Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  Arms were thrown up in protective postures as swords sliced through flesh. Blood sprayed and speckled the beautiful manes of the horses. And the monks finally started their mad scramble up the hill toward the protective walls of the monastery. They ran as if the lord Salvare beckoned to them. Gray-robed figures were seen slipping, sprinting, and scurrying in their desperate dash for safety.

  Adel stood unmoving as he watched the massacre unfold. A sharp slap across the face woke his sleeping mind.

  “Go to the monastery, protect the Book of Divinus,” Aeden shouted.

  Adel nodded, purpose filling him with strength. He glanced about as if suddenly awakened and joined the monks in their frantic retreat. Aeden watched him go then looked about for Odilo. His bald head and gray robes were heading down the hill toward the chaos.

  “Odilo!” Aeden shouted, as he struggled to watch over his group, as if watching over a flock of dispersing sheep.

  “Brother Thomas,” Odilo shouted back as he headed down the hill.

  Aeden glanced toward the retreating monks, ensuring Adel was part of the mad rush. He was. Unwilling to lose the man who had sheltered him, Aeden ran after Odilo. His feet pounded the ground in a steady beat. The shrieks of women grasped at his resolve. The smell of charred skin sought to overwhelm him with guilty inaction. A gust of smoke caused him to cough in a sputtering gasp for air. It passed and he realized he’d caught up to Odilo.

  The two now ran down the hill toward the stall Thomas was working. The unfolding scene fought to cut through his anger and immobilize him with fear.

  The sounds of steel upon flesh cut through his awareness like a sickle through wheat. Children cried as war horses stammered about. The savagery of the imperial soldiers was more startling than anything Aeden had witnessed in his short life. It was almost too easy to forget that they too were men. He was sickened, saddened, and more than anything he was angry.

  “Odilo!” Thomas shouted, still clutching a wheel of cheese in his hands as if it would somehow save him from the madness.

  Blood covered parts of his robe and hands. Aeden noticed his hands, they were visibly shaking. His eyes were wide with fear as he mumbled a prayer.

  “We must get to shelter,” Odilo shouted, reaching out a protective hand toward him, despite the distance.

  Thomas left the relative shelter of a battered stall and ran toward them.

  “No!” Aeden shouted with all his heart.

  A tall man on a towering war horse caught sight of the fleeing monk. He reined his horse. Its magnificent head reared back in protest as it turned on a new path. The beast bore down on the frail monk. Thomas ran, oblivious. The horse crushed the broken body of a little girl as it galloped nearer.

  It was the thundering beat of death. Odilo ran harder in an effort to save his brother monk. His feet were too slow. His body was too weak. With one swift movement Thomas was cut down. The wheel of cheese flew from his hands as his body fell lifeless to the bloodied ground. His final expression was one of surprise.

  The fierce man on horseback did not hesitate as he reared toward Odilo.

  Aeden reacted with every fiber in his body. Rage swirled about him like a gossamer storm. His thick hands grasped hold of his friend as the war horse settled upon them. Aeden caught sight of the startling green eyes of his attacker and the tufts of red hair under his helmet. A strange thought passed through his mind as he spun with Odilo in his arms. The soldier slashed with his sword striking Aeden squarely upon the back.

  Both Aeden and Odilo fell to the ground, struck down by the force of the blow. The soldier pulled on his reins and circled about. His war horse stomped by the unmoving figures as the man atop glanced about the burning market for more people to kill. A maniacal grin of religious fervor fixed upon his pale features.

  Chapter 33

  “Shock is the reflexive mind coping with a shattered reality.” Text of Human Principles - Library of Galdor

  It took a full day and half a night to control the fires that had swept across the marketplace. Citizens from Nailsea picked through the remains. Some were looking for friends, family members, as others sought anything of value. Nailsean guards were posted in a massive ring about the charred earth. Finally, gray robed monks were seen praying, chanting, and crying soft tears of sadness for those they had lost.

  Aeden stumbled about stuck somewhere between grief and outrage. His back was sore from where the attacker’s sword had struck his Templas blade. His hands were numb and his eyes stung from the ash carried by the breeze.

  After the attack Aeden and Odilo had lay upon the beaten earth, lost, horrified, and scared. They watched through half open eyes as the war horses retreated away from the city. They stumbled to shaky feet as the dust of reality settled firmly upon their shoulders. They watched as the Nailsean Guard rushed to defend the market and their fallen brothers.

  They were too late. The market lay in smoldering ruins. Bodies were strewn about as if cast aside by some uncaring giant. Smoke clung to the air like some rabid animal, stinging the eyes and burning the noses of any who dared venture too close.

  They wiped away tears of sadness and stifled feelings of anger as they picked through the bodies. They looked for their brother monks. Aeden forced himself to feel nothing. He refused to freeze as he had when his village had been destroyed. A village he should have sacrificed his life defending. Guilt lurked in the messy darkness of tangled emotion.

  The two of them began with Thomas. They carefully carried his body away from the carnage to a spot unblemished by horses’ hoof prints, blood, and smoldering ash. They whispered their prayers. They closed his eyes and they laid him to rest until such time that he could be properly buried.

