Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  “It must have been Salvare’s will, for brother Aeden speaks from the heart and his words are true.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” The subdeacon paused for a moment before changing tracts, “Let’s then move on to the real reason you are here, a tied vote at the monastery, and the continuation of a pilgrimage.”

  “Yes father,” James spoke up in an effort to take charge.

  Odilo’s eyes showed surprise at mention of the pilgrimage. Neri remained tight faced, even more so than usual. As far as Aeden knew the deacon wasn’t made aware of their arrival. The faint words he overheard through Abbot Filbert’s door echoed lightly in his head, a response to Blaise’s simple question asking if he had informed the deacon, “You know very well that wouldn’t be wise, I might as well inform the High Priest of Gemynd what we intend. There is no choice in this matter.”

  The dark-haired subdeacon was clearly a shrewd man playing at a subtle game that remained veiled to the simple monks.

  “You are both astute and wise,” James said in a blatant attempt to curry favor.

  “You needn’t flatter me,” the subdeacon said with sharp eyes and a wave of his bejeweled hand, “I do assume you’re seeking the position of abbot at Nailsea?”

  “Yes father,” he replied in a meeker voice that didn’t suit him.

  The subdeacon’s eyes scanned over the others and finally stopped upon the youthful figure of Aeden. He pointed to him as he spoke.

  “Step forward, I assume you are the youth that tied his vote?”

  “I am,” Aeden said with more strength in his voice than intended.

  The subdeacon nodded his head as if in apparent thought. “You are obviously too young and the rules of the Church clearly stipulate the requirements necessary for one to become abbot.”

  At this point a wide smile crept onto James’ face as he took a moment to gloat at the decision. Aeden felt a sudden burden lifted from his chest and resisted an urge to laugh.

  “I’m not finished,” the subdeacon said, his eyes glaring intensely as if he did not like to be interrupted by idle thoughts, “James will not become the abbot of Nailsea, Deacon Edwin has chosen another to fill Abbot Gilbert’s place.”

  The smile slipped from James’ face as quickly as if someone had reached forward and snatched it from him.

  “Who then, if I may ask, is to fill that position?” James asked in a tightly controlled voice.

  The subdeacon’s eyes then looked over to the tall, lanky figure of Bosco.

  “Bosco of the Red City Monastery shall be, and you shall be his sacrist assisting him as is necessary in the daily running of the monastery.”

  Aeden looked over to Bosco. Bosco’s eyes were averted, but the look of surprise Aeden had expected failed to roll across Bosco’s long face. Bosco’s hand clutched at his chest as if he were suffering chest pain, but Aeden quickly realized he was holding the Book of Divinus within the folds of his robes.

  “Ah yes, as for the book please hand that to the young monk, it shall now be in his care,” the subdeacon commanded, looking from Bosco to Aeden.

  Bosco looked hesitant at first until he caught sight of the subdeacon's unwavering glare. With long fingers he withdrew the carefully wrapped book and placed it in Aeden’s strong hands.

  Just then a side door swung open. An angry looking man with a scar upon one side of his face strode out. He wore light body armor with the circle of Salvare upon his chest, but strangely no weapons were on his person. He was followed by the most beautiful woman Aeden had ever seen, the Archduchess of the Second House of Bodig. He couldn’t have been more surprised had the roof collapsed around them.

  The scarred man hardly gave them the time of day until his eye caught the short, bald, and slightly scarred figure of Odilo. There was a pregnant pause in which the man studied him as if recalling some long dormant memory. He grunted, nodded briefly and stalked off. Aeden, however, barely noticed. His attention was focused on the archduchess. Had he paid more attention he may have seen the subdeacon squirm in his chair. But of course, he only had eyes for the archduchess.

  She wore a simple garment layered to flatter her feminine features with a red sash elegantly tied about her narrow waist. Her dark hair seemed even darker and more beautiful in the flickering light of the crackling fire. She paused as she stepped through, her eyes finding his. Aeden stood immobilized as if he had just sprouted roots. Time hung suspended for what felt like an eternity. In that moment he studied every line, every shadow, every perfection that was her face. A simple smile passed over her lips so subtly that Aeden wondered if he had imagined it.

