Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  They hurried down the stone corridor. Beige arches flashed past in a blur as they rounded a corner. Adel and Aeden nearly ran into Jerome and Bosco. They came to a sudden halt. Bosco’s hand slipped from his robe. The folds of cloth slipped away from his nose. There was a startled moment of exchanged expressions. Bosco was the quickest to recover and don a look of utter disgust.

  “There you are, these hallways need to be swept before the high priest and archduchess arrive,” he said authoritatively.

  Jerome stood staring at Adel and Aeden with all the intellectual acumen of a bovine. Bosco shoved a bony elbow into his friend’s fat arm. It was all the prodding Jerome needed.

  “Well, get to it,” Jerome said slowly, emphasizing Bosco’s initial orders.

  The strange pair handed them brooms and bitter expressions. Aeden grabbed a broom with a mild shrug. Adel looked at Bosco with narrowed eyes before he followed suit.

  The awkward pair soon shoved past and disappeared around the corner. Aeden waited a moment longer before asking his question.

  “Who’s the archduchess?” Aeden asked, hoping he pronounced the word correctly.

  Adel paused as if surprised Aeden had never heard of her.

  “Alina Cynesige, the Holder of Keys. She’s the third in line to succeed the Bodig throne and one of a dozen who could potentially lay claim to the Heorte Empire. Obviously after King Illian Benbow.”

  So many questions flared into Aeden’s mind. He voiced only one, knowing how irritated Adel could get when he asked too many questions at once.

  “Heorte Empire?” Aeden asked.

  “You don’t know of the Heorte Empire? It’s part of the reason we met,” he stated matter-of-factly as he swept a particularly difficult corner.

  “I’ve heard of the Heorte Empire,” Aeden mumbled, feeling rather ashamed at his ignorance. In the S’Velt he had been one of the more knowledgeable children, here he had a lot to learn. Adel carried on oblivious to Aeden’s momentary shame.

  “I remember first seeing you. It’s funny the memories that stick to one’s mind. You stood out like a red-haired Calenite in Sawol. Odilo already knew, before the burning, that he wanted to recruit you, which seemed a little crazy, no offense…”

  “None taken,” Aeden said, listening intently, waiting for Adel to get to the point.

  “But you looked like a wild, barbaric warrior out of some storybook.”

  “Thanks,” Aeden said attempting his most barbaric looking face.

  “You’re not scary now! I already know you’re harmless.”

  Aeden smile inwardly.

  “You were saying about the Heorte Empire.”

  “I was obviously getting to it,” Adel continued, “Heorte as you know is made up of three kingdoms. To the north is Gemynd, to the south Sawol” he said pointing as if one could tell their location from where they stood. “We’re in the middle.”

  Each has their own king, along with major and minor houses of nobility. Take the archduchess for example, she’s part of a major house,” Adel paused scratching his nose, “Whichever king holds enough power and is in line for succession becomes the next emperor. It gets confusing because the seat of power may change, although I believe the last two emperors have held court in Sawol.”

  Adel’s tone changed and his face became serious, “It’s rumored that Emperor Jarin the Bold wishes to abolish the practices of Sancire. If he were free to destroy each monastery he would.”

  “He’s the emperor. Can’t he do whatever he wants?” Aeden asked, suddenly curious.

  “Blaise says it’s because he knows the people still hold Sancire deep within their hearts.”

  Aeden nodded; however, his mind was already on his next question.

  “Why’s he called Jarin the Bold?” Aeden asked.

  “Here we start again, questions, questions, questions!” Adel said teasingly.

  “That’s not fair, I smuggled you a king’s delight a few days ago, and I know you already ate it!”

  “True. I’m not even going to ask how you accomplished that,” Adel said, doing his best imitation of Thomas. His face taking on the stern expression of one disappointed in a moral edict being broken.

  “I don’t even remember what we were talking about,” he continued.

  “The Bald Emperor,” Aeden replied.

