Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  Aeden and Adel stood before him their patience as thin as a Dimutian razor-leaf. Apparently their excitement radiated beyond them as though their souls had carved their way out of their bodies to tap the older man on the shoulder. Blaise looked up startled, the book in his lap slipping closed and nearly falling from his lap. A smile made its way onto his lips.

  “What is it I can do for you fine, eager young men?” Blaise asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Aeden’s stomach suddenly fluttered as he remembered his prior altercation with Bosco. Originally he was going to confess to the sacrist before asking about the archduchess. He had changed his mind about asking Blaise of the archduchess and all thoughts of confession had flittered away. Now they had come rushing back like a flock of riled birds.

  Adel looked to Aeden, who in turn looked to Blaise. He decided it wasn’t the right time. The Book of Divinus was more pressing. At least that’s what he was able to convince himself. Aeden didn’t feel like prostrating himself before the other monks yet again.

  “We’d like to know more about this pilgrimage and the Book of Divinus,” Aeden said with hope bleeding through his tone.

  “Well now, you certainly know how to ask a lot without seeming to ask much! Those are two weighty topics,” Blaise said rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Which is more important to you and I shall begin there.”

  “Pilgrimage,” Adel blurted simultaneously as Aeden said, “Divinus.”

  “I see, well that complicates matters. How about this? I will tell you about both, but the abbreviated version because of the hour of the sun,” Blaise said gesturing toward the prism of light pouring through the windows and spilling onto the floor.

  The younger monks nodded their approval and scouted for comfortable positions to better listen without distraction. Blaise gathered his thoughts as he watched the two take their seats. With a serious look he began.

  “The book of Divinus is said to be as old as time itself. It predates the first age. Its pages were inspiring young minds to greater feats of virtue at a time when idle minds had yet to think of the idea of subjugation. Kingdoms, empires, and useless wars were nonexistent then.”

  Aeden sat and listened, his ever curious mind already filling with questions and tearing into the logic of the story. It was one of his personality quirks that rankled his gevecht teachers. “Stories must be heard for their layers, their depth, and their meaning, not picked apart by idle minds attempting to squander intelligence to the wind,” a favorite quote from one of his teachers drifted through his mind, stifling his questions into oblivion.

  Blaise continued incognizant of Aeden’s mental wanderings. “…it is the foundation of the Holy Order of Sancire. Before the Book of Divinus people were lost, worshiping the wind, the water, fire and earth in equal measure, assigning properties of life, intelligence, and divinity to each. These were the dark times when great powers were allowed to men, given to them to shape the world. A time when the written word was only beginning to take root in a way now lost and incomprehensible, a time when stories were accepted as fact. It was out of this darkness that Salvare breathed life into a young man, Galvin Dominer.

  “He is now known as Dominer the Pure, for he was a vessel of the Holy Spirit. His hand was guided by the light to correct that which was wrong. He cast away temptation, weakness, and sought the strength that the purity of mind and body delivered to open oneself to the divine.

  “Once he finished translating the word of Salvare to text he began his holy pilgrimage. He began with a small group and gathered followers at every town he visited. Word of his wisdom, his compassion and the message from the book spread to the towns ahead of him. Many people waited to hear his message. Others were fearful that the old gods wouldn’t allow such strange new ideas to be tolerated. They readied themselves with the simple tools of the time, using them as weapons to ward off the gathering group that followed Dominer.

  “It was one town in particular, Treton, which resisted his message the most. They weren’t open to the light, to understanding. Their small minds prayed to their old gods as folk prepared for battle.”

  Blaise paused for a moment looking at the two in turn, his face taking on the drama of his story. Adel searched his pocket for sweets as Aeden sat quietly.

  “Dominer was ready, for he had been forewarned by Salvare. His group waited for ten days and ten nights, watching the patterns of the town. By the tenth day it had become obvious that Treton was beyond saving. The people were hopelessly lost in the old ways, lost to the light, and needed to be cleansed so that their eternal souls could be saved.

