Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  Aeden finished massaging the line from his neck to his wrist, softening the muscular tension to better slip his elbow into alignment. With a firm grasp at the base of the elbow and another hand near his wrist, Aeden quickly straightened and pulled the boy’s arm. There was a muted crack drowned out by the chanting monks.

  The boy flinched but didn’t make a noise.

  “Try moving your elbow now,” Aeden said.

  The boy did as he was told and surprise rolled over his features followed by a warm smile and a quick hug.

  The chanting stopped and the boy jumped off the wagon followed by Aeden.

  “They fixed me pa,” the boy said gleefully.

  The father placed one arm around the boy as a smile crept onto his aged features. His tired eyes gleamed with pride as he glanced down once at his son before returning his attention to the monks.

  “Please let me offer you something for your journey.”

  Odilo looked at the others before responding, “If you could spare a skin of water we’d be grateful and hold you in our prayers.”

  The man gestured to his wife as he thanked the monks again. The wife returned with a skin of water and handed it to Odilo. With smiles and hand waving the groups said their goodbyes.

  The monks resumed their journey down the road. They had only walked a dozen paces when Aeden was stopped by the young girl he had been enraptured with. She had caught up to them and held a leather strap in her hand of decent quality and a buckle fastened to one end.

  “For your trouble,” she said as she handed it to him, her hand lingering for a moment on his.

  Aeden stood there dumbfounded and unwilling to move as though a bird had landed on his hand. She smiled casting warmth into his heart and turned back toward the laden carts. He watched her dress shift as she walked away. He then looked down to the leather belt in his hands. He already knew what he’d use it for when the opportunity of privacy presented itself. He turned and joined the monks, stuffing the belt as best as he could into the makeshift pocket in his robes.

  The following hours were less comfortable. The Templas blade swung uncomfortably at his side as the hilt bit ever deeper into his hip. Sweat gathered on his forehead in annoying beads. He wasn’t the only one uncomfortable, although likely the most accustomed to it, even if it had been a while. Bosco on the other hand attempted to ward off discomfort through his sheer number of complaints.

  “I thought it was Hearvest, why has Salvare cast the sun of Sumor upon us?” Or he’d complain by saying, “It isn’t proper for brothers of the Holy Order to walk without pausing for prayer.”

  Aeden chose to walk with Adel. They were starting to make a game of Bosco’s complaints. Adel would dramatically wipe his brow, when no one was watching of course, and exclaim in a voice so that only Aeden could hear, “How dare the lord allow the sun to come up today!”

  Thomas endured it as best he could. His pale face showed his discomfort, but he didn’t complain, unless excessive furtive hand movements were a form of complaint. Neri seemed largely unaffected by the sun. Odilo, although sweating, made no indication on his face or otherwise of any discomfort.

  By midafternoon they were able to hitch a ride on the back of a partially loaded wagon traveling north. Aeden found it challenging to sit comfortably with his sword hidden under his robes and offered his seat to an overly thankful Thomas. As he stood he watched the gently rolling hills of the countryside slide past. There were fields of various sorts on either side of the road. In the distance there was the occasional stone wall demarking one farmer’s land. Simple houses were evidenced by lazy wisps of smoke creeping away from dark chimneys. There were trees and there were flowering bushes. Butterflies flitted about in half-drunk patterns of flight.

  The wagon finally came to a stop at a fork in the road. A weathered wooden sign stood at the crossroads like an old sentinel who had long forgotten his purpose. The farmer smiled and said his farewell, his face creasing into a maze of age spots and lines. The monks offered their sincere thanks and watched the old man use his switch to spur the two half-starved oxen forward. The cart rumbled down the rutted road to the west leaving the group of six monks standing on the main north-south stone road.

