Out of the Faold (Whilst Old Legends Fade Synchronicles)

by Laura Abudo

  “Can I help you, Brothers?” he asked with a polite grin. He had no use for the Sanctuary or its followers but to have three at the door of one of his dice houses sharpened his curiosity. Were they now traveling in packs to pander to the downtrodden?

  “They are snatching me!” Pearl yelled in accusation.

  “Child,” Tucker cooed. “I’ve told you before, you have a place with us anytime you choose. A warm bed, plenty of food, friends all the time. We can take you in.”

  “Madam,” one of the Brothers pleaded to the woman, while he stepped forward. “She was marked at birth. She is to be a Sister. It is time.”

  “A Sister?” the woman remarked a little too loudly. Then quieter to Pearl she said, “A Sister?”

  “Now, listen gentlemen,” Tucker interrupted, “This dricken street rat has no business going off with you getting ideas about being a Sister. She has had no upbringing, sleeps with dogs, can’t find her way to a washbasin and will do better with us than locked up in a hole in the ground for years.”

  The woman’s face blazed red as she twirled to face him. “You think life is so fantastic working for you?” she screamed. “Spreading my legs to drick any ruffian or thief you send my way at all hours, getting sick, doing away with the unborn, all for a few coins? I can’t hold my head high. You have ruined my life but you won’t destroy this sweet girl.”

  With that she pushed Pearl toward the closest Brother and bent down to say to her, “They will not be unkind. You go be a Sister. You don’t deserve a life like this.”

  Pearl nodded sadly but understood. There was only so much time before Tucker would snatch her off the street and she’d be forced to do his bidding. She’d seen it before. Even now he shoved the woman into the street like a discarded rag and slammed the door. They waved good-bye. Pearl quietly followed the Brothers back through the city to the Sanctuary.

  Chapter 2

  The Lady Brother

  The horses trotted along the road, eighteen of them. Sixteen were manned and two were used to haul gear. At the front rode the commander of the unit and his sergeant, still tall and straight-backed after long hours in the saddle. The men behind did their best to follow suit but were tired and it showed in their postures. The sun was descending into the sky ahead causing an orange glow to bathe them and the hillside.

  Their uniforms were black. The leather chest armor had scalloped plates with silver fastenings, more decorative than practical. They wore black leather short coats over tan linen shirts, and soft black leather riding trousers. A variety of weapons was carried, though they had all been issued the Marshall hatchets, a sharp blade on one side with a thick rectangular head on the other. Only the Captain had the single weapon, others used bows, short swords, knives as well.

  The Captain lifted his arm to signal a stop. Trees on their left had petered off to a clearing close to the point where the road forked, one direction going to the city and the other to farmlands and villages nearby. They set up camp off the road, erecting lean-to tents, fire pits were dug, and horses were tended to then the men settled down to sit on their bedrolls as the night sky turned dark.

  The Captain sought out his sergeant’s focus as soon as they heard voices singing further along the west road. Horses’ hooves and the rumble of wagon wheels told them that the city had probably sent provisions. His men would be grateful, though he wasn’t quite sure he wanted them to be ‘provisioned’ quite yet as they were still on duty. Only when they reached the Keep of Brynntown and reported to the Duke could they have time to rest.

  Tucker’s man in the lead seemed unimpressed by the number of men before him. A small unit of cavalry wouldn’t fill his boss’s pockets, though his girls might get some coin from them. His dice throwers and brew man probably wouldn’t break even. It was much more profitable to stay at home for the regular clientele. Oh well, he sighed, as he resigned himself to a night of campfire and sleeping in the bed of his wagon.

  The Captain, Amias Natan Filbar Doran stood as the wagon approached. The driver tipped his hat in greeting at Doran as he reigned in the horses. One of the ladies in the back of the wagon waved at his men with a big grin then leaned close to say something to the other sitting next to her. The two of them would be very busy that evening if their driver had anything to say about it.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Captain,” the man called out in apology. “Mister Tucker sent me to enquire if you needed supplies? It’s a half day ride still to Brynntown. Would you care for a hot cooked meal by the ladies?”

