“My parents sent no such word.” Sybille gazed at Nicolas, her eyes widening before looking back at the bandit. “And may I ask whose hand I have supposedly been given to?”
“The name is Sir Eustache of Rouen, at your service.” The man bowed to his sister and then rose to his full height, head and shoulders above Sybille. “Your parents were so relieved with the bag of gold I thrust into their hands, I doubt they stopped counting the pieces long enough to send you word.” He thrust the same vellum at her that he’d shown to Guillaume and Petior before they’d killed them. She didn’t reach and grasp it, her eyes looking to him fleetingly.
“Take it, here’s your proof.”
Sybille’s fingers shook as she read over the paper, her eyes growing large. She looked to Nicolas and Gui once more before turning back to the large knight.
The man walked away and turned his back on Sybille, looking at Nicolas and Gui. “How old are the brats?”
“The—brats—have names.”
Sir Eustache stomped back to her, anger tightening his shoulders before he grasped her face once more, pulling her close. Nicolas held his breath, the action reminding him of the times his father struck his mother. Nicolas screwed his eyes tight for a moment, but opened them a short time later when he heard no resounding slap. “I have no time for this. I asked a question, wench.”
“Felix here beside me is eight summers.” Sybille wrinkled her nose like he did when they had liver for their supper. “Gui is seven. Nicolas is six.”
“Ahh, perfect. I will put them to work with my men instead of fostering. I’ve already paid too much for you and this land, as is. Time for little boys to become men.”
“Can I have the youngest to foster?” asked the boy behind Nicolas.
“You are still but a squire yourself. What do you know of fostering?”
“He’s too young to do much yet, and he’ll be underfoot, a bother to you. Let him help me with my work to give him strength and understand what will be expected of him. I’ll be responsible for him until he grows a bit older.” The squire glanced at Nicolas, and there was something in his gaze that told Nicolas he would be kind to him, kinder than the other men there.
Sir Eustache stared at the squire long and hard before speaking. “You are wise beyond your years, Matthias. Fine, take the runt under your care for now and keep him out of my way. Claude, figure out who will take the other two.” Sir Eustache dragged Sybille to him. “As for me, I think I shall acquaint myself with my bride to be.”
Nicolas watched as Sir Eustache dragged Sybille into the keep, the men surrounding them laughing. Nicolas wanted to cry, even more so when he saw fat, wet tears sliding down her face, but he held them back. He looked up to Matthias, unsure what would come next.
“Do you know how to care for horses?” Matthias asked softly.
“We sold our horses a long time ago. They had soft tails. All we had left were two asses. Their tails were rough.”
“Follow me. We will take the horses into the stables and find them homes, then unsaddle and brush them.”
Happiness suddenly filled Nicolas, some of the fear washing away with the prospect of helping with the horses. Perhaps he would be allowed to ride one of the strong animals. “I like horses.”
“You do? Well quite soon, you will not like them so much, not after you have had to shovel their dung all day. But you must learn to care for the animals that serve us.”
Nicolas did not care for that idea very much, but another thought entered his mind. “Will you show me how to fight with a sword?”
Matthias smiled. “Let’s worry about the horses and maybe then we can teach you a little swordplay.”
Nicolas smiled, his day much improved now that he wasn’t facing death at Sir Eustache’s hands, until he thought of Sybille once more. “Will Sir Eustache hurt my sister?”
“Not if she does not fight him.”
****
Constantinople, 1307 AD
Matthias heard his brother-in-arms fighting close to him in the crowd, the clash of his steel and his deep guttural roar undeniable. They’d gotten separated somehow. Moments before, they’d been back to back, facing down the overwhelming odds together. Ten to two was not a good set of odds, especially against the Turks. The Turks fought with much vengeance, although they were less organized after the fall of Constantinople.
