Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  Thomas fidgeted with his hands again and decided to resume scrubbing. Aeden watched him as something he had read recently bubbled to mind. It was from one of the long genealogies in the Red City monastery’s library.

  “Wasn’t Queen Kresimer’s birth name Benbow, before she married a Leigh?” he said

  Adel’s mouth dropped open for a heartbeat. Aeden didn’t say anymore. He didn’t wish to risk offending Adel again.

  “He’s right,” Thomas said, “before she was a queen she was simply one of a half dozen daughters.”

  “How’d you know,” Adel said, attempting to hide his irritation.

  Aeden appreciated Adel as a friend and loved him as a brother, but thought it strange that he was so bothered when someone knew more than him.

  “It’s in Herlewin’s Anthology of Gemynd,” Thomas stated matter-of-factly.

  Aeden wanted to know more but knew it was probably best to stay quiet. It was Gamel who jumped in to stave his curiosity.

  “How’d she become the Blood Queen?”

  Thomas didn’t hesitate to share his knowledge. His eyes sparkled as he relished the opportunity to share what he knew.

  “She poisoned her sisters. According to Herlewin she took just enough as well, to make her sick and cast blame elsewhere. When she came of age she was the only daughter House Benbow had to offer House Leigh. The king of Bodig, a Leigh, married her. She killed the king and became the Queen.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” Aeden offered.

  “Simple for a bloody killer,” Adel offered, a smile cracking his face otherwise serious face.

  Aeden flung some water at him with his horse-hair brush. Soon all the monks joined in and all thoughts of cleaning had gone by the wayside.

  By the time the evening dinner bell had struck Aeden’s arms felt leaden. It was the familiar comfort and soreness that he had felt a hundred times before.

  The flat expanse by the road had been transformed in a day. Stalls had been cleaned as others were erected. Signs were pounded into the ground next to each stall. The air smelled faintly of soap and fresh straw. The animals had been moved to pens on the other side of the monastery to keep the smells and sounds farther from the next day’s market.

  There were already carts nestled into their coveted spots. Merchants were hovering over the scene like anxious carrion birds. Many had their own small fires going and the smells of stew and simple spices stirred their stomachs. They were the smells of home. Smells of warmth splashed upon the rolling hills of a faraway land.

  Aeden smiled as he stood. He briefly stretched as he helped gather their supplies. The small group had grown closer over the course of the day sharing stories of their homes. He found out Simon and Gamel were brothers whose parents were lost to consumption. He learned of Thomas’ home and more about Adel. Luckily the dinner bell had saved him from divulging much of his own past.

  The small group walked up the hill toward the monastery with supplies in hand. The supplies were handed over to monks waiting near the monastery doors. They stamped their feet before entering and made their way to the open-aired room filled with water troughs. As they had done yesterday, the monks cleansed their hands and faces as they whispered a simple prayer of thanks.

  Dinner was a simpler affair than the day before. Neri was chosen to read as Adel, Thomas, and Aeden sought out Odilo. They found him already seated with bits of wool stuck to his gray robes. They joined him just as Bosco arrived with a few of the old, weathered scribes. The scribes and Bosco sat far from Aeden and his group, beyond view.

  Food was passed and quickly eaten with the hunger of men who’d worked all day. The air was stuffy with the smell of sweat and salt. Candles burned along the walls and Neri’s voice floated in the ripe atmosphere. His accent was more pronounced as he read, both lyrical and guttural.

  The food was gone before Neri had a chance to read a second chapter, which was a blessing for he didn’t seem overly excited to have been chosen to read while the others ate. The familiar scraping of moving benches, plates being gathered, and the table being cleared drowned out Aeden’s thoughts. Before he knew it they were done with chores and done for the night. The abbot excused himself as the monks retired to the cloisters.

  That night there was less of a formal gathering and more one on one chatting as the monks had slowly grown to know each other over the course of a day and a half. Already there was a sense of familiarity and camaraderie. It was the warm feeling of fellowship that only shared experience can bring.

