by Aaron Bunce
El’bryliz tumbled forward. He caught his weight with his hands, but the force was too great and he landed face first in the snow. He heard someone walk up to them, feet crunching in the snow.
“Oi, Father. You alright? I sawed them attack you, yes, I did. Where’d the other one run off to?” Agatha asked.
El’bryliz picked his head up, just as the priest bent over and picked up something long out of the snow. The rolling pin, he realized as the old man walked over to him.
“If it’d please you, I can run and fetch the Silver, Father?” Agatha asked.
El’bryliz caught her eye. “Run…” he started to say, but everything tilted violently and pain exploded from the back of his head, moving into every thought and notion. He tried to pick up his head, to brush aside the confusion, but it felt insurmountable.
“Oi, piss and shit. What’d he mean? You aiming to kill ‘im?” Agatha asked, her voice warbling noticeably.
El’bryliz managed to lift his face out of the snow, but only just, as he rolled over onto his side. Hot liquid tickled his scalp and ran down the back of his head. He saw Father Pallum and Agatha, but there was so much snow in his eyes, everything was blurry.
“What’s that? Is that a knife? Where’d you get a…” the maid said, growing suddenly hysterical. “No! Wait! Stay back!”
The maid growled and whined, struggling against the old man, but then her cries were cut off.
“Oh! Oh!” she breathed, punctuated by the sound of a blade punching into her flesh. She moaned and sobbed weakly.
El’bryliz blinked to clear his eyes, but even that movement felt excruciating. Agatha’s blurry form fell to the snow several paces away, twitching and flopping spastically. He managed to lift his hand and drug it across his face, wiping some of the snow away.
His vision cleared a bit, just in time to lock eyes with the surly kitchen maid. She lay doubled over, her hands clutching to her blood soaked apron. Her mouth opened wide, her teeth coated in thick, dark blood. She exhaled, her breath dying in a wet gargle.
El’bryliz’s vision dimmed as the pain behind his eyes intensified. It felt like someone pulled his head open and dropped hot coals inside. He was faintly aware of someone grabbing him under the arms, and then he was lifted off of the ground. The world shifted, he saw snow, and then the rock wall beyond the garden, before everything went black.
Chapter 23
Secrets
Luca tilted the bowl, scooping the last of the stew hungrily into his mouth. He pulled his piece of bread apart and wiped out the remnants, devouring each and every bite before pushing the bowl and saucer away.
He looked around the small dining hall. Several clerics clustered together, eating and talking, but other than that, the room was empty. A box sat on the table before him, a number of stubby candles sticking out the top. They were held in place by several handfuls of translucent, colored stones.
He thought about the strange woman at the waterside market, but mostly, her ghostly eyes. It wasn’t just that they were devoid of color. It was something deeper, a feeling he got when she was looking at him. He got the feeling that she saw more of him than the other people. Perhaps more than a normal person ought to.
She can help me. Or she knows someone who can. But why wouldn’t she want Father Thurstan to know? Luca pondered, frustrated by his inability to answer even the simplest of questions.
He felt lost. More than lost, he felt completely empty and alone, even when surrounded by people. He had a family out there somewhere, a family looking for him and missing him. He needed to find them, but first, he needed to find where he hid his memories.
A shadow fell over him, and the candles flickered, dancing and throwing soot into the air. Father Thurstan slid into the bench across from him.
“Good day and blessings, Luca!” the young priest said cheerfully.
“Blessing, Father,” Luca said, his grin stretching almost from ear to ear.
“Where can we walk today? The docks, midtown, or, maybe you fancy testing your legs uptown?”
Luca looked to the ceiling, his mind working quickly. “Uh, I don’t feel up to that much today. I think I’ll just walk around the Chapterhouse today. Maybe watch the ships, or feed the birds.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been getting better every day. Walking better, and further!” Father Thurstan asked, his large brown eyes reflecting the candlelight.
“I know. I think I just need a day to rest a bit,” Luca said.