  “Right, and it’s Jarin the Bold, not Bald Jarin” Adel stifled a chuckle, using that moment to recollect his thoughts. He continued to sweep for a moment before looking back up at Aeden, “You know I don’t know why he’s called Jarin the Bold. I just know that whatever names he had been called before he didn’t like and people died for it. Their bodies were left on spikes along the King’s Road.”

  “That’s awful,” Aeden said visualizing the scene.

  “Odilo saw it,” Adel replied, “Thankfully I’ve never been farther south than the River Lif.”

  Adel paused looking suddenly at Aeden. A gentle breeze swept through the corridor. His face became pinched with concern.

  “We best prepare, I think Jerome and Bosco tricked us,” he stated as though the idea of misconduct had just entered his mind.

  The two moved with purpose down the empty corridor and entered an unoccupied barracks. They leaned the brooms against the wall in a corner and quickly donned their red ceremonial sashes. With haste they made their way to the central nave.

  “Finally,” Thomas whispered in concern, the faintest smudge of cheese still graced the side of his mouth, as he looked at them the way a teacher would a failing student.

  Aeden and Adel arrived kneeling beside Odilo and Thomas. Bosco glanced back and seemed annoyed. He tapped Monahan on the shoulder who also turned to glance at the arriving pair. A flash of amusement and disgust rolled over his stout features as he studied them briefly with his mole-like eyes.

  The sound of a massive bell shook them loose of their rivalry. The monks then began to chant in low humming tones as unarmed guards stepped into the expansive nave. Candles flickered with their passage, as beams of light fell through the circular windows casting the men in their holy embrace. Polished armor reflected the light giving them the appearance of divinity.

  Following the procession was a young woman flanked by an older man. The man wore a stern expression and a scar that ran down one half of his face. He looked about as if tempting anyone to look in their direction. Aeden hardly noticed the man for it was the young woman who had caught his attention. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years of age. Her skin was white and unblemished. It was her hair that first caught his attention. He had grown accustomed to everyone having heads of dirty yellow while living in S’Vothe. Only he and his mother had been the exception, with snowy white hair. In the monastery short cropped hair of brown was most common.

  The Archduchess on the other hand had the blackest hair Aeden had ever seen. As she passed under the shaft of circular light her locks were cast in a bluish sheen. It fell gracefully upon her ceremonial dress, made from a silk of the deepest red in a simple Bodig cut. Its lines were elegant, tracing the curves of her youthful body. Aeden struggled to ignore the lines of red clinging to her contours. Each step allowed the thin fabric to shift and conform to her enticing shape. Her slender frame held an air of regal authority and childlike beauty. He was forced to think on other things as he felt a stirring in his loins.

  As she passed she glanced toward him as if she could feel his piercing gaze. Her eyes were large and expressive. There was no malice, simply curiosity and amusement. The sounds of chanting and the ringing bells faded into the background as he studied her features as if trying to memorize every detail. Within a heartbeat he broke eye contact, knowing to stare was to risk impropriety. With a deep breath, her Bodigan dress pulled taut, she too looked away and swept past. The scent of wild flowers followed her like a belated shadow.

  For Aeden the details of the ceremony fell into a foggy haze. Captivating glimpses of beauty were punctuated by drawn out speeches in a formal dialect of Bodig
that Aeden long stopped trying to understand. By the end of it all his legs had grown numb. His friend Blaise struggled to stay awake, and the air within the massive room became stuffy and filled with the smells of too many men. It left Aeden longing for the archduchess to walk past just to fill his lungs with her perfumed scent.

  He struggled to catch another glimpse of her but only succeeded in finally catching the interest of the angry looking man next to her. With a whispered warning from Adel, he relinquished his efforts and surrendered to the chants and prayers. His mind, however, wandered, dreaming of her face and dark shining hair.

  Chapter 19

  “Fear of the known can mask logic with the same swiftness as the hand of ignorance.” Canton of Sawol

  For the next few days Aeden couldn’t get the image of the archduchess out of his mind. She robbed him of sleep and stole his focus. Her form spilled into his mind like a hot mist that refused to leave. Every imagined interaction turned into ceremony as he raised her from icon to deity. His heart throbbed with anticipation, excitement, and longing intermingled with feelings of guilt. He was ravished by hunger, ignorance, and a thirst for knowledge.