  The moment was broken and she followed the angry-looking man through the room, passing the monks and moving beyond Aeden’s field of vision. Aeden hardly noticed as an older man too stepped into the room. His robes were clean, finely woven, and of an expensive fabric, yet clearly demarcated him of the Church.

  “I trust this matter has been resolved,” the man said, his voice struggling to hide his disdain as his hands gestured loosely to the band of monks.

  “Yes deacon,” the subdeacon responded pushing himself from the chair.

  The monks stood there a moment as if lost for words or action.

  “You may go, spread the good word and walk in Salvare’s light,” the subdeacon said.

  The monks didn’t need further coaxing. They left the room and exited the heavy building.

  Chapter 37

  “The temerity of faith is one best left for men of god.” Saying of Gemynd

  The journey northward to Gemynd was not without incident. As Neri, Adel, Odilo, and Aeden made their way back toward the Old City of Treton they met with some trouble, yet ultimately they felt a greater connection to their faith and their god. And in Aeden’s case it was a subtle reminder of the power of the Thirteen.

  The day was particularly cold as the first sign of Vintas was upon them. Snow fell in a light flurry as steely clouds obscured the weak sun. An occasional gust of wind would tear through the leafless trees and cut through their robes like a wolf tearing into a meal.

  They had already parted ways with Bosco, James, and Luke for they were heading back to Nailsea. The farewells were half-hearted and forced for the most part. Bosco took to his new role quickly, holding his head differently and looking down the length of his long nose as if peering at subordinates. James continued to sulk despite his age, and wore an expression of despondent disregard. Luke was still young, younger even than Aeden, and smiled and waved his goodbye enthusiastically.

  The pilgrimaging monks hadn’t traveled far when the unfortunate business all began. It was Neri who first warned them of something out of the ordinary, but not in any noble manner. It was his garish shout that pulled them from their thoughts and had them spin about to see what had surprised the trailing monk.

  On the roadway stood a man wearing nothing but tattered rags for clothing. He was dirty and smelled of waste and decay. His feet were bare, blistered, and rough. Most notably he was missing his tongue, a clear sign of one who had lied or slandered someone higher on the social food chain. He was clearly an outlaw.

  The group was so caught up by the sight of the man that they failed to notice two other outlaws step onto the road behind them. Adel and Odilo had already worked their way toward Neri and the tongueless man in an effort to potentially offer aid.

  This left Aeden toward the back of the group. It was Aeden who noticed the two men step onto the street with knives in their hands. They looked emaciated and mean. Their knives, though rusty and chipped look menacing in their hands as their wild looking eyes searched the group hungrily.

  Under different circumstances Aeden would have thought it almost comical that men without armor and nothing more than short knives were attacking a larger, healthier group. But he was with a band of monks, defended by the good-will of the people and their faith in god. In other words it was up to him to assure their safety. Blaise’s words rang in his head, “keep them safe brother Aeden.”


  With hands stretched out before him, palms out, he approached the larger one to the right. He took a few calming breaths and cleared his mind as he became alert to the subtle movements of the men before him. He watched their stance, the tension in their shoulders, and the darting look of their eyes.

  He was briefly reminded of his training as a boy. Instead of a wild man before him it was Devon, his friend. Devon wore a smirk and held a wooden spathe. It was Aeden’s task to disarm Devon rapidly and without any harm to himself. His father, the kovor, stood in the shadows watching.

  The memory faded rapidly, replaced with the cold reality before him. These men were not his friends. They were here with a single purpose, to steal whatever they could anyway they could. The more he thought on it the angrier he became. The monks were unarmed and these men wished to commit violence in the name of selfish desire, rather than work for what they needed. Images of imperial soldiers sweeping through the Nailsean market on horseback cutting through the masses fueled the simmering coals of injustice he had been harboring for the last few days.

