Thomas

by Michael G. Manning

  I just taught that lesson to Walter, why should I have to spend a week training at it? She kept that joke to herself. She knew she had crossed a line, but she wasn’t sure how to correct the situation. Angry at herself more than anyone else, she picked up her things and marched back across the field.

  She spent the rest of the morning sitting outside of Father Whitmire’s office, waiting to be seen. Eventually Thomas appeared and ushered her into the room, a look of sympathy crossed his face before he stepped out and closed the door.

  A short time later, she left the office. The abbot’s words and calm demeanor had left her uncertain of herself. Thomas stood across from the doorway. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and headed toward the stairs, but rather than return to the office he fell in beside her. A questioning glance from her prompted him to speak.

  “It’s lunch time, if you haven’t noticed.” His voice was calm, without guile or subtle intentions. She liked that about him, and she supposed it was probably why she was able to relax around him. I don’t constantly feel like I’m being pursued!

  The dining hall was nearly empty; her meeting with the Abbott had put her past the usual time for lunch. The fellow serving gave them a scowl as he filled their bowls with tepid soup. She carried hers over to the small table reserved for women. Thomas sat down across from her.

  Most men would have been too embarrassed to sit there. “Is there something I should know?” she asked. “You haven’t taken up knitting, have you?”

  Grinning sheepishly, Thomas looked around at the empty hall, “Would you prefer to eat alone?” He was making a joke, but the question was sincere.

  “No, I’m glad for some company, it’s just been a long day,” she admitted.

  “It’s only half done. What brought you to the Abbott’s door?” asked Thomas.

  His tone was casual, but Islana tensed at the question. She studied his face carefully, looking for any sign that he might be mocking her. “I’m to spend the next week in nothing but meditative studies and contemplation of proper humility,” she replied.

  This brought more questions, and despite herself Islana shared the story of her morning on the practice field. She couldn’t figure out why, but she trusted Thomas. He’s just a good listener, she told herself.

  “I just don’t understand why I should study humility! Haven’t I experienced enough humiliation in my life already? They’re training me to be a warrior, not a desk clerk!” She then realized she had just insulted him. “Sorry.” She looked down and quickly filled her mouth with stew before she could say anything else to offend. I’m just full of pleasant words today.

  Glancing up she saw Thomas staring at her thoughtfully. “What?” she asked.

  Thomas was considering her situation and despite her defensiveness he was thinking deeply. He met her gaze for a second, and blue eyes under locks of dark hair transfixed him for a moment, almost causing him to lose his train of thought. He smiled reflexively to cover his embarrassment before he answered, “Humiliation isn’t the same as humility.”

  “They’re looking very similar from where I’m sitting,” she said sourly. She didn’t really believe that, but again, her pride wouldn’t let her sit silent. Thomas had a loose lock of hair drifting almost in front of his face. She resisted an urge to reach across and brush it back for him. The thought caused her to blush again, so she studied her empty bowl instead.

  “Humiliation, if deliberate, is an act of aggression. It is at heart, a violent act against another’s dignity. Humility is quite different,” continued Thomas, his face earnest. “Humility is a gift to others, a gentleness of spirit, an expression of nobility.” He paused at that, realizing he might have said too much. Rising from his seat, he excused himself, “I should be getting back.”

  He’s so serious, I wonder if he ever laughs? Islana was seized by a moment of whimsy, “Thomas.” Her voice made him stop. “Have you ever been on a picnic?”

  “What?” Nothing could have surprised him as much as that question. “I’m sorry I don’t understand. You asked if I had ever—I missed the last word.” Surely, he had misheard her.

  “A picnic…,” she repeated. Islana could sense his bewilderment and knew she had him on the defensive, “…you take some food and go out to enjoy the sunshine and spring air. I thought you might be free tomorrow since there are no classes. Of course, if it seems strange to you, I suppose you could eat here instead. I’m sure the old men would miss your company.” She smiled coyly. I’m flirting! What the hell is wrong with me? What would Franz think? She started to retract her offer.