  It was with a smile and a tired body that Aeden pulled a blanket over him. He closed his eyes and the world faded away. Aeden slept well that night.

  Chapter 31

  “Fire is the cleansing agent of Salvare’s wrath.” Book of Khein 6:9

  The following day was Market Day. Every month the monastery hosted an open air market for the monks, local merchants, and farmers to sell their wares. It was widely known as the best market within a two day’s walk.

  There was a definite cloud of excited energy about the monastery that morning. It hung diffusely in the air like spider silk. Aeden was no exception. He too was caught in the web of curious excitation. He quickly set to chores, which were thankfully cut short. The monks responded to a second set of clanging bells and made for the nave for Morning Prayer.

  The nave was cast in the glow of a thousand candles. Already a sizeable group was in attendance. There were far more people sitting and waiting than any Morning Prayer in the Red City Monastery. The group was diverse in age. The young fidgeted in their seat. Muffled coughing echoed grandly off the stone walls and vaulted ceiling. The old sat quietly, solemnly awaiting the arriving monks.

  The gray-robed line entered and stood in a formation not unlike that of the imperial army. Their voices soon filled the chamber with prayer, drowning out the shuffling of those in attendance. Many present had their eyes closed. Others whispered the holy words to themselves in a quiet mumbling rhythm.

  Prayers wrapped to a close and the monks left as earnestly as they had arrived. Each rank filed off as they made their way from the grand nave to the humble refectory for a quick morning meal. Aeden was hungry and was looking forward to some food, he hoped as they walked, that he wouldn’t be chosen for the morning reading.

  The sun was still not up as the days had grown shorter. There was a chill in the air as the monks entered the dining area. They formed a line and worked their way through the kitchen, in silence, grabbing their plates. Adel was behind him, and the tall, lanky figure of Bosco was only a few people ahead of him. A monk approached Bosco, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. By this point Bosco was nearly to the entrance of the kitchens. A look of mild annoyance passed over his face. The other monk gestured for him to follow. A small wave of relief washed over Aeden as he knew he hadn’t been picked for reading duty.

  Once seated the monks ate as Bosco’s meek voice fought to be heard. His face was a mask of distaste as he read the story of Terric the Healer from the vaunted Book of Khein.

  As breakfast wrapped up Bosco was seen quickly exiting the refectory, likely making his way back to the library to watch over the scribes and the Book of Divinus. As he stepped out he covertly wiped at his nose with his robes. Aeden shivered in disgust. Did no one else notice his filthy habit?

  Aeden briefly had an image of the watery eyed scribe looking up, catching Bosco in the middle of one of his nose explorations. He smiled to himself, grateful he wasn’t cooped up in the library all day.

  Odilo limped ahead of Aeden, joining Adel and Thomas. The morning silence was getting longer as the days grew shorter and it was irritating. There were times in which Aeden loved nothing more than to be left alone to his own thoughts and there were times when he wanted to talk. This morning he wanted to talk. More specifically he wanted to know what the rest of the day was to bring and what he was going to be doing.

  The sun was barely cresting the horizon as the monks stepped out into the crisp morning air. Wisps of steam we
re uncoiling slowly from their dewy grasp. Down the twisting road wagons were parked by different stalls and merchants were already busy unloading and setting about displaying their wares.

  The abbot strolled through this with a keen eye. He caught sight of the taller figure of Aeden and those milling about him. Gilbert made a beeline toward them as Aeden turned to face him.

  “Here comes the abbot,” Aeden whispered to the others.

  “I need you, you, and you to assist with moving the fleeces from storage,” he said pointing to Aeden, Adel, and Odilo. “And you can help with the cheese from the basement,” Gilbert said gesturing to Thomas.

  Thomas’ pale face lit up with obvious excitement. Adel glanced at Aeden with a bit of a smirk half concealed on his face. They were thinking the same thing, Thomas wasn’t going to be working so much as sampling and stuffing his cheeks with whatever he could find.

  “Yes senior,” the monks replied.