  “And so Dominer and his followers set fire to the town of Treton and they prayed as they watched the walls burn, looking like ten thousand candles in the night. But the old ways were stubborn and backed by the Scapan, a small group of shapers skilled in the ancient arts of the arkein. It was the greatest of the group, Magis, who called upon the power of the old arts to cast down fire from the sky, wreathing Dominer in flame.”

  Aeden’s curiosity was now like a fully fed fire. Blaise sensed this and took a brief moment to pause, allowing the tension of the story to build before continuing.

  “Dominer was still true to Salvare and called on him for protection, but he had fear in his heart and gave the text of Salvare to his closest follower, Sha’a, who swore to protect it and keep it safe. Salvare saw this lack of faith and chose to let Dominer face Magis unaided. The wreath of fire grew as Magis called upon the elements ruled by the old gods. Dominer sat in the center of the circle, silently, accepting his fate. He burned slowly from the unnatural flame, but didn’t cry out once as he showed his final act of faith, thereby proving himself to Salvare and earning the name Dominer the Pure.”

  Blaise took in a long and slow breath. He glanced briefly at his hands as if they held some interesting piece of information unseen to the casual observer. Aeden sat listening, hoping for more. Adel scratched his head idly, waiting for the story to continue.

  “Times have changed,” Blaise finally said in a voice that sounded older, brittle, tired. “The Book of Divinus offered hope, but,” Blaise’s voice cracked and he took in a slow steady breath. “People no longer believe as they used to. There is an air of decadence and entitlement that didn’t exist before. As much as the Archduchess of The Second House may press for conformation to the old ways, those days may no longer be here.”

  Aeden’s ears perked up at mention of the archduchess. He was hungry for more information, to hear about what she liked, where she came from, any scrap of information to fill his dreams. Blaise, however, continued on his own tangent, ignoring Aeden’s starving imagination for more mundane matters.

  “The Emperor does not wish to see the Holy Order rise to the prominence it held only a hundred years earlier. Those with power and influence know this. Those without simply wish to be left alone, ignoring the tedium of ritual that they believe is the Church. Without the right person, without the hand of Salvare guiding the way, another pilgrimage is likely to end in death.”

  His final words were nearly a whisper. The light that once flickered and danced in his eyes now faded to a dull gleam. His eyebrows were knitted together in a semblance of a frown as he studied the floor.

  “So you think we shouldn’t try to spread the word?” Adel asked in mild surprise at the older monk’s attitude.

  “No, that isn’t what I’m saying,” Blaise rubbed his forehead absentmindedly. “I don’t wish to take anything from you or to give you the wrong idea. In fact, it is likely that my old age has addled my mind and crossed my vision. I don’t see things with the brightness and simplicity of youth. Now shades of gray layer the world in a wide net that at times seems to threaten my own beliefs, but don’t let it swallow you up too,” he said this last part wagging a thick finger in Adel’s direction.

  Bells clanged somewhere in the distance singing their dinner song. Monks shuffled into motion as if conditioned by the sound to stir into action. Aeden and Adel we
re no exception. Only Blaise remained seated studying the cracks and fissures that spider webbed the cool stone floor.

  Chapter 23

  “A false face can only be held for so long.” Saying of the Gemynd

  For Aeden the days passed more quickly than he initially imagined. There were several reasons for this. One, he was enjoying seeing many of the monks’ false attempts at greater piety crumble with time. There was so little discipline and such a lack of enforcement that only those with a fervent belief remained faithful to their pious devotion. Two, he had resumed his practice of the gevecht. It felt good to move his body, sweat, stretch, and exercise. The forms at first came as a challenge, but as the days passed they again began to reveal themselves and allowed him greater clarity of thought and better sleep. Last, and in Aeden’s case the most important was his final understanding of the Heortian writing system. Adel had been spending months with him and still Aeden had continued to struggle. Perhaps the silence of the monastery spurned him to greater heights. Or perhaps it was because of his resumption of the gevecht, but either way the result was the same. Aeden was finally able to begin reading the books in the library.