What they lacked in organization, they more than made up for with pure, raw anger. Crusaders were scorned as they moved through their city on their way back and forth from Jerusalem, which was why Matthias and Nicolas were there. They were traveling to meet a French family of noble birth and escort them back to Paris. They were late, coming into the Ottoman city after nightfall, which was not a good idea, but had they remained on the fringes of Constantinople, they could have faced worse foes. Bandits and raiders circled the edges, looking for easy prey. Matthias and Nicolas were not easy prey, but if outnumbered as they were now, it would be up to fate as to who won and who lost. Perhaps they should have stayed in the fringes and hoped they found luck there, instead of assuming the city would be safer.
Matthias struck one of the men in the gut with his sword, piercing the throat of another with his small blade. His mind was on automatic, his body honed to be the killing machine he’d become through years of training. He took no pride in what he did; he was an instrument of the Catholic Church, a dealer of death to protect the innocent, a means to an end, just as he’d been a killer for Eustache until the man had underestimated him one day. There was no failing in his path; he would eradicate any obstacles to his end purpose. There was a fine French family awaiting his protection. He didn’t care how many Turks he’d have to kill to get there.
Nicolas was one of those innocents. Yes, he was a Templar as well and fully trained to fight off their enemies, just as Matthias was, and Nicolas had killed his share. Matthias had spent years honing Nicolas to be a strong fighter, but there still lay something softer inside the younger man. He was not as strong a fighter as Matthias, nor would he ever be, as Nicolas could not turn the switch off in his mind and become the thoughtless killer Matthias could. Matthias had spent the years carrying the larger load, hoping Nicolas would never become what he was. Death incarnate.
Matthias pushed down the fear that rose in his belly, knowing it would become a liability if he allowed it. Nicolas had fought many a battle, and if this was the day he would meet his maker, then so be it. A blade in his hand, the sun settling down over his body, the Lord above smiling down on them as they fought for the name of all Christendom, this was the way a Templar Knight was meant to face his end.
Even as the thought crossed Matthias’ mind, he knew it to be a lie. Nicolas was more than a friend, more than a brother. Matthias wasn’t ready to say goodbye, nor would he ever. Nicolas might have been more a lover than a fighter, but he balanced Matthias. He was the light to his darkness, and Matthias was bound and determined to keep it that way. Fear spiked a bit more, and his sword swirled through the air, ripping through the necks of two more of the Turks. The heathens might be ruthless and hardy, but no fighter was more ruthless and bloodthirsty than Matthias.
The last standing of his five stared at him, fear beginning to shine in the Turk’s gaze. “You are a white devil,” he spat, his words deeply accented from his native language.
A smile twisted Matthias’ lips. “You have not seen me at my best yet, Turk.”
The man barely had time to run before Matthias’ blade sunk deep into his chest. Matthias wasted no time, pulling the blade out and jumping in to fight the two left standing around Nicolas. His friend had felled three, but was showing signs of fatigue. Matthias caught the first unaware, slicing through his throat as he awaited his chance to sink his blade into Nicolas.
The final Turk suddenly realized he was the lone survivor. He spun in a circle, gazing at his fallen comrades. He then looked to Nicolas and Matthias, his eyes wide, the whites glowing brightly against the light brown of his skin. The bonfires
surrounding them glistened in his stare as he watched them intently.
“You knights have killed too many of my people.”
“We had no fight with you tonight. You brought it on yourselves. We only sought safe passage.” Nicolas stood tall, his stance still wide and ready to pounce.
“You kill our people. You take our cities. You stroll through like kings, and we are to simply let you pass?”
Matthias saw the uneasiness settle across Nicolas’ face. Stories of what some of the Templars and other orders had done to some of these people held truth in them. They both knew there was corruption within their group, but they had no proof. There was little they could do but stand tall and not compromise their vows.
“We had no fight with you. You could have just let us pass. We had to protect ourselves.”