  As the day wore on, the line of bodies grew. They covered the green grass in neat rows. Their pale faces watching the movement of the sun. Their blood speckled clothing and horrendous injuries bespeaking a fate no one should have to endure.

  Families claimed bodies. People wept and shouted. And through it all Odilo and Aeden continued to trudge along as if guided by some unseen hand, gifted with some unseen strength. The truth, however, was far more mundane. Both men had suffered tragedy in their lives. Both men had formed an irreconcilable bond that day. Their actions drew upon a deep well of tormented emotion. Their strength fed off each other as if some hidden link fueled them past their limits.

  The monks from the monastery had finally made their way down. Even Bosco was amidst them. His face was a ghastly white as if it were trying to blend in with the white ash carried by the wind. Neri and Adel stood near each other searching for their fellow band of pilgrimaging monks.

  When Adel finally found Aeden and Odilo his eyes burst forth with tears. His chest shook with heaving sobs of gratitude and racking helpings of fear.

  As Aeden embraced his brother he whispered, “Thomas has been given to Salvare.”

  Adel nodded in shock and grief. His hands tracing a line over Aeden’s Templas sword slung under his robes secured to his back. Aeden pulled away and looked at Adel. Adel had been too saddened to notice.

  “We must organize an effort to care for our brother monks,” his voice sounded firmer and stronger than he felt.

  It was then that he noticed the Nailsean monks were looking upon him. They were looking for guidance, leadership. Their abbot lay upon the rows of dead and along with him laid their resolve.

  Aeden glanced about, the weight of the day attempting to rob him of his voice, of his dignity. He dug down into the pit of his heart and cleared his mind as countless hours of training had taught him to do and he spoke.

  “We must be strong brothers. We must be strong for our fellow brothers who have fallen today. We must be strong for those who have lost family here today. We are the face of Salvare. We are the strength of the city. Let us pray for those who have fallen, and let us begin the task of caring for the bodies of those who have passed into the arms of our lord.”

  They were the words and the actions he should hav
e taken with his own people. They were the guilty translation of conscience to the physical world. He knew they were watching.

  By nightfall Aeden was exhausted. His body was starved and deprived of rest. One hundred and eighty nine graves were dug that day. They were simple graves on the hillside near the market. Monks had begun the digging and the townsfolk of Nailsea had joined their efforts.

  As the sun was setting a long line of monks stood upon the hill and chanted. Their voices sang out a long and low prayer that echoed upon the shattered remains of the stalls. The sound penetrated the hearts of those present and carried with it the strength of hope and the power of renewal. It was then that Aeden understood the true power of the Church. It was the power of unity, faith, and community. It was the power of the masses.

  Chapter 34

  “Pride is the sin of those who cannot see beyond their own shadow.” Book of Khein 2:12

  The next few days were filled with prayers, grief, and the unceremonious chores of daily life. A trudging routine was established as most looked to their senior monk, James, to fill the void. It had been deemed that on the third day elections would be held to officially select the new abbot. The elections meant the monks from the Red City were free for longer parts of the day.

  For Aeden the days passed with a burning anger seething within like glowing coals. The injustice of it all seemed profoundly unfair. There was a code of honor that warriors were to follow. The Thane harped on this as part of their intensive training. Hurting or killing the weak and unarmed for the sole purpose of destruction was not only frowned upon, it was taught as a sin that would be rewarded with death in this life and a special place of torment in the afterlife. The emperor and his soldiers had extended far beyond their right and beyond the realm and sanctity of life. Aeden wanted nothing more than justice for his fallen friend Thomas and for the innocents slaughtered that day.

  He was forced, however, to stifle his feelings for the other monks. He noticed most weren’t dealing with their grief through anger, but instead were cast in the shadow of sadness and grief. For them he wore a face of strength and struggled to give hope. He felt older than his years.

  The business of praying and maintaining the monastery carried on as usual, despite the veiled anger Aeden felt or the pervasive gloom that stuck to the walls like a slick growth. The scribes were still working day and night copying the Book of Divinus. It was a short book devoid of illustrations, but it was still a painstaking endeavor. The nibs of each quill used had to constantly be recut. Quills were painstakingly made by the scribes during their non-copying hours. The ink paste they had created from boiling blackthorn was dissolved in wine as needed to maintain a steady supply. And all the while Bosco watched and waited.

  Aeden knew this for he had stopped by the library on more than one occasion to check on the progress of the scribes. They weren’t much happy for the visit. They were a solitary bunch that appeared to only tolerate the spoken word and the company of others. They were ideally suited to the task at hand.

  Bosco, however, seemed overly interested one day at his visit. His usually drawn face formed a semblance of a smile. It gave him the awkward appearance of a man first learning to smile.

  “How would you like to watch the fascinating work of the scribes for an hour?” He asked hopefully.

  Aeden had thought it strange and his curiosity welled up through the layers of anger and grief he had been harboring for the last few days.

  “Why?” was all he asked.

  Bosco regarded him thoughtfully for a moment as if he were trying to create the perfect lie. Instead he simply spoke, albeit softly, “to send a pigeon back to the Red City, to inform them,” Bosco paused and the smile slipped from his, “of our loss.”