  He spent hours each afternoon and hours at night combing through the books in the monastery library. It was as if he had just discovered food and hadn’t realized he hadn’t eaten in months. His hunger for the dusty leather tombs was insatiable. The more he read the more he learned. Aeden soaked in early Church history, a book on saints and saintly deeds, church medicine and miraculous cures, as well as a history of Bodig. Every book he read kindled the hope to discover more about the archduchess. A hidden more desperate part of him wished to uncover information on draccus fiends and his homeland. This of course was fanciful thinking. Draccus fiends were nothing but a myth to most people, something the Church frowned upon, when the myth wasn’t furthering their own cause.

  As for Jerome and Bosco, they unsurprisingly gave him a wide berth, no longer attempting their intimidations. Even Monahan seemed to be giving Aeden more space and when they did cross paths, he refrained more often than before from casting scowling looks of hatred and disgust. Of course at meals and prayers they both ensured that they sat as far from each other as possible, this was only natural for false piety can only go so far.

  Time passed as it normally does, in graduating fits and starts. Periods of entertainment glided by unimpeded, whereas chores and other mundane duties crawled past an ever watchful eye. Each passing day marked itself upon the mental calendars of everyone waiting for the abbot’s announcement.

  So it was on a clear and unusually cool night that the full moon had finally shown its wide, glowing face. That following morning monks were ever more eager to show their solemn devotion to what they believed the Book of Divinus revealed. It was the day that Abbot Filbert was to announce who would join the pilgrimage and who would remain behind. Even Odilo seemed to be affected by the weight of the moon and the impending decision.

  The folding of blankets and rolling of sleeping mats became a practice in diligent patience. Each movement was made with uncommon awareness reminding Aeden of home. The gevecht provided a medium for one to practice atori, the art of paying attention to everything while still keeping the mind clear and alert. Today was the first day that Aeden realized atori could be applied to more mundane tasks. His teachers preached, “Attention belongs to the moment, every moment, not just those of particular choosing.” Despite their words he had lacked the maturity or desire to fully understand their meaning.

  With an air of excitement about him Aeden followed the other monks to Morning Prayer. It was still dark when they entered the nave. Candles flickered at their passing, struggling to light the interior. The procession of gray-robed monks solemnly found their cushions and took their seats.

  Aeden glanced about surprised to see how many were in attendance. It was as if the pious energy of the monks, hollow as it was, drew in a greater crowd. After a belated pause the stillness transformed into a quiet storm. The monks had begun chanting. Their low tones reverberated off the walls, playing with the shapes and shadows of the corridors lining the nave.

  The last sounds of the chant echoed into silence. The monks stood as though the crowd had broken into applause, but of course they had not. With great formality they formed a line and walked out of the central nave and toward the dining hall. To Aeden it felt as though they were walking a little faster than normal. It was as if the excitement the monks felt gave speed to their movement.

  They entered the refectory making a procession into the kitchens, each bringing out their breakfast. Every action was routine, yet there was the underlying feeling that everything was somehow different. In S’Vothe once a year there was a holiday of sorts in which the instructors would switch roles with the students. Everyone looked forward to the change, the camaraderie. Rarely did any student make an instructor do anything too extreme for everyone knew the following day everything would revert back to normal. Today had a similar giddy quality.

  The breakfast was nothing unusual; a single egg, bread, and some old cheese, except this time the quiet brought on a new texture. Somehow the hush of the hall seemed more pronounced, tangible, like one could reach out and grasp a piece of it.

  As usual Aeden sat between Odilo and Adel as far as possible from Monahan and his crew.