“We avenge our fathers and brothers. Our mothers and sisters. Our pride and our respect. We avenge that which you have taken from us.” The Turk lifted his sword, a maniacal glow lighting his gaze as he began to run in their direction. Matthias lifted his sword and turned to see Nicolas at ease. He wasn’t raising his arms to protect himself.
“Fight, damn you. Raise your weapon.”
“I have no fight with him.”
Matthias pushed in front of Nicolas, sliding his sword deep into the Turk’s chest. He held the man close, the propulsion of his run pushing him even deeper onto the blade.
“We will have vengeance on you both …”
Matthias yanked his weapon from the man and laid his dying body on the ground at their feet. He wiped the blood from his blade on his under tunic and then placed it back in the sheath, anger riding through his body. He wasn’t angry with the Turk; he was angry with the man still standing quietly behind him. “Were you going to let him kill you?”
“He would have stopped. If I did not raise my arms, he would have stopped.”
Matthias whirled around to face his friend. “No! No, he would not have. He would have cut you down, and then I would have had to kill him to protect myself. Instead of one dead, there would have been two.”
“At some point, someone has to stand up and stop this insanity.”
“And you think you are the man to do it? The world is as it is. Fighting and dying, it is the only thing men know how to do.”
“So we just accept that and do not try to change it?”
“There is no changing it. You either fight or you die.”
“I cannot accept that. There has to be a breaking point. People should not have to live in fear. They should not live for vengeance. They should not die for it, either.”
“You have seen enough of death and dying in your short life, yet you strain to ignore the truth.”
“I do not ignore it. I just don’t accept this is the only way. We took vows to strive for peace. There has to be a way to find it, to stand up to death and say not today.”
“You cannot stand up to death. It will come for us both eventually. It is the way of this world. Open your eyes or die with it.”
A movement caught Matthias’ eye, and he spun on his heel, his weapon ready. Shock floored him as he watched one of the men he’d killed rise from the ground, staggering as he moved. Matthias might have fought for the church, but he was not a deeply religious man, especially with what he had seen over the years. He made the sign of the cross over his chest as he watched another of the men awaken from death’s slumber.
“What witchcraft is this?” he heard Nicolas whisper from his right.
Matthias didn’t wait to answer, but rushed in with his sword raised, hoping the night wouldn’t be the end of them both. The battle began again, slowly at first as man after man rose from the ground. He was weary, and his arms felt wobbly, barely able to lift his sword once more. After what felt like hours of battle, Matthias realized the two men he’d beheaded never rose again.
“Nicolas! Cut off their heads.” Matthias punctuated his point by severing the head of the man before him, the thing falling to the ground with a thick plop. He struck them down, one by one, slicing through their necks.
Once it was over, Nicolas stood with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. “What was that?”
A form materialized before them, bathed in white light, and a female stepped from the illumination. Matthias squared his shoulders and his feet, raising his sword before him.
“Matthias, drop your sword.” The woman’s voice echoed in his mind, yet her lips never moved.
“Mary?” Matthias dropped to one knee, planting his sword in the ground before him. Nicolas did the same, he vaguely noted.
“No, I am not your Mary. I am Gaia, and I am here to save you.”
Chapter Two
Present Day
Britt Van Drees ran into her patient’s room, machines screaming around her. In the day’s chaos, Britt had forgotten to turn off the sound. There was no point letting a dying woman hear the slowing of her own heart, since it would only cause more anguish. The elderly woman in the bed had been brought in from the nursing home just an hour earlier, her heart slowly failing. Britt had been doing everything they could to make her hold on until her family could arrive, but they were still over two hours away, having been vacationing when they got the call. Britt had been working feverously to make sure the woman got the opportunity to say goodbye, checking in on her a little more than she did the rest, even with their overwhelming night.
And now the woman was coding, and there was no one at her side. No one should ever die alone.
Britt looked to her quad partner, Joanne. “Go see who’s available; we need to get her stable.”
“That bus accident has them all busy. I doubt anyone has a free set of hands.”
“There has to be someone. Go!”