In all honesty, getting around hadn’t gotten any easier. It still hurt him to get out of bed, and even more to walk, but he didn’t want to dash the young priest’s hopes. After all, he spent almost all of his time helping Luca get around. It didn’t seem fair.
“Of course, I don’t want you to overdo it!” Father Thurstan said, reaching over and patting Luca’s hands.
“Might I have a copper?” Luca asked sheepishly. “I want to get some stale bread from Theda’s bakery, to feed to the birds.”
Father Thurstan smiled, “Theda hands out stale bread for free. You don’t need to pay for it…wait a minute. This copper wouldn’t be for one of her fantastic blackberry sweet rolls? Would it?”
Luca smiled guiltily. “They are my favorite.”
“You’re eating so much better lately. A happy belly is a healthy boy. Why not?” Father Thurstan said, fishing a small coin bag out of his robes and dropping a single copper tribute onto the table.
“You’re sure I can’t tag along?” the priest asked.
Luca nodded. “It’s a short walk. I like the quiet…just me and the birds. Sometimes I think bits and pieces come back in the quiet, or almost anyways.”
Father Thurstan smiled, leaning over to tousle Luca’s hair. “That’s the spirit, Luca. I’ll be in the sanctuary if you need me. And please, be careful. It’s cold out there!”
“I promise!” Luca said, and the young priest left.
He felt guilty for lying, but he also knew that it was for the best, for both of them. A serving maid swept through the dining hall as he stood.
“Ya’ll finished, hon?” she asked, her plump cheeks rosy.
“Yes, thank you, Emma. Stew was really good today,” Luca said, heaving his arm into his coat.
“Thanks, sweetie!” Emma said, throwing Luca a wink and causing warmth to flush over his face.
“You going out for a walk?” she asked, picking the dishes off the table.
Luca nodded, self-conscious of his reddening cheeks and neck. “I’m gonna feed the birds.”
“Ah. That sounds like fun. Maybe sometime you’d let me tag along, sweetie?” Emma asked, her bright blue eyes sparkling.
“Okay,” Luca said, reddening further.
“Have fun! But you take care. It snowed last night,” Emma said, lifting an eyebrow his way before sweeping off, her arms loaded full of dishes.
Yes, the snow. The next snow, he thought, reminding himself that it was time to see the old woman in the market.
Luca pulled on his hat and his mittens before sticking his crutch into the crook of his arm and hobbling out of the dining room. He limped out through the main hall, and then the sanctuary, his steps punctuated by the hollow thud of his crutch.
The air was cold, and the wind strong. It seemed to always roar off the lake. Luca wound his scarf around his neck one last time before tucking it into his coat. He adjusted his crutch, wincing from the ache in both of his legs, but took a deep breath and took his first step forward.
Luca turned right and headed down the lane, only a dozen paces of street separating him from the drop off to the next level. He limped past the herbalist shop, neatly lined and colorful bottles of oil perched in the front window. The next shop in line was the resident weaver. Racks were clustered before the building, spun fabrics, woven rugs, and warm, wool garments swinging in the breeze.
Luca wanted to stop at each shop to look, feel, and smell the fabulous goods. Each one was more exciting than the last, offering sights and sounds
that felt both new and old at the same time.
In reality, he wanted to experience everything possible in the hope something would spark his memories. At least that’s what Father Thurstan told him might happen.
A bright bit of fabric caught his eye, the beautifully dyed shawl flapping in the breeze. He grasped the copper in his pocket, silently wishing he had enough coin to buy it for Emma. She was only a few winter thaws older than him, or so the priests guessed.
It’d match her eyes, he thought, warmed by the idea of his friend.
At last he came to Theda’s bakery. A thick chimney cracked the roof of the heavy looking timber structure, delicious smelling smoke swirling in massive, curling wisps. Luca limped by, eying the sign hanging above the door, guilt pulling at his insides.