  The breakfast passed incredibly slowly. The anxiety in the room reached a crescendo that sought to overcome the sticky silence. Aden wasn’t the only monk who glanced at the doorway in hopes of an appearance by Abbot Filbert. As thick as the hope was, the breakfast passed without event. To make matters worse Aeden was assigned kitchen duties by a senior monk along with Jerome and Bosco. Odilo and Adel were fortunate enough to get garden duty.

  Most of the monks filtered out of the dining hall without a word as the kitchen crew attended to the plates, leftover food, and general tidying up that came with kitchen duty. The sun had finally made its belated appearance and the monks were allowed to talk. Few chose to, fearing their voices would break the palpable silence and negatively affect their chances of being picked for the pilgrimage. Aeden remained quiet because there was no one he wished to talk to.

  The morning soon transitioned to afternoon. Chores were accomplished and Afternoon Prayer quickly followed. Once again attendance seemed higher than normal. This prolonged Judgments, the time after prayer when townsfolk approached the monks for advice and penance.

  People lined up to speak with the monks. Many simply complaining of small ailments and hoping for an easy cure or prayer to help with their malady. Others came with minor family squabbles or neighborhood feuds hoping for sagely advice.

  By the time judgments were done there was only an hour of leisure before dinner. Aeden decided to sit at his favorite alcove on the rooftop overlooking his small slice of the city. He figured if he was somewhere out of the way he could clear his mind, relax, and daydream.

  A cool breeze swept across the Red City beckoning Hearvest to relinquish its grasp so that Vintas could enter the stage. Aeden closed his eyes and allowed the wind to whisper away his thoughts. The sounds of the greater city filtered to his ears, jumbled voices, echoing animal calls from a distant market, and the rumbling of carts upon the stone roadway.

  An image of the archduchess crept subtly into his mind. She smiled and his heart felt warm. He closed his eyes again in an attempt to pursue the fleeting image. Try as he might Aeden had a difficult time daydreaming. After a few moments he gave up and glanced down the street toward the distant rooftops sloping gently toward the River Lif.

  According to Knowledge of Bodig, a book he recently read, the River Lif was an important trading route that at one time connected with a channel that traveled north to the Dath River. This route traveled past two of the major cities in Gemynd all the way up to Staggered Falls. If one remained on the river traveling west they would make it to the Imperium Gulf a slice of open water between Imperium and Dimutia. Closing his eyes he could see the map as clearly as
if it were before him. The images sparked memory, and Aeden was reminded of a recent dream.

  The night prior he had dreamt he was on a great ship traveling the dangerous waters to Templas to seek out those who had made his sword. It felt so real that when he awoke his feet felt unsteady below him as if he had been standing on a swaying deck for months. He smiled at the memory and opened his eyes.

  Without further preamble Aeden slipped down the column and to the courtyard below. The blood-orange trees that populated what he liked to consider ‘his’ corner of the courtyard only held a few fruit as the season was drawing to an end. He passed the trees and the vegetable garden as he made his way to the stone path that carved a square about the courtyard. Aeden cast a quick glance toward the sky attempting to judge the time. As if in response a bell rang out, speaking the dinner hour.

  His stomach turned uneasily as excitement and a hint of fear tugged at his emotions. Aeden had grown comfortable at the monastery and was worried that some of the people he liked would be chosen for the pilgrimage and he’d be left alone. He felt like Odilo would certainly be picked, perhaps Blaise. Most of the truly pious were kinder; their departure would leave a hole in the monastery that would be hard to fill.

  Aeden’s mental wanderings carried him down the corridor toward the dining hall.

  “Aeden!” Adel shouted before realizing himself.

  Adel was still much like a child in many ways, more so than Aeden despite being a few years older. Aeden liked this quality about him, it was refreshing. It made it easier for him to forget his guilt, forget the death of his people, but never for long. A hidden shadow haunted his thoughts and tugged at his emotions, reminding him of his duty, his failure, his fear, and his neglected honor.

  Aeden’s fingers slipped from the lock of hair he always kept with him, a habit that he had formed without realizing it. Memories washed away as if overtaken by a rogue wave.