  “Get to it then,” the abbot said as he strode off to oversee the unfolding market.

  Aeden waved to Thomas, “enjoy the cheeses!”

  “Don’t get lost under the mountain of fleeces,” he responded as he walked back toward the monastery, a marked skip in his step.

  “You think there is a stand selling pastries I could work at?” Adel asked with a bit of hope in his voice.

  “Let’s get to it,” Odilo said, in a tone that could possibly be mistaken for a crude impersonation of the abbot. Adel’s smile faded to assume a more monk-like visage as he followed Aeden and Odilo.

  The storage shed containing the fleece smelled of dust and earth. Aeden had watched the grandfathers of S’Vothe tend to the sheep. He had watched the older women’s strong hands washing the wool in cold water before they began the laborious process of spinning it and winding it onto skeins.

  As he grabbed a bundle and hefted it onto his shoulder Adel asked what he’d been thinking.

  “Why are these so clean?” Adel asked.

  Odilo chuckled and Aeden smiled. He had seen enough sheep to know that their overcoat was often full of bramble, sweat, and toward the rear a good smattering of feces. The fleeces before him were for the most part relatively clean.

  “They rinse them in buckets of rainwater,” Odilo explained already walking out of the shed with his load.

  This pacified Adel and he followed Odilo down the hill with Aeden on his heels.

  By the time the sun was fully awake the market was bustling with activity. A puppet show was already entertaining a group of children. The words of the puppeteer drew laughs and shouts of derision. His words carried above the din of the crowds.

  “A monk there was upon his steed,

  Gentle as a wooden reed,

  His voice was wrought with words of hell,

  So that all done deeds simply fell,

  Fat were his lords of mirth,

  But all they ate increased their girth,

  Robbing from paupers and pikes,

  Until one day all would be right,

  And heads would roll upon the crowds

  As all laughed dancing to the clouds.”

  There was a smattering of applause. The children giggled at the movements of the puppets, as those who understood the puppeteer’s words distanced themselves from his stand wearing grim faces and tired eyes.

  Aeden watched in fascination as hawkers walked amidst the growing crowds shouting to those who would listen as they attempted to sell their wares. The farming poor mustered at the outskirts of the market selling what extra produce they had out of simple baskets.

  “Not quite like the markets in the Red City,” Adel said looking upon the scene as he wiped sweat off his brow.

  “It smells better,” Aeden said.

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “There’s still more fleece to bring down,” Odilo said clasping them on the shoulders, “then we can enjoy the day.”

  They hiked back up the hill for their final load. The sun was near its midday zenith and the few clouds that had dotted the sky dissipated under its unrelenting glare. The warmth made Aeden feel lazy and he was looking forward to taking a few moments to relax and enjoy the scenery.

  There were four bundles left in the now mostly empty shed. Not wishing to make another trip Aeden carried two bundles as he followed Adel and Odilo back to the seller’s stall. As he looked down at the market sprawled out before him he saw the lazy entrails of smoke wafting up from the far side. At first he thought it was nothing more than the smoke of one of the food merchants. But soon the distant shouts of frantic people jostled that thought free.

  “Fire!” He yelled as he pointed to the other end of the market, dropping his bundles.

  Odilo glanced up and saw it before Adel had a chance to drop his load. Adel placed a hand to his brow and cast a long glance toward the market tracing the origins of the smoky fingers now rising rapidly into the air.

  “Let’s get to the pumps,” Odilo shouted as he bolted down the hill abandoning the fleece bundle on the grassy hillside.

  Adel and Aeden didn’t hesitate as they followed Odilo down the hill. Abbot Gilbert could be seen shouting orders as the monks abandoned their stalls and made their way to the pump by the well carrying empty buckets.

  Another set of flames leapt up into the air on the other side of the market from the first set of fires. Children stood crying in the street as adults panicked, some began packing their wares, and others joined the effort of putting out the fires. Despite the madness Aeden’s mind was alight with another possibility. His stomach was unsettled as the hard earned knowledge of his childhood training beckoned to come forth through the layers of repression he’d built over the last year.

