Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1)

by Thomas Davidsmeier

  CHAPTER 6 - TWICE BLESSED

  16th of Pendana, 5th Year, 32nd Aion

  “Amongst all the various bodies we have hitherto described, we have yet to hit upon one of the most infuriating. While stars are utterly predictable in their majestic paths through the heavens, and the planets are, while slightly more confusing, still quite orderly, these wretched objects are quite by themselves in the populations of the heavens. They are known to constantly appear, vary in brightness, disappear, and even move about before they descend. We speak of course, of the bodies of the slain and reforming Exiles and Slaves. Some more-religious authors consider these to be beautiful and magnificent objects to view. We find them to be utter nuisances, constantly confusing learned astronomers and making the innocent authors of perfectly good star charts unfairly appear to be incompetent.”

  – Hirem Tharnestipol, Observing the Heavens for the Novice Astronomer

  Pyter crouched down and launched himself upward, letting the power of his Aetherial Blessing course through him into the ground. He flew up to meet his falling sister. However aetherials were masters of forces, not magic. He could not just stop her falling in midair. Worse, unlike most aetherials, Pyter was not a teledyne. He had to be touching whatever he was going to act on.

  Stretching his hands over his head, he made sure that he could touch Anya as soon as possible and for as long as possible. If the force he was giving her arrived all at once, it could break bones or even kill her.

  As he met his sister a little past halfway, a pop echoed out from the pair. Pyter had directed as much of the force of impact out in every direction as he could. It had turned into sound.

  Shoving off just enough, Pyter left his sister with her downward speed completely arrested. She started falling and screaming all over again, this time from not nearly as high above the ground.

  Pyter was flung down from the collision almost as fast as Anya had been falling. He shot toward the ground with barely enough time to cram a counterforce into his legs for his landing. He slammed into the ground with what sounded like a clap of thunder. His skin felt like a drumhead as he rebounded back up toward Anya. He met her only twenty feet off the ground. Catching her this time, their speeds were again dissipated, and both fell the rest of the way together.

  On the brief way down, Pyter loaded his legs again, but forgot to compensate for the extra weight of the still screaming Anya. Slamming into the ground harder than Pyter had been expecting, they ended up in a jumbled heap.

  A sheep bleated from the pens.

  An owl hooted from its perch on the wall.

  The first sound from the heap of Blesseds was Anya giggling, then laughing hysterically. She cried out into the night, “That was even more fun than last summer!” Anya squeezed her words in between her laughter. “Can we do it again? Please, big brother?”

  Pyter was just feeling the cold sweat of exertion popping out all over his body.

  He whispered, “Lord, are you here? Am I in the Celestial City yet? I didn’t see my Door though…”

  His head cleared of confusion and filled with pain.

  “Oooohhuggh. Am I still alive? Are you?” Pyter was trying to grab his head with his hand, but Anya was still sitting on his arm.

  “I am alive,” Anya choked out between laughs.

  “Why are you laughing?” asked a confused brother.

  “I don’t really know,” giggled Anya, the hysterics starting to subside. “Probably just nerves or something ‘cause I almost just died. There wasn’t any water this time.” She gasped deeply, trying to catch her breath.

  “I told you to be careful. I had this feeling in the back of my head, and I look up, and there you are, arms swinging around on the edge up there.” Pyter was trying to check himself and see if all his limbs were intact. He felt insubstantial, disconnected from his body, and very confused.

  Anya finally rolled off her brother and onto the dusty ground. “Yes, I tripped. I saw a star moving, and I was so surprised, and I tripped. Then you saved my life. I guess Gilm having us practice this sort of thing must have helped. I guess Gilm kind of saved my life too.”

  Their father had forced Pyter to practice catching people before. Pyter had started with a sack of flour from a second story window. Then, he had practiced catching Anya jumping into a swimming hole. When he missed, she had landed in the water.