  The sergeant, Kel, glanced at Amias then at the driver again. They hadn’t had a real meal in four days, though he doubted the ladies would be able to produce much on a campfire when their interests lay elsewhere.

  When that offer was not jumped on, the man suggested, “I have a keg of ale back there, a nice strong black brew.”

  Amias Doran approached the man and beckoned him down from the wagon. The ladies accepted that as their own invitation so alighted and made their way, with smiles for all, to the men’s campfires to share a seat with some lonely soldier.

  “Generous though your offer may be we have not completed the task we were set until we reach Brynntown. Tomorrow they will be off duty.”

  “Understood, Captain,” the man nodded with a partial salute. He leaned in close and added, “So it’s a quiet night, a small taste of ale, a few tosses of the dice, and the ladies are discreet?”

  After a long pause Amias gave a quick bow to his head then returned to his fireside to ignore the rest of his men for the evening. What they kept quiet and in the dark he didn’t want to know about. They were not a carousing bunch, he’d made sure everyone knew his expectations while on the road. He refused to have his men leave a town with a poor reputation for whoring and drinking. They were King’s representatives, on or off their horses, in or out of uniform. He was, however a man, and understood the needs of his men. He turned a respectful blind eye to quiet infrequent encounters and a mug or two of ale.

  The sun had finally set completely. The road was black as pitch in all directions beyond the glow of their camp. Pat, one of his scouts, stood slowly with his knife in hand. He signaled silently to his partner who lowered his mug from his lips. Both disappeared into the darkness. Captain Doran sat completely still; the only sounds were soft crackles from his fire.

  The wagon driver noticed. With alarm on his face he asked, “What the drick?”

  But then they both heard it. Hooves on the road. The horse walked. It was too dangerous to travel faster on the road in complete darkness. No one would be fool enough to try to make any ground after dark. The Captain, not looking forward to dragging a thief in custody all the way to Brynntown, sighed. His men would find the ruffian and take him in. He told himself to make a note in his report that the local guard patrols were lacking on this road.

  Soon his men returned from the road to the east, leading a figure on horseback. To the Captain’s surprise it wasn’t a ruffian or thief at all, but one covered in the grey robes of a Brother of the Faold. The rider appeared exhausted, kicking his leg over the horse’s rump with effort to get down. His feet hit the ground unsteadily.

  “Brother, what is it you do on this road in the night?” he asked.

  “Thank you,” was all the Brother replied in a near whisper when one of his men took the reins of his horse to tend it with the others. He stood apart almost as though not sure if he was welcome.

  “Please, join us, Brother,” the Captain told him, offering a spot at his own fire. “Brynntown is still half a day ride. You might as well stay with us tonight.”

  The Brother’s shoulders dropped noticeably. Another half day. How? So far off.

  The hood on the robes was pulled back exposing a head of smooth dark brown hair pulled back into a loose bun, pretty blue eyes and soft skin of none other than a young woman.

  The Captain stared openly at this brazen woman impersonating a Brother. If he’d had any sense at all he should arrest her.


  “Holy Drick,” the wagon driver muttered.

  “Sir!” the Captain barked at him.

  “Sorry,” the man apologized to the Brother and then the Captain.

  “Sister? B-b-brother?”

  “Brother,” she insisted. “Thank you for your hospitality. I had arrived later than I expected. I will tell the Brothers of your kindness and offer up prayer for you.”

  “You understand,” he remarked, looking to his sergeant for support. “As a Marshall of his Majesty’s fine army I must request credentials to confirm who you claim to be.”

  “Of course,” she replied, reaching into the saddlebag his man had brought her. “I am Brother Karl Nott Treen Crenville. First name Karl, Nott is the region of my home Sanctuary, Treen was the Brother who declared me, Crenville is where I am now stationed.” She handed the rolled paper to him.