Slowly, painfully, but without allowing any pauses for rest, Luca made his way to the lift. The old man eyed him from his stool as he approached, his pipe clutched tightly in his mouth.
“Out all on your lonesome today?” he asked, gumming the pipe before puffing on it several times.
Luca nodded, doing his best to look as sure of himself as he could. “A person has to test their limits in order to know their potential,” he said, copying one of Father Thurstan’s favorite lines.
The lift operator turned his head to the side and smiled, before throwing him a wink and holding out his hand. “Indeed, young sir. Indeed we do!”
Luca fished the copper out of his pocket, fumbling it once before securing it in his palm, and then dropped it in the old man’s hand.
“The young sir to go down.”
Luca nodded and limped into the lift, the old man shutting the door behind him. The lift groaned and shook, before sinking into the dark. He closed his eyes, conjuring up comforting thoughts to battle the panic.
He thought of the beautiful view from his window in the Chapterhouse, the blue water and white specks of the fishing boats, but also of Emma. Lots of people talked to him. Most of the maids stopped and asked him how he was, or tousled his hair. But they all fussed over him, tried to help him with simple things, or made sad faces every time they saw him.
Emma just talked to him. She didn’t look at him like he was a pathetic thing, or a cripple. She was just his friend. Just thinking about her made his cheeks flush.
The lift shuddered and the door opened, bright morning light spilling in. He limped back out of the lift, saying hello to the young man seated to his left, before setting off determinedly towards the lakeside market.
Foot traffic on the docks was light, a fair shade lighter than the midday flood of people he experienced before. He passed a crew of men and boys unloading long, silver colored fish from a long fishing boat. The men hefted the fish, each almost three paces long, out of a water box on the boat, and handed them to the boys in turn.
Luca stopped to watch the boys, all his age, heft the sizable fish over to a cart, before running back to the boat. They were all his age, running, lifting, and working like normal boys. Not a single one of them needed a crutch.
Thump, Luca limped away, struggling not to be overcome by bitter thoughts. He thought about Father Thurstan and Emma. I should have asked her to come with me, he thought, but then shook his head.
He had no idea what the strange woman in the market wanted. It was already bad that he was desperate and curious enough to trek down here alone; he didn’t need to drag Emma into something potentially dangerous or dishonest. He couldn’t stand the idea of getting her into trouble. Unlike him she didn’t have the Chapterhouse priests looking after her. She relied on the money and the other benefits of her posting.
The merchants ignored him once he limped into the market, shying away from his apparent ailment, or confident that he didn’t possess the coin necessary to purchase their wares.
The less people staring at me, the better, he thought, fighting a strange sense of guilt and nervousness.
He passed the spot where the cart almost ran him over, where he had been separated from Father Thurstan. He couldn’t quite remember where the old lady’s shop was. Only that the entrance to her tent had been in an alleyway between shops.
Luca limped slowly down the row of shops, pausing before each to see if something jogged his memory. He passed his hand down to his long coat and pulled it aside for a moment.
Between the scratchy wool of his coat and the soft cotton of his shirt and tucked into his belt was the small wooden sword. He didn’t know why, but the little toy sword felt significant. When he returned to the Chapterhouse after his first visit to the lakeside market he had stashed it under his pillow, then under his mattress.
Whenever he had walked away from the wooden sword he felt he was leaving part of himself behind. It didn’t feel right. So he started carrying the toy with him everywhere he went. Luca let his coat fall back into place, taking a small amount of comfort in the rigid, wooden sword underneath. Someday it would help him find out who he was, hopefully.
Luca passed a shop with large bundles of dried herbs hanging in the entrance. The aroma triggered a memory of the odor he smelled when the old woman was leading him to her tent. He limped past the shop and hobbled into the alleyway.
The tents swept down around him, leaving a narrow path just wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The heavy fabric, pulled taught, was stained with mildew and covered in crusty salt. The alleyway smelled of lake water, herbs, and rubbish. A moment later, Luca limped past an overflowing rubbish can, forcing him to pinch his nose.
