears tracking down her cheeks. Her brown eyes searched his, probing, drilling, seeking. Whatever it was she found Peek never knew, for in the next instant her lips were on his, tasting of salt tears.

  Their kisses started tentatively, probing the unknown. Their lips pressing together as a portal for all of their longing. As they continued, their lips parted and came back together finding new ways to fit themselves to each other. Peek lost himself in time and space. He became his lips and arms; he became her face and neck. Dray pressed herself against him and Peek responded instinctively. Suddenly Peek wanted to take her away, back to his hut or her hut or anywhere. But Peek’s hut was filled with other monks. Dray’s hut was out in the village past a locked gate. They had nowhere to go.

  “Dray,” Peek breathed the words into her mouth, “we need to stop.”

  She kissed his objection away and, for a time, he was content to lose himself again. But his body demanded action — one way or another — and his mind fought free again.

  “Dray,” this time he pushed back from her an inch, “we need to stop for tonight.”

  Her heaving chest and flushed cheeks, paled by the moonlight, nearly stole his resolve again. Only another step back gave him the sense that what he was saying was right.

  “Dray, this isn’t the time or the place.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. Both of them reached out but then stopped. They wanted to hug, to kiss again, to disappear into the bliss of passion. But they both recognized that nighttime rendezvous would do little to help either of them. Peek recalled the stigma on his mother, then passed along to him, for such transgressions. He would not put the same burden on Dray. So, with reluctance, they stepped apart and Dray went back to the tents of the villagers on the opposite side of the monastery.

  Twenty

  Talib smiled and patted the ground next to him beneath the tree. Darrah moved over to join him and they both settled against the trunk to listen.

  At first the sounds surrounding them were cacophonous and distracting. They sat looking into the distance as Eytskaim did on so many occasions. Random thoughts often distracted them. Yet they continued to sit and gaze into space.

  The other disciples at first took no notice of them. After a day of the old man and the young girl sitting under the tree, a few disciples paused to consider them. When they had been there for two days, more disciples stopped to look. After seven days all the disciples ceased and gathered around their chief and the interloper to see what would happen.

  At sunset on the seventh day something started to change. It was so slight as to be lost in the moving shadows, but Talib and Darrah both started to smile. As the sun slipped below the wall and Eytskaim’s Pool fell into shadow they returned from their long journey.

  Talib’s smile became a grin as he reached out and took Darrah’s hand. She returned his grin enthusiastically.

  Talib turned to the gathered disciples and said, “It is music.”

  “Written music attempts to describe the indescribable.” Mairtin of Talamh Uisce

  P

  eek stepped out into the morning sun. It seemed too bright, too happy, as if nature hadn’t witnessed the previous day and moved on in cheery ignorance of their suffering. Some part of him expected the birds to cease singing and the sky to be gloomy and lowering to match the mood within the monastery walls.

  The villagers remained in the small shelter of the monastery with the fleet of Markay ships still at the island. Within hours they could strike, so the villagers and the monks never rested completely. In shifts, some villagers would hurry to their huts to collect forgotten items — blankets against the increasing chill of the nights, extra cups or bowls to pass around the meager, plain food, or, for Vlek, a stashed barrel of mead to slake his thirst. Despite having to walk right past the charred corpses of the Markay, not one of the villagers offered to bury them, or remove them from the area around the monastery.

  Before Peek met Dray on the wall the previous night, he had spent his evening getting Locambius into bed and listening to him weeping and raving. The name Fericus came up, as did Cannia, but they meant nothing to Peek. He just kept the older man in bed until he finally slept. But sleep did not come for Peek. After his night with Dray, Peek’s thoughts whirled around. Even when he returned to the hut he still danced with Dray in his mind. By the time dawn came he arose and left Locambius to slumber as far into the morning as he could. As Peek stood outside the leader’s hut he noticed other monks staring at him. Some shook their heads silently. Others talked in low voices among themselves. Peek felt more alone now than when he was the village joke.

  As if the thought of him were a summons, Peek’s grandfather came striding around the corner of the hut with the kind of purpose he reserved for negotiating the price of ale. His head was down and his arms pumped to give him extra swagger. When he was within ten feet of Peek he looked up and skidded to a h
alt. His eyes widened and his face paled before he could get control of his emotions. Cor followed him around the corner, struggling to keep up with his father’s furious pace.

  For a moment they all stood there together, almost a family. Then Vlek spoke, verbally ignoring Peek as usual.

  “Cor, I would speak with the leader of the monks,” Vlek crossed his arms and stared off to his left at nothing.

  “No,” Peek responded quietly, “He’s resting.”

  Vlek pretended to ignore him and motioned to Cor to obey. Peek took a deep breath, mentally traveling to the place of his training, and stepped forward.

  “Vlek, you can speak with me or with no one,” Peek’s voice did not rise in pitch or volume, “Locambius is asleep and will continue to rest after his ordeal yesterday. What is it you want?”

  Peek noticed Vlek flinch when he approached. At first he smiled to himself, then he recalled the awful, empty pain of being humiliated and humiliating another. The smile fled and was replaced with a kind of compassion with contempt at its core. For Vlek it was the best Peek could muster.

  Vlek visibly weighed his options. Peek could see him calculate whether it was worth it to speak with him or not. Eventually he chose Peek as the least of the evils before him.

  “Due to your master’s obvious failure yesterday, the village is forced to require you monks to move on,” Vlek barely looked at Peek as he delivered the words that were obviously rehearsed. “The threat of the raiders is against you monks and not my villagers, but as long as you’re close to us, the raiders will continue to attack. You have until the end of the week to leave.”