  Aeden nodded and waved his hand indicating for Bosco to go. The tall skinny frame of Bosco extricated himself quietly from the library. One of the scribes scowled, but didn’t look up from his writing desk.

  Aeden was glad for the reprieve. It was almost peaceful sitting in the room with the other monks. In many ways he might as well have been left alone.

  A soft light permeated the floor and graced the writing desks. Dust lingered in the air, hovering as small specks within the shafts of light cutting delicately through the windows. The sounds of quills scratching upon the surface of parchments of vellum hung delicately in the air. The voice of the sole reader was solemn and monotone. Every hour the scribes would change who read aloud as the others copied every word they heard.

  The reader changed twice before Bosco returned. Aeden had hardly noticed. He had been lost in thought. His mind lurked on the events of a few days earlier. The dreadful images of the massacre at the marketplace unfolded in his mind like a sail unfurling to the wind.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something differently would he have been able to save Thomas. What if he had run down the hill sooner? What if he had drawn his sword and attacked the soldier on the massive war horse? A thousand what-ifs were fighting for control of his attention that Aeden was startled when Bosco rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you alright?” Bosco said, with what appeared to be genuine concern.

  It was the first time Aeden had heard him speak with any sense of compassion. It was unsettling.

  “Yes, thank you,” he finally said as he stood, earning a sharp hushing “shhh,” from one of the scribes.

  He walked out of the room without looking back. The corridor suddenly felt warm and comforting despite its stone-cool chill. He simply stood there for a moment gathering himself and his bearings before he made his way toward the central nave in the hopes of finding Adel.

  He found Neri first.

  “The other monks are speaking of your deeds,” he said flatly.

  This caught Aeden by surprise and he wasn’t quite sure what Neri was referring to.

  “I don’t follow your words,” he said in response.

  Neri stared at him with the look of one talking to a child, “your actions at the marketplace, saving Odilo, organizing the effort of collecting the dead, and starting the task of burying them,” he said with a minor hint of displeasure as if the whole affair hadn’t played out properly.

  Yet again Aeden found he was unable to connect with Neri. What was it that was so different about him that made it so hard to relate? Could the minor differences of culture create such a gap between two otherwise similar beings?

  “Have you seen Adel?” Aeden asked.

  “He’s in the dining hall, as are the others,” he said.

  “What are you doing out here?” Curiosity was taking over.

  “I don’t like being in large groups, and Odilo felt Bosco should join them,” Neri said.

  “Thank you for the information,” Aeden said awkwardly as he slowly moved away from the conversation.

  Neri’s words echoed in his head as he left him standing in the corridor. He was an odd man. He didn’t speak often and when he did it was either to relate a misunderstanding of some sort or to correct someone based on a difference of perception. Neri seemed to view the world through a different lens. Aeden had always heard that D’seart was a unique place with very different customs and traditions. He therefore gave Neri’s words little heed.

  “I was looking for you,” Adel said as he rounded a corner and practically ran into Aeden.

  “I’m here,” Aeden replied.

  “They will announce the results of a secret election for the new abbot and Odilo thought it’d be good if we were there to show our support and cohesion.”

  “Should be fun,” he replied following Adel, although he wasn’t looking forward to another clerical ceremony.

  They walked without word down the stone corridors of the Monastery of Nailsea. Normally there would have been other monks busy cleaning. Today the corridors were devoid of people. It was eerily quiet as if death still lingered in the air and demanded silence.

  The monks were gathered in the dining hall. They were seated as if to have
a meal, but it wasn’t mealtime. No food rested upon the tables and the monks were quietly conversing with each other. There was an air of excitement, nervousness, and grief that lingered over them. It was palpable but difficult to describe if one were to simply look at the gray-robed figures sitting there. It wasn’t until more careful consideration was given to individual facial expressions, the fidgeting movements of their hands, and the low, somber tones of their voices that a picture could be painted to illustrate the mood. It was a picture that would have been painted in broad strokes of drab and gray.

  Candles burned brightly, illuminating the scene in soft tones of yellow. Near one of the candelabras sat Odilo. Adel and Aeden took seats next to him. Aeden caught sight of James, the most likely candidate to become the new abbot, talking to another younger monk he recognized as the one who had greeted them on their first day. His curiosity about the whole process swelled.

  “How do the elections work?” Aeden asked hoping conversation would free his mind of its incessantly dark thoughts.

  He hadn’t really geared his question to anyone in particular. He had simply stated what he had been thinking out loud. Adel jumped in with an answer.

  “There are a set of rules that must be followed, but every monastery is slightly different.” He paused and looked at Odilo as if for guidance. Odilo simply nodded his head in encouragement. Adel continued, “Generally a monk has to be over twenty five years of age to be considered for the position, with at least eight years as a monk. Now some monasteries only promote from within, some purposefully think it best to elect someone from another monastery to keep things more civil and to introduce new ideas.”

  Adel paused in his explanation as if thinking of what else there was to explain. Odilo looked over toward them and spoke, “If I may.”

  “Of course,” Adel said quickly, his eyes tracking the incoming Neri and Bosco.