  Captain Doran stood facing her tilting the open scroll toward the fire so he could read it. There it was in ink on paper. Brother Karl Nott Treen Crenville, female, traveling from Crenville to Brynntown, official business for the order, etc. Stamped. Official. She was a Brother.

  The Lady Brother studied the man before her. His dark hair hung in his eyes almost reaching the collar on his coat. His commander would order him to a barber upon arrival. His chin hadn’t been scraped bare in several days but it looked good on him. She couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes in the firelight but the shadows of the night gave him a pleasing chiseled look. He was thick like he was used to hard work but held himself with the confidence of a nobleman. He glanced at her over the paper then handed it back. She was glad he couldn’t see her blush at being caught staring.

  “Brother Karl has joined our camp,” he announced to the others. “We have an early morning. Please settle in.”

  “They don’t need to on my account,” Brother Karl told him. “I will be asleep in mere moments I am so tired.”

  A woman’s giggle drifted to them from the dark. He lifted an eyebrow toward her then apologetically winced. To the camp he barked, “That’s everyone or you can pack it up right now.”

  Brother Karl smirked then pulled the tie from her hair, letting the bun fall loosely about her shoulders. Her arm would have to do for a pillow, her cloak made a good warm blanket.

  Amias sat back watching the long-haired, pretty Brother set up a sleeping spot next to his bedroll. He wondered how this woman could ever have been made a Brother. It was unheard of. Why was she not a Sister? Why was she on this road after dark?

  The campfire threw bright orange streaks through her hair and the dark grey robes she wore couldn’t camouflage the rise of her hip as she lay down. With a last glance at him she turned over to face away from the campfire. Soon, Amias recognized the even breathing of sleep.

  His sergeant tossed a stick into the fire and commented, “I hope the Brother doesn’t snore.”

  Amias snorted a chuckle then nodded at the wagon driver as he stood to go sleep in the back of his cart. Tucker’s girls had found warm beds of their own. The dice throwers had to fend for themselves.

  He stretched as he stood cracks and pops issuing from his sore back and shoulders. Tomorrow he’d be in a real bed. Tomorrow he’d be off this horse and his first task would be to order a huge tub of hot water be brought to his room to scald off the grime of the road. He hoped their next orders would keep them grounded for a time. It had taken his men almost seven months to tour the country meeting with the county lords, visiting each city, even making a presence with large rural landowners. His father Lord Stevan Kig Shon Doran, had been commissioned by the King to create a security force that would examine, then report to the King himself, the state of the military and country defenses. Seven months. Their journey was almost at an end.

  He drifted off to sleep thinking of a hot tub of water as the campfire light flickered against the back and hair of the sleeping Brother next to him.

  Early morning brought a drizzling mist over the camp. Amias shivered himself awake and yawned, wiping the water off his face and thick stubble. The men around him stirred, shaking out their blankets to roll them for travel.

  She was gone. The spot next to him was empty, damp with rain as though she’d never been there. He looked over to the line of horses tied to trees but hers was gone. Well, he mused, having a female Brother in their midst was probably more trouble than they could want, so good riddance.

  In just a few hours he’d be warm with a hot meal in his gut. That was the most important thing to him at that moment.

  Chapter 3

  The Girls Meet the Brother

  Three girls stood facing the Brother who entered the Gardens from a small door to the back. He studied them for long moments.

  “Name?” he asked the dark haired, tall, slender girl in navy blue trousers and brown shirt. Her hair was tied back with a strip of the same fabric as her shirt. Her hands were clean. She had intelligent eyes, studying him as intently as he watched her.

  “Krisa Tei Riva Sunn.”

  “The scribe’s daughter.”

  “Yes, Brother.”

  “You can add figures? Read?” he demanded expecting no less from the daughter of an educated man.

  “Yes, Brother.”

  “And you?” he asked the girl in a green dress with lace trim at the collar and wrists with shiny buttons down the front. Her fair hair appeared perfectly curled; she even had pink cheeks like she’d been pinched.

  “Glory Beca Filomen Strenn,” she beamed at the Brother. “I’ve had some tutoring in reading, mostly children’s tales but not in adding figures,” she added in derision like it was an abomination.