  He found himself thinking less and less on Dannon and the loss of his home and more on the archduchess. It was a welcome reprieve, but it tore him in two directions. Temptation and imagination swelled with the rising tide of adolescence as honor and memory fought to retain control.

  His mind was so confounded that he found himself not paying attention to the simplest tasks. Aeden couldn’t remember ever feeling this conflicted. It was as if his emotions had wrestled for control and kicked rational thought to the wayside. It was a strange feeling that he had trouble shaking loose. Aeden needed to tell someone lest his mind wrest control from all normal interaction.

  His first instinct was to tell Odilo, yet his pride wouldn’t allow it. He was finally making progress in Heortian. He was beginning to fit into the monastery and hadn’t been punished in weeks. Telling Odilo would only admit weakness and frailty of purpose to a man who never seemed to waver. In S’Vothe there was an expression that summed up his sentiment, “one shouldn’t steel water from the hand that measures it.”

  Adel, although a friend, was too young and too close to Odilo. Aeden and Adel talked about plenty, but often they simply joked around. A lot of their fun revolved around mimicking Jerome and Bosco. Although as the restrictions on the Monastery continued, more and more of their time was consumed with getting their hands on some sort of pastry. Adel’s fondness for pastries was only outdone by Bosco’s irritation for life.

  There was Thomas. They were not close even though he would often trail Adel and him like a lost puppy. He was like their pet, or a quiet shadow that enjoyed pointing out others’ lack of piety. He was loyal, quiet, and shy. Aeden knew all he’d need to do was sneak some cheese out of the refectory to get him to listen. There had to be a better option.

  Of the junior monks that left Neri. He was strange and not necessarily the most trustworthy. Neri also had the habit of twisting one’s words and interpreting a different meaning. He was quick to judge, sharp witted, and a bit of an outcast. At times he reminded Aeden of a vulture waiting to pluck the eyes of the unwitting. No, it was better to leave Neri to his pets.

  This left Aeden in a bit of a conundrum. There were many other monks, but he didn’t much interact with them. The only person that bubbled to mind was Blaise. The old-man storyteller who seemed filled with a passion for history, a smile for most jokes, and little tolerance for the gossip that often circled the monastery.

  Blaise it was Aeden decided.

  It was early afternoon. The sun’s light had settled upon the city of Bodig like a coppery blanket. The air was hot and stiff, inducing greater feats of laziness than he had ever seen in his homeland.

  As others contended in an unseen competition of comatose indifference, Aeden sought Blaise. He cut through the still air like a fish through water. His eyes held the predatory gleam of the vulturine. The courtyard was empty and still like a painting.

  There was no Blaise to be found amidst the sun-soaked plants. Aeden whisked through the sultry air toward the refectory. It, however, rested in silence. He then carved a path to the prayer hall. The nave sat in quiet solitude basking in two pools of circular light, empty and serene.

  Aeden decided to try the cloisters, where he knew most would be hard at work sleeping. His mind churned over his decision to seek out Blaise. The more he searched the more confident he became that he had made the right decision. Blaise was not only wiser than most, but he was knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects. Perhaps he would have a story or two of the archduchess. That would allow him to further populate his daydreams with details of her life and their possible interactions.

  Aeden rounded a corridor and almost stumbled into Jerome and Bosco. They blocked the corridor, each wearing devious expressions. Bosco puffed out his chest in an effort to appear larger than he really was as he looked down at Aeden. His normally bent frame was momentarily straight. Jerome was husky enough that he didn’t need to inflate himself with bravado, despite his shorter stature. His expression was as vacuous as ever.

  “Where do you think you are going novice?” Bosco asked, stressing the last word.

  “That isn’t your business,” Aeden replied.

  Bosco took a step forward and laid a spidery hand on Aeden’s shoulder. It was a curious approach to bullying. Strangely over the last few days they had made more overt attempts at blustering. Each time would end with Aeden walking away. The whole affair was beginning to get irritating.