  According to the farmer they were only a few miles from a town called Berkshire. It was a relatively small town that was ruled by a duke known for his proclivities with younger men. The town itself rose in prominence when the Emperor decided to garrison some of his imperial soldiers there to enforce the road tax and to act as a base of operations for any small issues or uprisings. Mostly the soldiers dealt with bandits and highway robbers, apparently to good effect for thus far they had encountered no such trouble.

  “Let’s make it to Berkshire, perhaps there we shall find some food and rest,” Odilo stated with a warm smile, the short scar on his cheek folding awkwardly.

  Bosco grumbled a complaint. Thomas did his best to ignore it as Aeden and Adel stood further back quietly mocking the lanky monk.

  The walk to Berkshire didn’t take long. There was a simple forest that carpeted the gently rolling hills. Cutting a plain swath through the hills, cleared of trees, was the stone road north. As the monks crested a hill the town revealed itself to them.

  The buildings of Berkshire appeared to hug the main road like a child would its mother. Businesses stood lining either side of the thoroughfare each competing for attention. There were a few east-west cross streets that led to smaller buildings and fenced plots of land with animals in pens and crops in neat rows. A large stone garrison stood apart, standing squat near a wooden fortification. In the distance at the far end of town was a road leading to the east and a small hilltop clearing. A castle graced the hill overseeing the town the way a midwife watches over a pregnant woman.

  The group of six descended the hill. The town came into sharper focus as they neared. There were the familiar smells of humanity that replaced the scents of earth, still water, and broken leaves.

  Directly ahead of them before the town was a simple and small fortification. It looked more like a shelter used during inclement weather. Surrounding the edifice were a group of imperial soldiers. Their demeanor spoke of quiet boredom. Two were seated and playing cards as the other lounged lazily leaning against a fence as if he needed support to maintain his posture. All the while a pennant with a golden draccus fiend hung suspended from a pole flickering gently in the mild wind and marking their allegiance to the emperor.

  “Brothers, you will find no shelter here,” an imperial soldier stated flatly as the group approached the first buildings that delineated the start of Berkshire.

  Aeden eyed the soldiers standing there observing their stance, weapons, and armor.

  “Thank you kindly, we are just passing through town.” Odilo said with a calm and gentleness in his voice that disarmed the soldier.

  The young soldier glanced back toward his comrades as if for support. If he was hoping for something verbal, he did not receive it. The soldier looked over the group again eying their simple gray robes and lack of possessions.

  “Passing through then. Be on your way.” He said gruffly.

  Without further delay the road weary monks walked through the town of Berkshire. It was a quiet town with few people walking the streets. There were a large number of taverns and brothels. Scantily clad women leaned idly upon the railings of some of the buildings lining the main thoroughfare. Their lips were overly red and their cleavage was forced upward by corsets in a lavish display of promiscuity.

  “We shan’t cast our eyes upon such temptations,” Thomas spoke to no one in particular, his pale face paler than usual.

  Aeden was starting to get a better feel for Thomas. It felt as though the abbot had chosen him as a verbal moral compass for the others. Odilo on the other hand was more of a silent moral compass, using his actions rather than his words.

  The sun began to set, casting the sky in a startling array of color. Bosco began to grumble quiet complaints. Adel drew quiet. O
dilo looked about seeking a suitable place for the night.

  They were still a few days away from the first town on the map. Despite the distance there were a few townships before then, at least one of them had to be more open to the monks from the Holy Order of Sancire.

  “Pssst,” the sound was akin to a hissing snake.

  Aden glanced about, but it was Neri who caught sight of the woman beckoning them. She was older with gray hair pulled tightly into a bun. Her face was wrinkled and stern, but more from a life hard lived than from old age.

  Neri walked closer to investigate, the other monks following the way a flock of birds follows the leader.

  “I have a place to rest your weary feet,” she eyed them carefully for a moment, her eyes heavy. “I only ask for a good word as payment,” the last came out quietly as if she were afraid of the very words.

  “She wants an indulgence,” Thomas said with mild exacerbation under his breath.