  “Sure,” said Thomas, fighting down a surge of panic.

  “Meet me in the northern courtyard tomorrow, I know just the spot.” Jumping up, she took her bowl and left before he could say anything else. Glancing back, she saw him still standing where she had left him, a curious expression on his face. Laughing inside, she headed for her room, but it was her turn to be embarrassed when she realized she had forgotten to leave her bowl. She was still carrying it and her tray when she got to her room. There is no way I’m carrying this back there right now.

  Closing the door to her room, she sat down on the bed. Did I just arrange an assignation? With a novitiate priest? Moaning to herself, she buried her head in a pillow, Does he think it’s a tryst?

  She answered herself out loud, “No Islana, you just asked a friend on a perfectly normal picnic. Why would he think that?”

  Because he’s male, stupid!

  “Thomas isn’t like that,” she told herself. “He’s not some rutting pig! He has far more important things on his mind, surely.”

  Maybe I want him to think it’s a tryst. She made a decidedly unladylike yell as she threw her pillow at the far wall.

  ***

  Thomas rose early the next morning. That in and of itself wasn't unusual; being a devotee of Delwyn, he was supposed to greet the dawn for his morning prayers. Waking up two hours before the dawn was a bit beyond the pale, even for him. He used the extra time to order his thoughts, and he prayed to Delwyn for guidance. Even though it was a casual picnic, he still felt somewhat nervous. In spite of his intent prayer and meditation, he received no answer from the goddess, although he could swear he heard Sarah's tinkling laughter. Did I imagine that? Considering it again, he decided it would be just like her to laugh at his situation.

  The morning went slowly, and even Father Whitmire could tell he was nervous and out of sorts, though he said nothing. Finally, lunchtime arrived and Thomas made his way to the appointed spot. The northern courtyard was taken up largely by a garden, mostly vegetables. The temple tried to be as self-sufficient as possible.

  One part of it was shaded by several modest apple trees. Someone had planted flowers nearby, and the overall effect was quite pleasing this time of year. Islana led him there, and he found she had already spread a large quilt on the ground. Laid out were a loaf of bread and part of a chicken, along with a small jug and some cheese.

  “How did you get all this out of the kitchen?” he said wonderingly.

  She smiled mischievously, “I bribed the cook, he can be most accommodating when he wants to be.”

  Thomas started to ask what she used for her bribe, then decided the question was indelicate, if not outright rude. “Is that water or small beer?” He preferred small beer, but wasn't picky.

  “Wine.”

  “But...”

  “Let a lady have her secrets.” She had already sat down and was looking up, “Are you going to sit or just stand there all afternoon?”

  Thomas sat. The food was good. It wasn't often he got to eat roast fowl, meat being a luxury seldom wasted on the novitiates. After a time, his stomach was full and he relaxed, reclining to watch the clouds as they floated by.

  He had no idea what to say, and attempting to think of small talk made his mind go blank. At last Islana spoke, and began to question him about his life at the temple. Up until now she'd known little about him. She was surprised to learn that he
was an orphan—there was certainly nothing common about the way he carried himself.

  He told her about his experiences since coming to the temple, but he avoided mentioning his time before that, nor did he mention his birthmark. She was quite interested to learn about Grom, and the story of the goddesses' appearance was exceptionally interesting to her. She had still been living at home then, but the story had circulated to most of the nearby towns and cities.

  Eventually she felt comfortable enough to ask a few more personal questions, “Have you ever been in love, Thomas?” The question made her blush, but she was facing away so that he couldn't see her face.

  “Once, I think.” Sarah's image came to his mind. “I'm not entirely sure, I was a lot younger.” He was completely certain, but he didn't want to sound like a fool.

  She glanced at him, her nervousness replaced by curiosity, “What happened?”

  “Well, as it turns out, she was well above my station. But the experience is what led me to the temple and my decision to devote myself to Delwyn.” Well above my station, what an understatement.