  Without hesitation Aeden closed the remaining distance between him and the first man. In a rapid blur of motion he broke the hand that held the knife and threw the man to the side of the road. The other man attacked as Aeden had expected, with the rusted blade thrust toward him.

  He caught a glimpse of Odilo turning toward him and heard words echo in the background. They were lost to him as he engaged. His hand connected with the man’s wrist as he turned his body and allowed the thrust to miss his body. He pivoted and applied pressure to the knife hand sending the man sailing feet over head toward the ground. The man fell in a heap and Aeden slammed a heavy palm onto the back of his neck. The connection of his stone-hardened palm to the soft backside of the man’s neck was strangely satisfying.

  The larger man with a broken arm glanced at his fallen friend then to Aeden. Aeden’s eyes were pools of fury, dark and menacing. The man shrank back as if Aeden’s stare had burnt his flesh. He scrambled backward to his feet and retreated rapidly into the forest. At the other end of the small band of monks the tongueless man grunted something incomprehensible. Soon he too bolted into the forest, leaving the group momentarily stunned.

  “What have you done?” Neri inquired as he pushed his way toward Aeden, half accusatory, half in awe.

  “Nothing,” he replied looking down at the limp form of the man on the ground, his insides swirling as his heart pounded away at his chest.

  “Why did they run and what happened to this man?” Neri asked in a rush.

  Adel stepped forward and looked down at the man, whispering, “It’s a miracle!”

  Aeden glanced about looking at the others, noticing that all eyes were on him. Only Odilo seemed to have registered the last interaction, yet he stood quietly. Odilo took a small step forward and laid a gentle and calming hand on Aeden. For a moment Aeden felt like he was going to react, but instead the storm of emotion slowly settled. Aeden had been ready to answer with the truth, but Adel’s words caught him by surprise. For some reason Aeden felt compelled to lie. It was a simple transgression into an arena of ease and dishonor, one that would mark greater transgressions to come.

  “I began to pray quietly as I saw the two men approach. As this man,” Aeden pointed to the fallen form crumpled before him, “approached I touched the Book of Divinus and he fell before my feet as if struck by the hand of god. The other man saw this and ran.” Finally his breathing was under control and his face fell into its usual passive countenance.

  Neri narrowed his eyes as Odilo stood by his side. Odilo glanced at the fallen form briefly, uttering a quick prayer. It was Neri who spoke.

  “Salvare’s will has been done,” he stated without sympathy as he stepped past the fallen form.

  Aeden knelt by the fallen man and placed a hand on his neck. He was rewarded by a heavy pulse.

  “He will live,” he said looking up to Odilo and Adel.

  “He’ll live,” Adel whispered as if the shock were only now slowly wearing away like ice at the beginning of Lenton.

  “Salvare is merciful,” Odilo said before looking up catching Aeden’s eye.

  “Yes and works in mysterious ways,” Adel stated looking at Odilo.

  They nodded as they resumed their journey toward the stone road. The air somehow felt colder and thicker. The snow now began to fall in earnest blanketing the ground in a thin film of white. The scene was beautiful and clean, a work of art that only Salvare could have produced.

  Fear faded as heartbeats settled. Finally a feeling of vigor settled upon the group as realization of their brush with death and god’s work permeated their consciousness.

  The clouds parted allowing for a shaft of light to illuminate the roadway ahead. Snow danced in the light as it fell from the heavens. And even Neri had a faint, giddy smile upon his lips. They were alive and despite all evidence to the contrary, selected and protected by Salvare himself.

  Sometimes belief in a thing is more important than understanding, Aeden thought. He cast one final glance back upon the now serene scene. The last remnants of his fight now rested as unseen prints under his restful gaze.