  Aeden turned to Adel who responded by shrugging. It was ironic that the man who would occasionally sneak some extra cheese from the kitchens was concerned about praying for someone who offered a place for the night. Such was the role of morality, a personal affair of skewed perception. It was Neri who answered.

  “Not every monastery operates under the riches of a powerful patron, some make due with earning what money they can from the local populace,” his words sounded slightly angry, offended even. “You from the Gemynd should know this more than most.”

  The woman watched the monks with trepidation, “I will include a hot meal of course,” she said at last.

  This seemed to be the words they were looking for. Bosco’s tall hunched frame was already following her, followed by Neri and Adel. Odilo turned to Thomas.

  “The brothers need this,” he whispered.

  Thomas nodded but still seemed upset by the idea and was further offended by Neri’s words. Aeden passed them, knowing that his stomach would be happy for a hot meal and his feet would feel better once he was off of them.

  The woman led them down an alley that smelled like a combination of rotten cheese and rank meat. Whatever hunger Aeden felt was quick to pass. They weaved past a few side doors to a door that was worn with age and neglect.

  The six gray-robed monks stepped inside and were accosted with the strong odor of perfume. They stopped in a small lounge of sorts. Faded red chairs sat on either side of a fireplace. At the moment the fireplace was empty, blackened from prior use. Frayed curtains covered the sole window. A crude painting of two women playing with each other adorned the far wall.

  As the monks did their best to avert their eyes from the painting a woman stepped into the room. She wore nothing more than undergarments. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips overly red, and her face powdered white in an effort to hide her age. Gray lined her hair, which was pulled up and piled atop her head. As soon as she entered the old woman shooed her away the way one would a stray dog.

  “I must apologize for her appearance,” the woman who led them in said with true concern in her voice.

  Odilo spoke first before any of the other monks could put in a word.

  “It is understandable. We are simply humbled to have been invited in for a place to sleep and a hot meal.”

  “Of course, of course. Let me show you to your room, and then bring something warm to eat.”

  The lady smiled an awkward smile, it was apparent she wasn’t used to the sensation and she looked more like a growling animal than a person. She turned and led them down the corridor to a set of rickety stairs. The stairs creaked and groaned like a despondent Hearvest wind.

  Bosco muttered something about the impropriety of it all as they ascended. Thomas was ashen faced, yet curious. Adel was smiling and Aeden knew he probably had a joke simmering in his head.

  “It’s the best I can offer, which in this town is already a risk. Please don’t let anyone know I’ve let you stay here, it could cost me more than you know,” the older woman said, a frown settling comfortably onto her face.

  “Of course, we understand,” Odilo replied with a smile of reassurance.

  The woman eyed them for a moment with her mouth half open as if weighing her words, “there are pleasures other than food if you have the coin and the inclination.”

  “Not tonight,” Odilo said as he stepped into the room.

  The woman nodded as she slipped away with an air of disappointment following her down the stairs.

  Aeden glanced about and saw there was a single large bed and plenty of floor space for all of them. He set about securing a cleaner looking corner of the floor. Aeden pulled his hood over his head as he lay down. He fell asleep before the food was brought up.

  Chapter 28

  “A warm welcome isn’t equivocal to the warmth of hospitality.” Saying of the Gemynd

  The days to Nailsea passed uneventfully. The weather had become cooler, near perfect traveling weather. Past the Berkshire Hills it had become flat again. The stone road northward was now surrounded by a mix of evergreens and deciduous trees.

  Aeden drew in a breath, inhaling the sweet scents of the morning, a mix of pine needles, moisture, and earth. The monks had slowly grown accustomed to the idea of long days with little food. For Aeden the walk was far more comfortable once he readjusted his sword. He had used the leather strap given to him by Illiana to secure the Templas weapon to his back, underneath his robes. He no longer had a heavy weight tugging on his belt. He no longer worried about kneeling or sitting. He realized a moderately comfortable life was a happier life.