  The Brother switched his attention to the third child, leaving Glory feeling like her interview was incomplete. The next girl’s dirty hair was cropped short, un-evenly. She was filthy. Her clothes hung on her, trousers that were too short, a man’s work shirt with the arms cut to length. Thread-bare shoes protected her feet from very little.

  “Pearl,” she told him, before he asked. Glory stared at her. “I don’t add figures or read.”

  He nodded at them all then turned back toward the door he’d come from. “Please wait here.” And he left.

  The three girls looked at each other. Pearl sat down on the ground to wait, Glory balked at the idea of sitting on anything but a chair in her dress. It would easily get soiled. Krisa strolled around the garden then disappeared from sight. Glory peered through the flowering trees and bushes trying to see where she’d gone but gave up, finally resolving to stand there waiting alone with Pearl.

  The Gardens were contained in a large rectangular courtyard lined with plain square columns. Overhanging balconies attached to rooms above created a covered walkway around the perimeter of the gardens. It had been built open-aired but an elevated roof had later been erected, giving shelter to the devotees yet allowing fresh air to circulate and sunlight to poor in through its many windows. It was like a cap on stilts sitting over the gardens.

  There were doors off the walkway, from which now emerged another Brother with his hood pulled up. He was shorter than the one who had left, his arms folded against his belly so he looked squatter. Glory stood waiting to be addressed and Pearl still sat, picking at a scab on her shin. She looked at the Brother then resumed picking. Krisa was not to be seen.

  The Brother faced the two girls for long moments then lowered the hood. Both were surprised to find a woman with brown hair tied back. She had a pleasant face and the smallest smile at the corner of her mouth, almost as though she took pleasure in surprising them.

  “I thought there were three of you,” she said softly. She watched Pearl, who now had stopped her grooming to stare at the female Brother.

  “You aren’t a Brother,” Pearl accused jumping to her feet. Glory stared at the other girl wide-eyed in shock at her tone.

  “I am Brother Karl,” the woman told them. Her eyes scanned the gardens carefully as she spoke. “I’ve come to help you get started on your journey to be a Sister.”

&n
bsp; “But you aren’t a Sister. You don’t wear an ugly yellow robe.”

  “You are right,” Karl told Pearl. “I am not a Sister for precisely that reason. I can’t stand those robes.”

  Glory allowed herself a giggle behind a cupped hand. Pearl still stared at Karl squinting in disbelief and a little miffed this woman thought her foolish enough that she would believe that story.

  “So you are a Sister who wears Brothers robes?”

  “No, I am a Brother.”

  “Why?” Pearl demanded. “You can’t be.”

  Karl didn’t reply but left the statement as it was. She heard a soft sound behind her like a cat had jumped from a high table landing softly on the floor. She turned to find another child emerge from the shadows of the walkway. She was very plain, slender and looked at Karl with eyes that seemed to peer into her. Karl smiled at her and nodded a welcome.

  “The Brothers and Sisters here have welcomed us in this Sanctuary. In a few days we’ll be leaving to travel north to a retreat where you will begin your studies. I’ve asked the Sisters to prepare clothing and supplies for us. If there is anything personal you’d like to bring please bring it to me and we will try to make room.”

  Glory’s face had gone terribly pale against her soft green dress. She looked frightened for the first time. Krisa stared into the distance of the gardens and Pearl tilted her head at Karl with an unasked question.

  But it was Krisa who had spoken. “We will be gone long?”

  “Until you are ordained,” Brother Karl replied. “Then you will be stationed at a needy Sanctuary.”

  “But…” Glory started, now visibly shaken. “Mama and my sisters. They are coming to see me next week. I am to visit at holidays.”

  “I’m sorry but you will be gone by then. We are traveling far.”

  The girl began to sob quietly. Pearl watched her, though offered no comfort. Krisa seemed to disappear behind a tree but would emerge again several steps away then walk away, moving around the garden in thought.