by Mike Morris
"Do you swear to offer up your life in the protection of your brothers, for Abios and for God?"
"I do."
"Then arise Brother Marcus and take the collar."
Marcus stood and took the collar from the Abbot. He fastened it around his neck to cheers.
One by one, the others took their places before the Abbot. Each man repeated the same vows before donning the black collar. They all seemed changed somehow by the process, turning them instantly from children into men. Marcus caught Jack's eye and winked at him. Jack tried to imagine standing there, taking the collar, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t what he was supposed to do with his life.
By the time the boys had returned to the dormitory, Marcus and his fellow graduates' belongings had been removed. A new leader was promoted in his place from the next most senior group of students. Someone Jack didn't know. His friend had left him without saying goodbye.
16
708 PN
Jack took a step back, twisting his body slightly. He tightened the grip on the batons he held in each hand. His mouth went dry as he watched the three other students approach.
He had watched Glen spar once before and he was fast despite his bulk and relentless in his attack. He carried batons as well.
Peter carried a long staff and was a completely unknown quantity. He came from a class of older boys.
Jack knew his third opponent's style well, having fought together many times in the three years since they arrived at Whitehaven. Bryan angled his wooden practice sword toward his friend. A cheeky grin spread across his face. Bryan was always too eager to engage in combat, too keen to beat Jack. It made him sloppy and easy to read.
The three students moved carefully. Jack was one of Master Snow's best pupils and worthy of approaching with caution. Their numerical advantage was no guarantee of victory.
"Come on, Jack," shouted Brendan from the sidelines. Most of the students watched and a good number of teachers as well but Jack tuned out all of them, ignoring their cries.
Bryan came head on. Glen slunk to the left. Peter was happy to hang back as his weapon gave him greater reach. He didn't need to get too close to do some serious damage.
Jack calmed his breathing. They’d been taught three things won fights — skill, speed and aggression.
He had the skill. Endless hours under Master Snow and practicing on his own had honed his abilities. There wasn't a student in Whitehaven that he couldn’t beat, which was why he now faced three opponents. The only student perhaps better than Jack was his brother, Brendan. No one was faster.
Aggression meant taking the fight to your opponent. A man on the back foot, defending, was always at a disadvantage. If attacked, you had to press forward as if you were the original aggressor, moving quickly to give your opponent little time to react.
Time slowed and the fight began to play out in his mind. Everyone would expect him to take on Bryan first and avoid Glen's clubs for as long as possible. If they were using real weapons, a sharp blade was always the greater threat and had to be taken out of the equation as quickly as possible. But it would take Jack four moves to beat Bryan. Glen would have more than enough time to take advantage of the opportunity or give Peter an opportunity to strike from distance.
Jack circled to the right to prevent Glen from attacking from the side. He still wasn't keen on getting too close to Glen. Despite the muscle that Jack had developed, his opponent was twice his size and looked happy to pound Jack like a nail into wood.
Jack filled his lungs with air, imagining the air traveling throughout his body, feeding his muscles. He closed his eyes; saw the moves he had to make. One last readjustment of his feet. Opening his eyes, he bellowed a war cry. He ran toward Bryan. His friend swung his sword toward him. At the last possible moment, Jack dropped below the wooden blade. He slid past Bryan, straight at Peter. He was back onto his feet as Peter lifted his long staff up.
Jack spun around the staff, striking Peter in the nerve cluster in his shoulder. His opponent gave a cry of pain. Jack continued spinning, following through with a roundhouse kick. His left foot caught Peter in the jaw, sending him flying backwards.
Jack threw a baton at Bryan, surprising everyone. The weapon hit his friend right between the eyes. Bryan fell to the ground as Jack snatched up Peter's fallen long staff. Jack could see the shock in Glen's eyes. He smiled. So much for numerical advantage.
The two boys came together in a fury of blows. The long staff gave Jack the advantage. He swept in low, sweeping at Glen's feet with the staff. Glen managed to get a baton down to block the attack but overextended himself. Jack twisted the staff around, bringing it up towards Glen's upper body. Glen reacted quickly, blocking the staff once more but the effort threw his body off balance. As he struggled to right himself, Jack closed the gap.
Jack smashed his right knee into Glen's kidney again and again. With each blow, the fight went out of his opponent.
Jack stepped back as Glen wavered on his feet, paused for only a heartbeat before sweeping the boy's feet off the ground with the long staff. Glenn landed heavily and Jack stood alone, victorious. The crowd erupted in cheers as Jack raised his right hand in salute.
"I think you broke my nose," said Bryan, sitting upright. His hand covered his face and blood ran down his chin.
Jack reached down a hand to help his friend up. "I did you a favor. Your looks could do with improving. Just be faster next time."
"Wasn't expecting you to throw your bloody weapon at me. Who does that?"
"It worked, didn't it?" Jack put his arm around Bryan and they walked toward the others. Glenn held onto his stomach and Peter rubbed his jaw but both were smiling.
"Good fight, Jack," said Glenn. "Well won."
"Next time," promised Peter as he shook Jack's hand.
Jack bowed in return. "Of course."
