Outcasts

by Nick Wisseman

  “…soup’s been better…”

  “…you don’t like it, give it here…”

  “…didn’t say I wouldn’t eat it…”

  “…see the cloak in the corner, there? Odd garb he’s got up in…Queer looking fellow, if you ask me.”

  This first comment from the fourth traveler made the stranger’s muscles feel like they were being drawn and quartered. The effort required to relax as the party’s seeming leader responded was almost too much.

  “I didn’t ask: no one did. Leave him be; it’s too good a meal for you to waste it jumping at shadows again. And will you pass the blasted bread?”

  “Not from around here, though. Looks foreign…Mark those boots. And the cloak itself…A strange one, to be sure.”

  “How can you even tell in this cave? Do us all a favor and use your mouth for chewing, just this once. I’m tired of waiting on you to finish every cursed meal.”

  Agonizingly loud bursts of laughter suggested the other travelers agreed.

  “Seeing an enemy at every turn again, Briad? Next you’ll be saying it’s that Jonderin ‘demon’ the tales are so full of.”

  “Does he really believe those fables? The demon’s only real to old women and sniveling children…and maybe men who still soil their sheets.”

  Despite the conversation’s seemingly safer turn, the tension in the stranger’s fibers still refused to be anything less than excruciating. He promised his body he would leave as soon as it would let him, slink away to seek out a new solitude somewhere far from here…if this “Briad’s” companions succeeded in shouting him down.

  “…break you if you ever talk to me like that again, Kayon…Just seems off, is all. Different character, that one.”

  “So are you, for what it’s worth. Scared of your own shadow, tattooed up and down…While we’re on the subject, the new one, that bloody snake on your arm you’re so proud of? It makes you look like a heathen sailor…damned embarrassing to be in public with you right now…”

  “…got a snake because he is a snake…”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear either of you ragdolls. And I’m still keeping an eye on that one.”

  “You do that…I hope he is the demon, Briad. I’d love to see what you think you and your snake could possibly do about it…But for now will you at least pretend to forget it? I’m too tired for your nonsense tonight…”

  “Pass the loaf, then…”

  The mock applause this concession occasioned was deafening.

  “If it will keep you quiet.”

  “Hear, hear…”

  The stranger felt himself uncoiling somewhat. Breathing deeply, he gathered himself for ordering what he vowed would be his last refill as the first three travelers drifted back into miscellaneous topics.

  “…marketplace at Rankin…busy as always…love that town…those farmers are so naïve…”

  “…rare day that was…could do with more of them…”

  “…can say that again…pass the salt…”

  The tavern door opened briefly and quickly creaked shut again. Whistles and hoots replaced the now harmless conversation. Hazarding a quick look, the stranger sighed as the woman and daughter from a few hours ago leaked in through his lashes. He was too exhausted to wonder how they’d found him. Head lowered again, the stranger marked their hesitant, delicate footsteps above the resuming din, wishing with all his heart that his cup was already topped off when they stopped at his table.

  * * *

  “And why must I read this, Brother Gable?” The boy peers over the manuscript’s fraying edges, shifting to adopt the straighter posture he’s always reprimanded for lacking.

  The monk blinks as he meets the boy’s gaze. “You know well, lad. The tenets of Brother Jonders hold for all walks of life. Learn from them so you can live by them.”

  Laughing dubiously, the boy gestures with his head at the tome in his hands. “So you knew him, then? He himself told you all these rules?”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t try my patience today, lad. Brother Jonders spoke his code well over two hundred years ago, but his words were set down verbatim on sheets like those you now hold so irreverently.” The monk leans forward slightly. “We know them to be true not because of the way they sound, but because of the way they feel. They feel…like life. My own faith is reaffirmed every day with every service, as yours should be, and will be in time. When you let it.”

  The boy stays silent for a moment. “But how can you be so sure he’s the last word on…on everything? How could one man get everything right? Couldn’t there be at least a few errors here and there? Mistranslations even?”

  The monk shakes his head, leaning further forward as he rapidly grows more animated. “It’s true that questioning only strengthens belief, lad, but you have more proof than any other man, woman, or child could ever need. Your denials are beginning to wear thin. You know it to be true, and you demonstrate with each passing day that it can’t be otherwise…Your gifts, your Light-given gifts, have brought forty more initiates to the abbey in the last four summers. How can you still doubt your power?”

  “Maybe fear is a better word than doubt.”

  “Listen to me: that foal the other day, those wounds you…healed…I haven’t felt such a deep conviction in the righteousness of our order in more years than I care to remember. How can you not share it with me? You, who possesses the gift? Believe, lad. Trust me, trust Jonders. For all our sakes, trust yourself.”

  The boy lowers his gaze to the aging parchment. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “No one gets to choose their fate. Best to just accept it and play the part you were marked for.”

  “I wasn’t marked for anything until I met you.” The boy mumbles this last into his assignment, his brow furrowing deeper than his young age should allow.

  “Your reading, lad.”

  Staying silent for a space, the boy runs his thumb back and forth along the edge of the dusty page several times before speaking again. “If Jonders is so clearly right…why did my parents follow Jenowade?”