  “So, you lost the girl and wound up becoming a priest...” It reminded her of Franz, who had been well beneath her own rank in society. If only he had been lucky enough to find sanctuary. She clamped down on her next thought, she was not ready to examine that wound, it was still too tender.

  “I'm not a priest, yet, just a novitiate. Don't make it sound so tragic. Priests of Delwyn may still marry after all,” he kept his tone light, but inside he still felt a bit of loss over Sarah.

  That broke her reverie, and she latched onto his words to stop her own sad thoughts. “Have you ever—has there been—I mean—have you met any women since then? Who made you think perhaps you might someday...” She broke off; the words 'marry' and 'love' were just too embarrassing. Especially since she realized that she wasn't asking out of disinterested curiosity, but for more personal reasons.

  He was sitting up now, and she stared at his back. He paused for a moment and then answered, “No, I really haven't. There aren't that many women here, and the ones I have met so far didn't really interest me at all.” His tone was casual, and he continued, trying to inject a bit more levity, “Have you met Dame Grindle? She's a sweet lady, but she's not likely to send young men off thinking of love!”

  She tried to laugh, but it didn't work. The way he had responded left it clear to her that he didn't even think of her as a woman. If I'm lucky, maybe a sister. “Let’s go, I think it might rain, I don't want to get this blanket wet.” If her voice was slightly bitter, he didn't seem to notice.

  “Huh? The sky is clear and the sun is out...,” he began to protest.

  “Just come on.”

  He sensed her anger, but he wasn't sure what he had done to provoke it. So, he helped her pack up and tried not to make things worse. A beautiful woman seems interested, and I somehow make her mad. He mentally reviewed the conversation, I told her I wasn't interested in any other women.

  You probably mistook her intentions, he thought to himself. She probably figured it out and decided to nip things in the bud. At least he hadn't wound up like Walter.

  Chapter 7

  Ranger Timon

  The following week Islana avoided Thomas like the plague. For his part, he didn't make it difficult for her. He was still unsure what to say. Eventually she decided to forgive him, after all he hadn't actually done anything wrong. In any case, she didn't have that many friends, not enough that she could afford to lose one. Besides, she didn't really 'want' to avoid him.

  When they finally spoke again they didn't talk about the picnic, nor did she invite him on any more.

  A month later they were back to normal, but events got more interesting with the arrival of a ranger. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, the temple had a number of rangers associated with it. None of them lived there, at least not regularly, but one or another would stop in every few months. The rangers of Delwyn served the temple as her eyes and ears in the world beyond the city, while the priests and paladins served more directly in the cities proper.

  This ranger, however, was of particular interest. Thomas had never met him personally, and he hadn't returned to the temple in almost two years, an uncommonly long time, even for those as self-reliant as the rangers were. What made his arrival even more curious was the fact that he had brought a young woman with him.

  Thomas was sitting in the abbot’s study when he heard a knock at the door. Crossing the room, he answered it, and found himself face to face with a tall lean man. “Can I help you sir?”

  The stranger grinned at him. He had an easygoing, open face. “If you don't mind, I'm here to see Father Whitmire. I'm sure he'll want to see me.” He wore dark tanned leathers and bore a sword at his side. Thomas considered how to stall him until he could inform the abbot. Then he heard a voice behind him.

  “Timon! Do come in! How long has it been?”

  “Nigh on two and a half years by my mark.” The ranger eased past Thomas and headed for a chair by the desk. He was better looking than any man had a right to be, with long blond hair caught up in a braid.

  “I'd begun to wonder if you could still keep track of time,” remarked the Abbot, before turning to Thomas, “Go fetch some tea for us. Master Timon and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  The priest moved back to his desk and sat down while Thomas let himself out. When he returned a few minutes later, the two were already deep in conversation. He set the tray down on the desk between them and returned to his own small writing table. Neither man paid attention to his presence, so he stayed quiet and kept his ears open.