  Finally, Gim had arranged a special week of practice with Anya jumping off the top of the twenty foot tall wall of the keep. Pyter had stood in the middle of a wide stone pool. Gilm had waited, hand in the water, ready to make up for any mistakes. There had only been two, and thanks to Gilm no injuries.

  This time, they appeared to be just as blessed. Pyter sat up and praised God that nothing of his was broken. Anya was already standing up and looking at the night sky.

  “I saw a star moving, Pyter! I’ve got to get back up there and look at it again.”

  “You’re not going up there again until I’ve put a cage over that whole platform,” mumbled Pyter still shaking his head.

  “Alright. I’ll wait here while you do it.”

  “What?” growled Pyter.

  “I’ll wait while you go up and put a railing on my platform, but I need to get up there. There is a star moving, and there is something strange about it. I’ve got to get up there and make certain of what I saw.” The young girl had become extremely serious.

  “I didn’t mean now!” choked out Pyter. Then, what she was describing finally got through to him. He sat there dumbfounded at a moment. Finally, he asked, “You mean a falling star like an Exile or Faithful returning from the edge of Heaven?

  “Yes, exactly! But, there’s something weird about it. I know you didn’t study much astronomy, but you might know from theology. What colors do Faithful and Exile bodies look while they’re being knit back together on the edge of Heaven?”

  Most of Pyter’s headache melted away in awe at what his sister was suggesting. No one he knew had seen a Faithful or an Exile return, not even Gilm. Pyter had asked him about it during a theology lesson. Gilm had explained the descent of a Faithful or Exile was not impossibly rare in the grand scheme of things. However, they could be anywhere at any time. Certainly somebody would be seeing it, but there were a whole lot of somebodies that were not Gilm or Pyter or Anya. Pyter grinned to himself, Here might be a chance to be one of those somebodies.

  “Well, ummm, Exiles can be like... dark orange for the weak ones. Then there are some red ones, and the Lords are purply red like… a… plum or something. They never get slain though.”

  Anya looked at her brother with concern. “Are you alright? I was expecting a lecture like usual. You can barely put words together.” She walked up to her brother and looked him in the eyes.

  “I used a lot of energy to stop you. And, our landing wasn’t exactly smooth. I’ll be fine.” Pyter was rolling his head back and around with his hand on the back of his neck.

  “Like I was saying, Exiles crash down because they don’t have any wings. Faithful are gold for the lesser ones up to silver for the greatest. They have wings. So, they glide down gracefully and land. What kind did you find?”

  “I don’t want to tell you. I’d rather not give you any ideas ahead of time. I want you to make up your mind for yourself and tell me.” This was exactly the type of thing Gilm said when he was interrogating them about some topic of interest. It was also the exact thing Anya had needed to say to convince Pyter.

  “Fine then. Wait here until I’ve at least stoneshaped a railing.” Pyter set off to climb up the tower mumbling, “I would have put one there in the first place if I’d thought you’d be clumsy enough to actually fall off.”

  “Oh, it’s moved a bit more since I first saw. It was to the east of Hildarar before, now it’s to the west.” Anya held the reformed lenses steady with her mind and stood to the side. Pyter eagerly moved in to see the moving star for himself.

  “Which one is it? I don’t see either of them moving. Wait, is it
the bright white one at the top?” Pyter looked up at Anya questioningly. The exhaustion was showing on his face, even in the moonlight.

  “No, that’s Hildarar. See, look up at the sky. I watched the other one move since it was close to Aliono, the brighter star right at the tip of the Lion’s tail. Hildarar is the hip of the Lion right there. Then over to the west is Borhasster, the head.”

  “Everybody knows Borhasster, that’s the one the Ladle pours onto.” Like any fourteen-year-old boy, Pyter did not exactly enjoy having his little sister explain anything to him. He put his eye back to the water lens. Pyter was silent for a few minutes.

  “You’re right. The other dimmer one is moving. But, that doesn’t make any sense.”

  Pulling his eye away and standing up again, he looked as his sister incredulously. “It’s blue. What kind of being has a blue body at the edge of Heaven?”