Master Snow stood up from the bench. His voice cut through all the hubbub. "Congratulations to Jack. I'm happy to see someone has been paying attention in my classes." Jack's grin grew. Master Snow wasn't one to hand out praise so his victory meant all the more to him.
It was late in the evening when Jack made his way to his dormitory. As ever, his muscles ached from the bout and all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep. So finding Master Hicks talking to Brendan when he got there didn't make him happy.
Jack no longer struggled with reading and writing but he still harbored resentment toward the man about the way he taught his pupils. There were many occasions when Jack, after being hit in the head with a pebble, wanted to throw something back at Master Hicks.
He hovered in the doorway, not wanting to get drawn into conversation with them and just watched his brother and the teacher talk. As time passed, he became more frustrated at his routine being interrupted.
Finally, Master Hicks left, passing Jack without any comment.
"What did that old fool want?" Jack asked his brother.
"They're moving me, Thomas and a few others to another monastery," replied Brendan as he sat down on his bed.
"What?"
"Some place called Eastham. They've lost a lot of priests recently so the Order is sending men and older students from all over the country to bolster their numbers." Brendan looked up at his brother. "I'm going to be taking my vows within the next six months."
"I wonder when they're going to tell me? When are we leaving?"
"You're not coming with me. I asked Master Hicks and he said you were staying here."
"What? They can't do that!"
"Of course they can, little brother. They have."
"We've got to do something —— talk to someone. Stop you leaving. They can't split us up."
"It's the life we've chosen."
"We didn't choose this," shouted Jack. "We were sold into this life. Now they're selling you to some place else."
"Calm down. Everyone's watching."
"I don't care if they are. You're my brother. You promised to never leave me. You said we'd stay together." J
ack couldn't understand why Brendan was so calm about it all. Why wasn't he as angry as Jack was?
"You’re not a kid anymore. I watched you fight today. You knocked down three grown men. You don't need me looking out for you. You haven't for a long time now. It's not going to be the end of the world if we spend some time apart. Bryan's still here. Erik's still here." Brendan placed his hand on Jack's shoulder. "And I want to do this because God wants me to do this. This is the path He has shown us. It's the path we must walk."
Jack brushed his brother's arm off him. "Listen to yourself. You even talk like them now. It wasn't God who brought us here. It was a bloody Black Dog called Aidan and, if I ever see him again, I'll kill him!"
"You don't mean that."
"I do. If it wasn't for him, we'd still be in Brixteth."
"Doing what? Robbing houses? Trying to find money so we can eat? Scrambling to survive? We can actually do some good here. You saw the demon. Someone has to stop them."
"It doesn't have to be us."
"Then who’s it going to be?" Brendan asked his brother. "Shall we run away? What about Bryan? Thomas? Let them carry on without us? Leave our friends?"
"You’re leaving me. Why not the rest?" Jack turned and stormed out the dormitory. He was angry; it was hard for him to think. He had to get away from his brother and away from Whitehaven. He marched out of the main building toward the gardens, ignoring everyone he passed.
The sharp night air did little to cool his fury. He’d been a fool for staying in this place. He wasn’t going to be blinded by their indoctrination like his brother. He was going to be free.
A sliver of moon was scratched into the sky, casting little light but Jack knew the way. His legs took him to the Western wall without thinking. Tucked away in the rear of the garden, the South and West wall met. Time had worn plenty of cracks and bumps for Jack to climb up and over the wall. He stopped only to dig up an oilskin that he had buried years before. Wrapped up inside it were a cloak, fishing line and a hunting knife. The contents were all he needed to live off the land with skills taught to him by the Black Dogs until he reached Brixteth.
As he dropped to the ground on the other side of the wall, the air seemed fresher. He set off at a run as he allowed the anger to fuel his legs. He felt happier with every step further away from Whitehaven he took. If his brother was going to desert him, Jack was better off on his own. Without the walls around him, he could be his own person again.
17
708 PN
Jack had once guessed it would take ten days to walk back to Arbour from the monastery. In the end, it took him eight. Eight days out in the open and on his own for the first time in his life.
The first two days or so, he spent looking over his shoulder, expecting the Order to come after him, but no one did. If he was being honest with himself, he was disappointed they hadn’t. He spent ages working out what he’d say when the horses from Whitehaven did turn up, the argument he’d present as to why he was justified in leaving — that it hadn’t been because of a childish fit of anger. Trouble was, even he didn’t believe his own excuses. So instead he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and headed to Arbour.
He avoided farms and villages and other travelers. Best he went unnoticed, a shadow flitting past. Nor did he steal or beg food. He decided he’d rather go hungry than become a thief once more. Whatever waited for him in Arbour, he would arrive there a better man than the boy who left.
He wanted his mother to be proud of the man he’d become. He only hoped that she had done well, freed of the burden of two children, that she’d found a way to defeat her own demons without the worry of Jack and Brendan.