Joanne ran from the room, just as her patient reached out and grasped her arm. The woman’s eyes begged her for help as her lips moved soundlessly, the words she wanted to say dying before they rose from her mouth. Even without the declaration, Britt knew the woman wanted her family by her side, to not be alone, not now, when she needed them most.
Britt observed the screens and knew she had to get the woman calm. “Beverly, save your strength. They’re coming.”
As she scrutinized Beverly’s heart rate on the machines, she knew the woman had little time left, especially if the doctors were tied up. Britt punched the screen to get the sound to stop, knowing she had to sooth the dying woman. Death was knocking on the door, and it wouldn’t give in until it got its due.
“I can’t pull anyone. We’re understaffed and overfilled.”
Britt didn’t turn as she heard Joanne’s voice, her gaze frozen to Beverly’s cataract-filled stare. Fear shone bright in the elderly woman’s eyes, made brighter by the incandescent lights above the bed. That fear spoke to Britt. Her parents had been alone when they died, and she would have done anything to have the opportunity to change the past. She might not have the chance to do that, but she could make it right for this woman. It made her realize what she needed to do.
“Jo, there has to be someone. Go to the second or third floor if you have to. Don’t come back here unless you have a doctor in tow.”
Britt listened to Joanne’s footsteps padding away and once she was gone, Britt stood up straight and began to hum lowly. She moved her hands, allowing them to hover just over Beverly’s chest, circling the area as she searched for the root of the problem. Light began to pour from a spot near Beverly’s heart. The muscle was weakening and about to simply give out. Beverly didn’t have two hours left.
Britt massaged the muscle and gave the woman a burst of energy, soft light filling the room. Within a few minutes Beverly was resting comfortably.
“What … what was that?”
There was no way to explain what had just happened without jeopardizing her safety. If anyone realized what she was capable of, she could be in danger. She’d had nightmares of being tested and even dissected to find the source of her power. Britt had no idea how she was able to do wh
at she did, and she wasn’t worried too much about what it was. She was able to help people, and nothing else mattered.
“Your family should be here soon.”
Beverly quieted and settled into the bed. “Are you my guardian angel?”
Britt smiled inwardly. “I’ve been called worse.”
Beverly smiled. “I’ll be able to say goodbye?”
“I think so.”
Beverly grasped Britt’s hand with her two wizened ones and brought it to her lips, dropping a kiss to the back. Beverly opened her eyes, tears rimming them. “Thank you.”
Britt smiled, trying to keep her own tears at bay. Working in her field was hard on the soul. She’d seen too much death over the years, and she’d tried to build a wall around herself. Yet it was impossible for her not to be touched with the emotion that ran deep inside the walls of the hospital. Death was a part of life and was deserving of the emotions that surrounded it, not a cold façade of indifference.
Her power had directed her to this career path. She was a healer.
Dropping a kiss to Beverly’s forehead, she then settled into the seat beside her. She gathered the woman’s hands in hers. “Rest now. I’ll awaken you as soon as they get here.”
“How can I say no to my angel?”
****
The full moon hung heavy in the sky, so low it illuminated the night, nearly blanking out the stars surrounding it. Nicolas DeSaint stood at the edge of the tree line watching men loading crates from one SUV into the next, all of them silent as death. The three worked in tandem, a well-oiled machine, obviously familiar with what they were doing. The only sound made was the wooden boxes hitting the inside floor of their cargo van as they were pushed inside, that and the distant hooting of an owl echoing across the blackened emptiness of night.
Matthias nudged him from the side, and as Nicolas turned to look at where his friend was pointing, he saw two small ovals of light heralding another car approaching. Both he and Matthias stepped back into the woods a bit to prevent the headlights from giving away their location, not ready for their presence to be noticed. As the car rounded the last twist that would bring them high atop the mountain, the lights splashed across both of them, kept hidden by the thick stalks of evergreen branches tattooed on their dark pullovers, until they were plunged into darkness once more.
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