  His sister replied rather meekly, “I was kind of hoping that you would know.”

  They took speechless turns watching. Would the star fall before their eyes? Pyter returned the farseeing rod to Anya for another turn,

  Pyter grudgingly asked her, “How long do they move before they fall? I know our Sojourner theology, but the astronomical details are beyond me.”

  “I don’t know for sure,” replied Anya before putting the farseeing rod back up to her eye. “My text doesn’t give a good description of them. Actually, the author seems to rather dislike them. I’ll have to look for a better tome tomorrow.”

  Pyter put his hands on his hips and leaned back to crack his back. He did not normally come up to the top of the tower. Looking at the vault of the heavens over his head, he was forced to admit, “It really is beautiful up here. I see why you like it so much. Plus, you can’t even smell the sheep.”

  “I know,” Anya replied, “But, when you’re up here, I can still smell the shepherd.”

  Pyter narrowed his gaze. “You like wool mittens in winter, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I like to wash mine every once in a while,” grinned his sister in reply. “When was the last time you bathed?”

  “The day before I went out with Ulric on our turn with the flocks. I’m actually doing it on purpose. It’s all part of the plan.”

  “What’s your plan? To smell so bad no one will marry you and you’ll have to wed a sheep? Cleanliness is next to…”

  “That is not an actual verse of scripture, and you know it. Listen, I’ll tell you all about the why and what fors of my personal filth tomorrow, when we come back up here to watch this star fall.”

  “Tomorrow, why?”

  Pyter pointed at the nearly full moon sinking toward the horizon beyond the forest, “Tomorrow is coming sooner than we want to admit. I don’t think there’s any way it’s going to suddenly just plop out of the sky all at once before dawn. Listen, I’ll take the sheep out in the morning and come back tomorrow night. That way, you can tell me what you find out searching the library. Then, we can climb up here and see the sight. Check books of lore about Exiles and such if you can’t find anything in our rather limited astronomy collection.”

  Anya nodded in agreement as she began to take down the farseeing rod. She turned to say something to Pyter, but he was not there. “Where did you go?”

  The answer came up from the side of the tower. I’m getting to the bottom before you so I can keep an eye on you. Try to take the slow way down this time.”

  Pyter woke when the sun had crept up over the top of the wreck of the keep’s eastern wall. Much of that wall had been knocked down seventy years ago by a combination of spideress acid and the Eater of the Unwanted’s flame. Last night had been late for him, but not the sheep. Their bleating did not let Pyter sleep in like he wanted.

  Despite using so much energy with his Blessings, his excitement returned quickly. He had a chance to see something Old Gilm, his adopted father and hero, had never seen. Gilm seemed to Pyter to have seen and done just about everything. We’ll tell him about something he’s never seen. It’ll be so incredible to see a look of awe on HIS face for a change.

  Pyter sprang up off of his bed roll and into motion. He grabbed his canteen, pack, and his razor-sharp dagger. Heading over to the gap in the wall, he fished out a piece of the bread Anya had brought him the previous night and bit off his breakfast. “Can’t just nibble on the green stuff like you folks,” he said cheerily to some nearby sheep.

  Pyter lifted the pieces of the wooden barricade out of the way to let the sheep out. As they meandered out onto the hillside, Pyter mused to the sheep. “Gilm is always interested in the Faithful Servants and the Exiles. That’s why we’ve got so many books about them in the library. Surely, Anya will find some answers in one of those.”

  The fourteen-year-old shepherd took his woolly charges off over a low ridge to the west of the fortress hilltop, toward the forest. Gaia’s Savages were not going to come out of the forest during the day, not on this side of the river. The Savages were lazy, and even though the stony bluff at the edge of the forest was not that tall, they preferred the gentler terrain on the north side of the river. That was where they had slipped out of the green shadows and attacked Ulric’s father.