  The monk rocks back in his chair, raising its front legs off the cobblestone courtyard. “Now who told you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Probably not…probably not.” Exhaling loudly, the monk looks directly at the youth and plunges into it. “Your parents were good people, lad. Good people. They sent you here to save you, even though they risked everything in doing so. Good people…But that never precludes anyone from being misguided. Like so many others, they were poisoned by false promises. Partial truths and deceitful prophecies…Jenowade was nothing but a blaspheming heretic. Never forget that. His followers, believing his ignorant ravings, would chastise and persecute one with your gift. To your death, lad. To your death. Where we would embrace your powers. Embrace you. As our savior.”

  “Are you trying to make me hate, Brother Gable?”

  The monk pauses before answering. “Continue your reading, lad. You will see…you will see.”

  * * *

  “Sir? Sir? I…we…would like to thank you. For today…Sir? Are you in pain?”

  The stranger accepted the inevitable and forced his eyes open as wide as he could manage, angling his neck enough to find the woman’s chin floating above her daughter’s head. “It’ll pass…Sit if you’d like.”

  The woman started when she met his gaze, although she did her best to hide it. “Thank you…” Collecting herself after a moment’s pause, she gently pressured her child into sitting across from the stranger before squeezing in next to her. Pressing close against her daughter, she put an arm around the young girl when she tried to wriggle away. The table rocked unsteadily as one of the two brushed against it.

  Nothing further was said for several moments. Trying and failing to maintain eye contact, the woman repeatedly broke off every instance of direct vision whenever some trivial motion elsewhere in the bar provided an excuse for letting her sight wander. He appreciated h
er attempts, though. Rotating a few degrees, the stranger watched the girl fidget despite the reproving hand on her shoulder. It took a serious effort to keep his head from swaying noticeably.

  “I…I don’t have much to offer in return,” the woman finally ventured. “I’m sorry I screamed earlier. It was just so…unexpected. So miraculous. And that glow from your eye…Sir? Are you sure you’re all right? Sir?”

  The light in combination with her sound had overcome him again. Eventually, he took his hands from his temples and reopened his eyes just enough to confirm his mug was empty. “I’ll be fine. Could you signal for another cup, perhaps? I’d be obliged.”

  The woman eagerly turned away to fulfill his request. Once the task was accomplished, however, she seemed at a loss as to how to renew the conversation. He did little to help, keeping his head down and his eyes closed as they waited.

  “What’s that around your eye?”

  “Lyla! Be polite, for Light’s sake! This man saved your life!”

  Upon opening his eyes once more, he found the unabashed girl looking back at him intently. She was worrying at something in her pocket now, the labor causing her right eyebrow to curl down and her tongue to stick out and up.

  The stranger’s mouth twitched dangerously close to a grin as he felt a sudden wave of calm crash over the pain. “It’s just an old scar symbolizing a lot of forgotten nonsense. Given to me when I was close to your age.”

  “How did you make it glow?”

  “Lyla!”

  The calm ebbed as quickly as it had flowed, and he closed his eyes again. “It’s fine, miss. And it’s not worth knowing, little lass. Best to forget it.”

  He jumped slightly as he heard the splash of a refill, mumbling his thanks as the barmaid scrambled back to the center table. Managing to drink without raising his head more than a few inches, the stranger could almost hear the woman’s sudden disapproval. He knew he reeked of the tavern’s cheap swill, but then again, she was the one who’d sat down next to him. “Better alcohol than blood, miss. Better alcohol than blood…”

  She made no reply; he wasn’t certain the murmur had carried beyond the confines of his cup. Shrugging, he drained what little ale remained.

  * * *

  Robed arms delicately encircle the youth’s body.

  “…careful…he’s so fragile…”

  “…anyone see him fall?”

  “…talked of pain in his head…”

  “…just collapsed?…Why haven’t you fetched the hot water yet?…Run, blast you!”

  “…calm, Brother Gable…scalding ourselves won’t help…Gently, Brother Tack, gently…”

  The arms raise him into the air, each point of contact setting off ripples of acid.

  “…his brand was glowing…”

  “…it matter if he used his gifts?…Stop gawking and help, for Light’s sake!”

  “Sit down, Brother Gable!…not doing anyone any favors…Thank you…wouldn’t worry…prophecies aren’t through with him…”

  The arms lower him onto padded cloth and slowly retreat, but the youth still reels from the impact.

  “If he’s the one…”

  “Stay seated, Brother Gable…Brother Tack, even if that weren’t akin to blasphemy…not something to discuss now.”

  “…apologies, father…”

  “…permission to take…mount to Lotenville?…doctor there…served us well in the past.”

  “Granted, my son. Take the roan…make all haste…”

  “How much time do you think we have, father?”

  The pain remains, but it lessens just enough for him to crack open an eye.

  “It’s not for me to say, Brother Corver. Perhaps—he stirs! Praise the Light!”