  It’s not as though I'm eavesdropping. Father Whitmire would tell me if he felt I should leave the room. Still, he wasn't about to call attention to himself; the conversation was proving to be quite interesting.

  “You must see some promise in her if you spent so much time on her.” The older priest toyed with his spoon, a nervous habit he developed when he was trying to seem more calm than he was.

  “That's one reason, among others,” Timon seemed unsure how to continue. “She'd been living alone in the forest for over a year before I found her. Not something most sixteen-year olds could manage without prior training. It's safe to say I was intrigued.” He looked down at his tea, the cup seemed absurdly small in his large hands, but he held it with surprising gentleness. After a moment, he continued, “Father, I have something to confess.”

  “Don't be so formal. We've been friends longer than I've been a priest, if you have something to tell me spit it out,” said Father Whitmire. That surprised Thomas, especially since Timon didn't look that old.

  “I trained her in woodcraft, for the better part of the past year. She was an apt pupil, possibly one of the best I've found. Perhaps because of that I let my guard down more than might be wise.” The ranger was having trouble coming to the point.

  “What do you mean?” the abbot was frowning.

  “Living in the wild isn't much like they portray it in the stories. You hunt to survive, you bed down wherever you find a safe, dry place. The wilderness can bring out the more primal instincts, and we were in close contact for most of the year.” Master Timon was staring at his cup, unable to meet Whitmire's eyes.

  “So, your relationship was a bit more—physical, perhaps? Surely it was consensual? Wait don't answer that, I know you well enough to know you wouldn't force it.” The priest took a deep breath. “You're old enough to know better.”

  Timon groaned, “I know!”

  “She's barely an adult!”

  “I know.”

  “Well so far your only crime is a lack of common sense. I'm assuming you want something of us?” Father Whitmire looked annoyed rather than angry.

  “Before I ask that, let me explain a bit,” said Timon. “She was with me for months before things became—complicated. In that time, she worked hard to get my 'attention'. I ignored it mostly because I thought she didn't know what she wanted. I was wrong.�
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  “Is she in love with you?” The older man was obviously puzzled.

  “No. Maybe—I'm not sure. She probably doesn't know herself. That's part of the problem.” Timon set his cup down, now empty. “After she, after, well—alright a few months into things, I started to realize, that she didn't quite view human interactions in the same way most of us do. I had taught her as much as I could of the woods, but I couldn't teach her to understand her heart.”

  “You probably should have figured that out before you tupped her,” said the priest sarcastically. Thomas had never seen him talk like this, in some ways it made him seem more human.

  “I deserve that, and I wish I had. In the end, I've probably made her problem worse. Once I had gotten entangled I realized there was no possible way to train her spirit. I was serving as my own worst example.”

  “So I'm assuming you want the temple to train her.” Whitmire phrased it as a statement.

  “Yes, though it won't be easy. If things continue as they have she'll be nothing more than amoral, and devoid of human empathy. As it stands she currently sees men and her dealings with them in a very 'transactional' manner.” Timon was embarrassed.

  Father Whitmire frowned, “You as much as call her a whore.”

  “No! No, not yet, but I fear she's heading that way. Surely you can help her?” pleaded Timon.

  Thomas was uncomfortable, he never expected such an experienced man to show such vulnerability.

  “I'll do all that I can. We've been friends too long to do otherwise. Even if we weren't, I couldn't turn her away.”

  Timon reached out to clasp Father Whitmire's outstretched arm, “It won't be easy. She already thinks I've betrayed her by bringing her here. She must feel this is just one more example of being cast off.”

  ***

  Islana had been summoned to Grand Master Brevis' study. During their training exercises he was generally addressed simply as 'Sir Brevis', but his rank was quite a bit higher. It had taken a while before Islana understood the co-lateral hierarchy of the paladins. It worked out that he was in charge of not just the paladins at the temple in Port Weston, but also of the other chapter houses throughout the country.