  Pyter brought the sheep down into the little valley between ridges and left them while he went up to the top of the second ridge. This one was taller than the first and he could see the old fortress and tower easily. Sheep munched happily on the green spring grass. Pyter studied his assignment from Old Gilm. He planned to study and practice his stonecraft on his favorite rock. Then, he was going to put his knife and sheepstench to use.

  Pyter got out the copper plate with every intention of studying his memory lesson first. Somehow the plate, with the neatly formed letters he had made the night before, ended up lying on the grass by his pack. Instead, he took out his sharpened dagger and went looking along the ridge for a particular stone.

  Pyter had sat too close to his favorite stone. The temptation had overcome his good intentions. Kneeling in the familiar spot, he reached out, touched the stone, and fell into its memories.

  It was hard to say that they were memories exactly. But, stones have souls! They would have cried out in worship to the Son if the people of the City of Peace had not. The Son said so Himself. So stones definitely have souls. So, why not memories? Pyter had boiled the Stonewright’s debates in the books down to that. Stones have souls and memories. And some Stonewrights, like me, can feel some of them.

  The moment Pyter had touched the surface of the stone, his mind became divided. One part was wondering about Blessings and crystals. The other part was navigating through the memories of the stone. It had taken him a long time to master the structure of each of the rocks he knew. In this stone, the memories were like pages in a favorite book.

  When he first touched an unfamiliar unshaped stone, he would get a jumble of images and sounds, if he could read it at all. He was getting quicker at lining up the images with the sounds and putting things in chronological order. But with an old familiar one like this, he could fall in and lose himself.

  The memories could be only sound and light-based. Some stones seemed only to store one or the other. But, the sound was strange, distorted toward the very low and very high. Though he imagined he was flipping through the pages of a book, his mind was jumping through the odd pattern this stone used to store its memories.

  Pyter headed backward in time. There was a certain day when this rock had seen amazing things. This rock had witnessed more than its fair share of battles. But, it was a special battle that Pyter went to watch now.

  “Get over here if you want to live!” shouted the jarl. He had no idea how much of his language the Wildmen understood. Their headman had understood just fine.

  “But, their headman is now sitting headless back beside the tower,” growled Jarl Bjorn Flametooth to himself.

  Despite his doubts, the eight Wildmen wheeled toward him as a group. Soon, the Wildmen joined the jarl and his twelve men as they ran up the slope. The mixed
troop crested a hill next to the jutting rock formation that Pyter would come to love almost seventy years later. All of them paused to catch their breath.

  Together, they made up about a ragtag fifth of their original numbers. Shields and helms were missing. Some were armed only with broken shafts of spears. Wounds were numerous. Though, none were too severe on the warriors who had made it this far.

  The Wildmen were constantly looking up to the lightening morning skies. They were afraid of the Faithful Servants that had been swooping down on them from almost the beginning of the battle. The jarl’s men were constantly looking at each other. Almost to a man they were wondering if any of the others would be willing to try to surrender. It would only delay the inevitable. The Pale Lady had tasted their blood. She would know that they were still alive, and that they had betrayed her. She would know where they were. She would come. Or, perhaps one of her brood of Soul Drinkers. That would be far worse than simply dying in battle.

  The jarl for his part was desperately trying to decide if these ridiculous Sojourners and their winged death-bringing allies would follow standard protocol when fighting a Gifted One. Unless the battle was between mortal enemies, Gifted Ones were considered extremely valuable as prisoners. A side could be expected to pay a high ransom indeed for one of their human artillery pieces.

  “Do these people consider us mortal enemies?” he mused as he finished catching his breath.

  One of the Wildmen seemed to answer him, but the jumble of syllables and grunts was incomprehensible to the flamewright. The Wildman started off down the slope of the hill toward the next valley, waving at his tribesmen to follow. He had only gotten a few yards down the slope when a bolt of lightning with a spear in the center of it streaked out of the dawn sky.

  The clap of thunder, that tingling smell, and burnt flesh were almost part of a routine. This was how the Faithful Servants had been picking them off the whole way along their retreat.