  * * *

  How weak he was, to be lured by this temptation again, knowing full well where the indulgence would lead…How predictable…How pathetic…

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  The woman swallowed. “How…how did you heal my baby? She was bleeding…bleeding so much. So fast…”

  He said nothing for several moments, gauging the beers’ effects by slowly rolling his head back and forth. “Like I said, it’s better if you don’t know. Just forget it. Best if you just forget it.”

  “If you wish…But sir, excuse me for asking, but…You weren’t in pain before…before earlier, were you? Before you did that? You looked fine…”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, miss. Just forget it.”

  The woman bit her lip, looking anywhere but at the cowled head in front of her. Finally, after a deep breath and a visible gathering, she leaned across the table and kissed his brand too quickly for him to prevent.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly into his stunned, bewildered expression. The hand not holding up his hood softly traced the rest of his marking, lingering on the portion her lips had touched. “I’ve told no one…about who you are…And I won’t.” Suddenly embarrassed again, she withdrew her hand and dropped her eyes back to the table. An awkward moment passed before she rose again and pulled at her daughter to do the same.

  Resisting her mother’s direction with a squirm, the girl produced a stone from her pocket, shined to a glassy sheen by her young energy. “Here.” She pressed the black pebble into the hand he’d left sprawled next to the empty mug. After closing his fingers around the gift, she smiled and gave into her mother’s tugs.

  The stranger watched wordlessly as they left, the memory on his brow and the slight weight in his palm momentarily recalling the earlier wave of calm.

  * * *

  “Explain this to me, Brother Gable.” The young man points angrily to the rumpled form lying at their feet, a blue radiance only just now receding from the brand around his eye. “Justify it, rationalize it, back it with a straight face. I’d love to hear it.”

  The monk stares fixedly at the ground.

  “Brother Gable.”

  “Self-defense, lad. He would—”

  “Blast it, man, then why did it feel so good? Why is the pain gone? Why can I look at that lamp without cringing for the first time in ages? Where was this in your cursed prophecy?”

  Slowly raising his eyes to the ceiling, the monk pauses for some moments before answering. “I can’t tell you how to wield this, lad…Trust in Brother Jonders and the Light. Let them be your guides…”

  The young man laughs derisively and jabs again at the floor. “Can they tell me why I stopped his heart instead of his fist? Can you?”

  The monk shifts his weight, ponders for another short while, and eventually looks back at his questioner. “One action of destruction cannot cancel out all the good you’ve already done and will do, lad. It—”

  “Doesn’t it though? Am I not now neutral or worse? How can I still be your rallying cry? This is innocent blood! On my hands! And my grip slipped so easily…so readily.”

  “Your attacker was far from innocent.”

  “He was a beloved member of the abbey as early as this morning.”

  They stand in silence for several breaths. The monk turns away first, eliciting a second cold laugh from the young man.

  “Would your exception be made for an ungifted peasant? Would you try and deflect the true nature of his crimes, cover up his sins like I’m sure you’re already planning to do for your blasted savior? Brother Gable?”

  “Trust in the Light, lad. It works in ways we can’t begin to fathom.”

  The young man chuckles grimly once more and nudges the rumpled form with his foot. “I see no power here but my own, Brother Gable. Do you?”

  * * *

  The new men’s voices trickled back in around the edges of his consciousness.

  “…not often you see a whore working with her child…”

  “…not a bad looker, though…”

  “…but he turned her down…even after that kiss…”

  “See? He is odd. Did you note the way she jumped when she saw his face? The stories say the demon bears a mark
over his right eye…”

  “He’s probably just plain ugly, Briad. It’s an old wives’ tale. Propaganda. Leave him be…”

  “Speaking of ugly, why don’t you shave off that damn serpent tattoo tonight? Not even well done. My eyes hurt the more I look at it…”

  “Close them, then. I owe it to Jenowade to check.”

  “Just finish your drink…Peace, Briad! Sit down!”

  This shout in combination with the loud scraping of a chair being shoved back finally stirred the stranger. As boots trod heavily toward his table, he cursed himself soundlessly for not leaving when he had the chance.

  “I’ll have my answer, Kayon, whether you countenance my asking or not. Stranger! Remove your hood and look me in the eye for just a moment and I’ll trouble you no further.”

  The stranger fingered the handle of his mug and shook his head…gently.

  “Let him be, Briad!”

  “Quiet! Look me in the eye of your own will, Stranger, while you still have the choice of it.”

  Resigned to the coming transgression, he slowly raised his gaze.

  * * *

  “I won’t be your tool, Brother Gable.” The man sips from his cup.

  “I ask you only to be yourself.”

  Increasing heat from the fire causes the man to readjust his body into a less exposed arrangement. “You asked me to be the savior of your dying religion. But I think it’s apparent to us both that I don’t have the moral fiber or self-control to be that model, that inspiration…And I lack your faith. I always have.”

  The monk’s eyes glitter with intensity. “Trust me, then. I know you have the strength, lad. I’ve seen it on too many occasions not to believe. The control will return, but spirits aren’t the way to summon it back. They never are. This growing indulgence of yours…concerns me, to say the least.”