Luca stopped before a tent, the blue fabric setting itself apart from all those around it. It wasn’t just the color, but the tent in general. The sunlight struck the fabric, and it seemed to glow.
This is it! It has to be, he thought, trying to justify the tent with what little he knew.
Carefully, Luca pulled the tent flap aside. Sweet, warm air rushed past his face.
“Uh, hello?” he said. His voice sounded small, unsure.
He stepped inside, his gaze locked on the round table. It looked just as he remembered it. The potbellied stove sat off to the side, a warm fire crackling inside.
He took another step, the foot of his crutch catching on the thick woven rug underfoot. “Hello?” he said, a little louder. A little voice sounded inside, telling him to leave, feeding on the doubt and guilt he felt.
No. I need to know. I need to be strong!
“Hello, Luca.”
Luca jumped, stabbing pain shooting up his legs as he wheeled about. The old woman stood in the entrance of the tent behind him. She moved around him, her movements easy and graceful. Watching her walk made his legs feel stiff and his crutch heavy. She didn’t move like an old woman, at least not like any old woman he’d seen before.
The old woman slid into the chair around her table and motioned him over. Luca limped forward, carefully leaned his crutch against the table, and pulled himself up into the chair opposite her. It took him a moment, some pain and grunting, but he finally managed to settle in, somewhat comfortably.
“I am glad that you came to see me, Luca,” the old woman said.
Luca smiled and nodded, trying to avoid her strange gaze.
“Just like you said, come see you, after the next snow,” Luca recited, propping his weight up onto his elbows.
“And you came all the way down here, by yourself?” the old woman asked.
Luca nodded, dropping one hand down to the small sword tucked into his belt. Just touching it steadied his nerves. He didn’t want the strange old woman to know that he was nervous.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I didn’t have the time for a proper introduction last time. Apologies for that! My name is Cassida, Luca.”
“…and you can help me? With the pain? And with…” Luca cut in eagerly, but stumbled.
“Yes, Luca. I can help you with your pain. But I can also help you find the parts of you that you’ve lost. Your memories, your family, your home. All of it,” the old woman said quietly, her voice bare
ly above a whisper.
Luca’s heart leapt in his chest, and he instinctively reached for the wooden sword. He wanted nothing more than to fill the gaping hole inside him, and to bring an end to his constant wondering and doubt. But more than that, he just wanted to know that he had someone out there, waiting for him. He needed to know that he had a home. For that, he would do almost anything.
“You can do that? All of it?” Luca asked.
“I can, little one. But there is something I need for you to do for me first. It is a task you must complete on your own. Once it is complete, I will make you like a normal little boy again,” Cassida said.
“Alright,” Luca said nodding, but something tugged at his belly.
What will she ask of me? Will I be able to do it on my own?
Cassida sat back in the chair, a warm smile setting the deep wrinkles in her face into contrast. She seemed to be aware of the conflict wrenching at his insides.
“Rest easy, Luca. I will not ask you to harm anyone. My task is simple, but challenging. I only need you to retrieve something for me.”
“Retrieve…like, steal?” he asked.
“One cannot steal their own property. It is an item not only of great significance to me, but more importantly to my people. Those that took it don’t understand that. They only saw a trinket…a prize to be claimed. If you retrieve it for me, I will do everything in my power to help you, and afterwards, there will be no debt between us,” Cassida said.
Luca swallowed, the lump in his throat disappearing, and then he nodded. “What do I need to find?” he asked.
* * * *
“I don’t understand. What is going on with Luca? Why must I help him?” Henri said, struggling to keep pace with Herja’s longer strides.
“It is not your son, but your daughter that needs your help,” Herja said, not bothering to slow.
They passed through the dining hall, the massive fireplace casting sparks and embers towards them.
“But you said I needed to see to my son. You said I needed to see to Luca. I’m confused,” Henri said, shying away from the fire.