  The forest slowly yielded to small farms. Plots of land reclaimed from the trees carved out niches for rows of food and for sheep and goats to roam, picking the earth clean of vegetation. The sun had settled into its midday nook, casting a wary eye upon the band of traveling monks.

  They shared the road with a few carts, some wandering Calenites, a cleric from the imperial seat, and a bearded man from Gemynd. It was the first time Aeden had ever seen or heard of the Calenites. The small group was heading north, to answer their “calling.” What initially stole his attention was their red hair and green eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. In his homeland they had always described devils with flaming hair and eyes made of emeralds. Strangely he wasn’t frightened, but instead was curious. They spoke Heortian well enough to be understood and spoke more often than many of the monks wished. Yet for all their words they said very little.

  The Calenites had been driven from their home over a century before and had been wandering in search of a new place ever since. According to their beliefs they were promised a perfect strip of land, described as “a place of green that touches upon azure waters, fertile and rich, peaceful and bountiful.”

  They had yet to find a place fitting that description and continued to search. For many in the Three Kingdoms they had become known as the Drifters, the people without a home. Some took pity upon them and gave them temporary shelter or food. Most steered clear of them. Aeden found them interesting for he was eager to gobble up all the information on the Imperium he could.

  He attempted to engage the man from Gemynd, but was rebuffed for his efforts. The imperial cleric seemed nervous and upon sight of the man from Gemynd and the Calenites he uttered something about inconstant bowels and scurried off into the woods to not be seen again by his wandering group.

  The farther they walked the more people they encountered and the greater Aeden’s curiosity grew. It was as if his mind had been lying dormant, hidden in a veil of ignorance that was only now slipping from his eyes. He would pester Adel with questions only to reach the limits of his knowledge. Thomas was proving to be quite knowledgeable and the most willing to confer his wisdom to the youngest member of the group. And so Aeden began to learn more about the history of Bodig and the customs of Gemynd. Consequently they too began to form a friendship. Tenuous at first, like the foundation of a building on sand, it grew.

  So it was no surprise that Thomas was deep in an explanation o
f Gemynd traditional weddings when they fell upon the city of Nailsea.

  There before them stood the towering statues dating back to an era long since passed. The statues were worn, weathered by the ages, but stood as a monument to a time before Salvare saved his people from a pantheon of petty gods. They dwarfed the trees about them, towering sentinels of Nailsea. The Holy Order of Sancire had tried to remove them only to have the population turn angry and hostile. In response the Church renamed them, Dominer and Sha’a. The people accepted the change and only a few remembered their true names as the centuries rolled past. It was interesting how time had the habit of erasing old memories while more deeply instilling old habits.

  “Beautiful aren’t they,” Adel said in awe as they passed below like insects staring upon giants.

  “I didn’t know men could build such things,” Aeden replied his eyes transfixed, recognition rolling over his features.

  He knew the faces carved upon the weathered stone, the way a mother would know a child despite having parted years before. They were Anat and Baal, the twin gods of war, siblings, and lovers. They were part of the Thane’s pantheon of thirteen.

  “I didn’t know you’d recognize Dominer’s face and that of his lover, Sha’a.” Adel said.

  Aeden was temporarily at a loss for words. He couldn’t tell him their true names. How could he explain the atrocities attributed to Baal, or the lengths Anat underwent to placate her sibling lover? He was only left with lies, something he was growing to despise, yet felt ever more compelled to do.

  “Everyone knows their faces brother,” he said.

  Neri grunted. Thomas ignored him and stared at the statues, reaching out a hand to touch the side of one of the toes. The stone was as smooth as a Sumor cherry, as if a thousand thousand hands had graced that very spot.

  Adel looked at Thomas. The burden of the quick lie was lifted from Aeden’s chest as attention was now diverted elsewhere.

  “To bring us luck and peace,” Thomas said matter-of-factly as if it were common knowledge.