  Chapter 38

  “Festivals disarm the masses, while leaving the church armed with the tools of piety.” Analogy of the Order - Library of Galdor

  It was only a half day from the deacon’s residence to the Old City of Treton. The road was covered in a light dusting of snow and the day was cast in a misty gray. The bare branches of the deciduous trees were plated in a layer of silvery frost, while the evergreens cradled white powder in the delicate embrace of their pine needles.

  Aeden’s feet were cold and his hands were buried within the folds of his homespun robe in an effort to keep them warm. Neri was paler than usual and Adel had far less to say than normal. Luckily they knew they hadn’t far to go before the promise of warmth and food.

  As they trudged along the roadway they met few others. Most were wise enough to stay indoors, where a crackling fire kept them warm. It was the smell of burning wood that let the monks know they were getting close to Treton.

  Aeden knew that the pilgrimage truly began in the old city. It was there that history had left its mark. It was the ancient city that had once defied the church only to transform into sacred land, thereby becoming one of the most devout and pious cities in the Three Kingdoms. In a way it was one of the Holy Order of Sancire’s greatest achievements.

  The city revealed itself in fits as a cold wind played with the low-hanging fog. Snow danced upon the mud covered stones and dashed against stone buildings like handfuls of salt.

  They had arrived during the Festival of Nettles, one of the numerous holidays sponsored by the Church. The holidays provided a respite from work and were often a time when lords would hold a feast for the peasants in the keep of their castles. Merchants, blacksmiths, and minor gentry would gather in their homes and eat until their bellies were full and their eyes were heavy.

  Therefore the streets were largely empty as people were preparing for their Vintas feast. The few people that were outside were huddled against the cold in thick cloaks or in the case of those with a little more money, warm furs.

  The monks stood out as they walked down the street. For one, their gray robes marked them of Bodig, for the monks of Gemynd wore nicer robes dyed a deep blue. Two, their lack of Vintas cloaks made them look far more humble, disciplined, and pious. This drew more attention and attracted peasants, merchants, tradesmen, and women alike.

  “May the light be upon your back,” folks would utter as the monks trudged through the city.

  The city itself was clearly as old as time. The roads were paved in worn stone, cracked and softened by centuries of use and weather. The streets curved about larger windowless buildings, built during an era before the understanding of true and straight walls, relying upon girth for strength. Therefore, many of the homes were squat structures, with the heavy feel of permanence. Aeden imagined them
as fat stone giants resting on their backs, with their great big bellies forming the domed roofs.

  As it was Vintas the windows were covered in thick blankets in an effort to keep their stone homes warm. The golden light of flickering fires were hidden from view and only made known by the makeshift chimneys spewing smoke into the air.

  “Excuse me, where can we find the Monastery of Treton?” Odilo asked a man wrapped in furs.

  The man stopped and held up his hands in a sign of respect before answering. “Follow this road to the Mare’s Inn, and then take the road to your left until you come upon it,” he said with clouds of vapor escaping his lips with each breath.

  “How will we know the monastery?” Neri inquired.

  “By its newness and wealth,” the man stated rubbing his hands together.

  “May Salvare bless your holiday,” Odilo said in thanks.

  The man bowed his head slightly and hurried off.

  The monks found the inn quickly enough. It was a large building with glass windows and multiple chimneys. The windows glowed a faint red, beckoning the monks inside. Instead they followed Odilo turning left down the stone road toward the monastery.

  They didn’t have to travel far before happening upon a tall building with impossibly long windows covered in fine stained glass. Golden spires capped two lofty towers, standing abreast two immense doors. Cleverly carved into one of the doors was a smaller door large enough for a man to pass through. Everything was locked up tighter than a widow’s disconcerted frown.

  Aeden withdrew his hands from the folds of warmth in his now damp robe. He clasped the metal knocker and banged the door twice loudly, his flesh threatening to stick to the frozen metal.

  The monks stood there for a few minutes before knocking again. It was on their third attempt that they could hear rustling on the other side and a bolt being slid free. The small door within a door opened and a fat monk stood there looking at them, a candle burning gently in his hand.