  “We think it is our business,” Bosco huffed.

  Aeden looked them over and glanced briefly at the hand on his shoulder. There were so many options that flared to mind. His heart beat a touch quicker as he readied himself for action. It had been a while since he had trained in the gevecht. Part of him thought it might be fun to physically engage them, which was ironic because it was one of his least favorite activities growing up. He didn’t mind the stone fist training or the forms and weapons movements. Although it was monotonous striking a leather bag filled with gravel, or moving through the same basic movements over and over, it was an opportunity to let his mind wander. Combat training required constant vigilance and a certain sense of pride to further stimulate a sense of aggression. Aggression wasn’t normally part of his psyche. And when he did get angry someone almost always got hurt.

  Aeden looked the two monks over. Their gray robes hung quite differently. Bosco had a tall, narrow frame. Aeden imagined he looked a bit like a skeleton underneath, as evidenced by the knobby protrusions that formed a poor excuse for shoulders. Jerome on the other hand filled out his robe mostly in his rotund midsection. Although Aeden hadn’t caught him personally, he knew he had to be sneaking in food. At the very least he was part of the well-hidden black market that was given a new breath of life once the monks were ordered to remain within the monastery walls.

  These monks likely had never seen a day of combat. Their footing was all wrong, the set of their shoulders indicated a lack of balance, and their movements were mildly clumsy. Aeden knew anything but a verbal altercation wouldn’t be fair.

  “Have you seen Blaise?” Aeden asked.

  Jerome and Bosco looked at each other briefly as if wondering why in the world he wanted to see Blaise. They obviously arrived at the conclusion that if it was important enough for Aeden to see him then it was important enough for them to know why.

  “Tell us why and you may pass.”

  “I want him to tell me some more about Sancire history,” Aeden replied without hesitation.

  Bosco removed his hand from Aeden’s shoulder but didn’t move out of the way. Jerome looked up at him as if wondering what their next move was.

  “We know plenty of Sancire history,” Jerome retorted.

  “So you’re offering to teach me?” Aeden asked mildly amused.

  “No,” Bosco replied before Jerome could say anything.

>   “Ok, then I’ll be on my way.”

  Aeden took a step forward. Bosco stepped to the side to block his passage. Aeden then tried to skirt him on the opposite side. Again Bosco moved to stop him. He looked back knowing that the only other way to the cloisters would be through the transept to the second floor. He didn’t feel like backtracking that far.

  “Why don’t you take your pet to the field so he can graze,” Aeden said to Bosco.

  “I already ate,” Jerome retorted.

  “Yes, and you still have some hay on your lip.”

  Jerome’s eyes narrowed and Bosco’s face turned red. Aeden knew he was only stoking the fire, but he couldn’t help himself. Stupidity for stupidity’s sake was one of his greatest aversions.

  “I don’t want to hurt either one of you,” Aeden said.

  This elicited a chuckle from the two of them. Aeden had enough of their stupidity. All he wanted was to seek out Blaise. His mind was already swirling with a torrent of emotion and their nonsense only served to fan the flames of emotional incognizance.

  If he were back home he knew what Devon would do; tackle the problem head on regardless of the consequences. Perhaps some of that logic was required now. It was apparent that Bosco was the leader. He didn’t want to hurt them but he also wanted to send a clear message, don’t mess with me.

  “How about you clean out bedpans for a week, and then we’ll let you pass,” Bosco said with a sneer.

  Aeden’s anger boiled over. Without thought Aeden took a sliding step forward. His weight was balanced and low. He hooked his right foot behind Bosco’s heel as he drove his shoulder into his sternum.

  Aeden may have overestimated Bosco’s size or failed to reign in some of his driving force; for Bosco was upended like a child struck by a bull. One moment the bullying twosome were blocking the corridor, the next Jerome stood in stunned silence as he and Aeden watched Bosco tumble up into the air and land heavily onto his back on the cool hard stones. There was a muted thump as Bosco’s head hit the ground.