The skills the Order had taught served him well on the journey. Most days, he caught game and fish to eat, and made his bed in open fields with a roof made of stars or he settled down in woods, listening to foxes wander past. With time to himself, he saw beauty and wonder in the smallest things — dew coated a spider’s web so it glistened like jewels, the babble of a brook, the song of a robin. It was as if he were the only person in the world.
By the third day, he resumed practicing his fighting movements as if Master Snow watched. As the sun rose, he would begin. The world disappeared as he slipped from one pose to another. His worries vanished and he became one with his body. He didn’t have to think about the movements, his muscles knew what to do. When he was finished, he ate a light breakfast if he had food left over and then set off once more.
Eight days it took. Eight days until he saw Arbour once more.
The sky gave him the first clue he was close to home. The clear blue turned a hazy grey. The sweet air became bitter. A bubble of excitement grew inside as he walked to the top of a hill. He was nearly home.
And, when he reached the crest, he saw it. Arbour. He was shocked at the size of the place as it sprawled from one end of the horizon to the other. Trails of smoke wafted up into the air from the forest of chimneys and the light shimmered on the slate rooftops.
The Thyme cut through the heart of the city from the East, a coiling body of black water separating the North from the South. The river had been such a big deal when he was younger, a way of marking his territory from the others, separating the rich from the poor. He had hated anyone who lived north of the river when he was younger, but now he just saw homes and buildings. The distance made them look all the same. And there were so many of them. For years now, Whitehaven had been his home.Five hundred people lived there. Looking at Arbour now, he could imagine the whole world finding room to live there.
He had never realized so many people lived there. Seeing its entirety was overwhelming.
It took another full day of walking to reach the city. He joined the main road, full of traders taking livestock and produce to the various markets. Children ran squealing amongst the slow moving traffic, watched by their parents sitting above as they shouted back and forth between the wagons. Their only worries were the prices they could expect at market. God and the Nostros only came up as curse words or playful insults. Their naiveté about the world was refreshing after life in Whitehaven.
The road became more congested as buildings sprang on either side of the road. He weaved his way between the traffic, quickening his pace, eager to be swallowed up once more by the city.
By the time night fell, Jack was still miles from Brixteth. He sheltered under a bridge for the night but only snatched at sleep. He was too excited about returning home. He woke stiff and hungry but being so close to home gave him the energy. For once, he forgot his practice. He followed the river as it meandered eastward, scanning the banks for recognizable landmarks.
The stilt houses had become more plentiful in the three years he'd been away. The homes flowed into each other, fighting for every possible piece of available space. Washing lines crisscrossed their way from one end to the other, clothes flapped in the wind like poor men's flags. Beneath them, the Thyme looked more like mud than water but still people fished for their suppers.
The grey sky clung to the tops of the buildings as the streets became more familiar. He passed the old church but there was no sign of Father Heath. He saw Jerry's Bar where he had spent many a night waiting outside for his mother to finish work. He smiled at the corner of Wishing Street and Butcher's Street when he saw the old school had been converted into a pawnshop, a much better choice. They’d all laughed when a man had turned up in Brixteth one day with grand plans to educate all the children. Jack had no idea what a school was at the time but his mother told he wasn’t to bother with it. Probably would have saved him from a few stones on the head if she’d made him go. Maybe that man had a less painful way to teach kids how to read and write.
He craned his neck upwards as he wandered towards his old neighborhood. The slither of sky above had grown even thinner as new structures had grown on top of the old buildings. Wooden shacks spread across the rooftops, some looking more precarious than others.
In a way, it was strange being ba
ck. Like Jack walked through memories. Everything looked the same but different. Nothing was as big as he remembered but it had all grown so much more while he was away. Buildings had popped up on any bit of dirt or roof that would support them. People choked the streets and Jack felt himself simply carried along with the tide.
But some things never change. Mrs Waters' place was still there as was Big John, still arguing with Hamish over the stoop. Big John glanced over for a moment as Jack passed, then looked again. "All right Jack?" he asked as if it had only been yesterday since they’d last seen each other.
Jack waved back. "All good." And it was. He was back on his streets where people knew him and he knew them. He didn't need his brother or Whitehaven when he had Brixteth. He wondered what his mother’s face would be like when he turned up at their house. Would she recognize her son? Would he recognize her?
His old house was easy to spot at the end of the street. He was barely aware of climbing the stairs to the front door and stepping over the third step, as was his habit when younger. With anticipation building inside him, Jack pushed the door but it refused to move. He tried several more times before he accepted it was actually locked. Returning to the street, he walked around the corner of the building to enter through the hole in the wall, only to find that too was sealed up. He stepped back, scrutinizing the outside. The rest of the street was falling apart but his old house looked remarkably well kept. There were even new shutters over the windows.
"Can I help you with something?"
Jack turned to find a man, well-dressed and with a trimmed beard, standing by the corner of the building.
"I am looking for my mother. She lives in this building," Jack answered.
"No, she doesn't. I live here. On my own," replied the man.
Jack walked toward him. "There must be some mistake. Mary Frey. She's lived here for years. Maybe ten years."
"I'm sorry but not anymore. I bought the place two years ago. It’d been empty for months before that. Almost a ruin it was. I've been doing it up ever since."