  “Let’s make a line,” Aeden shouted as he approached the pumps.

  A few of the monks looked up at him before slowly falling into a semblance of a line. One of the stronger monks was manning the pump as another held a bucket under its spout. The bucket once filled was then passed down the forming line, making its way to the fire. The flames now licked at the sky with a maddening fury. Black clouds of smoke spread across the market, fanned by a late afternoon wind.

  The fire had jumped to a neighboring stall, growing like some living entity. People were shouting and screams pierced the bedlam. They were the cries of pain. Deep memories of the recent past welled up inside of Aeden. He glanced to the sky half in fear that a draccus fiend was breathing fire from the heavens. Billowing charcoal clouds blotted out the otherwise blue firmament, but there was no sight or sign of a draccus fiend. His keen eyes then scanned the market.

  He caught sight of a guard lying on the ground, unmoving. Aeden continued to look across the chaos of the marketplace and saw another Nailsean guard unmoving face down on the ground. His heart dropped into his stomach as his initial suspicions were confirmed.

  “We’re under attack!” Aeden shouted.

  Chapter 32

  “The smell of fear is nothing like the smell of death.” Saying of the Thane Sagan

  The monks looked at Aeden with the startled expression of uncomprehending animals. None behaved the way they should have. As a boy in S’Vothe they would hold drills periodically to prepare for an eventual attack. Alarm bells would be rung as people ran to defensive positions where stashes of weapons lay ready. Here, however, no one reacted. People continued to fight the fire. Monks continued with the buckets of water. Children continued to cry. And in the distance the sound of drums beating irregularly upon the ground rumbled ever closer.

  Aeden looked out to the tree line. It was there that he saw the first reflective glint of steel. A heartbeat later he saw horses burst forth. The sound hadn’t been drums. They were the beat of hooves upon the battered ground.

  They were majestic creatures, tall and strong. Their nostrils flared as they galloped toward the market. Men sat hunched on their powerful backs like predatory cats. The wind whipped at their determined faces, partially concealed by their helmets. A pennant snapped and unfurled in their
haste, revealing the crest of the emperor, a draccus fiend with a single breath of flame. Yet the wind did not bring the sound of shouts or war cries. Rather it spoke of steely conviction, revealed by the set of their shoulders, the tenacious grip upon their spears and long swords. It spoke of the cold-hearted look of men resolved to kill.

  Aeden knew there was no point saving the market. Their only hope for survival was a good defensive position.

  “Back to the monastery! Run for shelter!” He bellowed. His voice more resonant than even he imagined it could be.

  The monks froze. The impressive sight of war horses rapidly descending upon the marketplace transfixed them as if they had started upon a basilisk. It was infuriating. Why was it when mortal danger was upon someone they chose inaction? Was life so fragile and fleeting? Were people so complacent as to hand over responsibility for their well-being to unknown strangers? Aeden was stupefied by their lack of response. It angered him. He felt his face flush hot as if a burning furnace was feeding his body. An enraged sweat broke out as a strange calm pacified his mental wanderings.

  He glanced about taking note of his surroundings. In the distance he saw Abbot Gilbert. His tall strong frame was evidenced in his gait as he ran toward the incoming army. His robe billowed about him like a sail. His hands were held up palms out. The war horse stammered ever closer. The abbot shouted, his words carried by the wind.

  “In the name of Salvare I demand you leave this place!”

  The war horses didn’t slow as they met him on the field. He looked insignificant and small next to the incoming mass of horses and men. A heavy war hammer was lifted overhead. It came down with startling force, smashing through the abbot’s outstretched hands and into his skull. A muted thunk permeated the air for the span of a heartbeat and the abbot crumpled like a fallen rag doll. His head cleaved like a pig at market.

  The dull crack of iron on bone seemed to wake the frozen populace. Startled screams hacked at the momentary hush as people began to run for their lives. Warriors on horseback cut through the market like a Vintas gale. The mocking pennant glared down upon the people of Nailsea.