Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  As the cold months crept by the mystics were able to conduct quick raids undetected and unhindered despite the massive presence of imperial soldiers and Gemynd guards. Imperial collectors were rumored to be gearing up for another round of taxes to fund the effort, all in the name of greater safety and security. The people were being squeezed on all sides and it was beginning to show. To Aeden it was like looking at a bag stuffed so full of grain the seams were beginning to widen, threads were showing and individual granules fell to the floor in the form of heartfelt complaints.

  To further add to the woes of the populace it had been a dry Sumor, which in turn meant less wheat and less grain to fill the kingdom’s granaries. Gemynd’s economy, although based on the same gold standard as the rest of the Heorte Empire, was tied directly to their fields. The educated knew the economy was tied more heavily to their production of grain: wheat, rye, and barley, than it was their production of fine steel, which was traded and sold to the rest of the empire.

  Aeden, however, was still not fully aware of the deeper machinations of government, the economy, and political plays of power. To him the problem was obvious and the solution was simple. Taxes were too high, forced upon the people by the greedy nobles who sat within the safe confines of their castles as the common folk were forced to pay for ineffective protection, protection that they could have taken care of themselves. Amongst the Thane Sagan the idea of paying someone else to protect what they held dear was ludicrous. It was like handing over one’s child to a stranger, hoping they would do a better job and be more invested in their upbringing than the parents themselves would.

  Therefore, as people came for judgements and asked for blessings Aeden would also ask questions. He would learn more about the person, their position, their fears and then he’d tailor his judgements to include the ideas of personal security, freedom from excessive taxes, and the importance of individual liberty in following Salvare’s path.

  Slowly greater crowds were drawn to his speeches and he found larger numbers of people nodding their head in approval. His prayers were tailored to his message and that message began to spread upon the lips of those who heard.

  The young Aeden’s word spread beyond Treton carried by travelers, merchants, and bards. Even a song was created and written about the Humble Monk of Bodig. It was a simple and catchy tune that only fanned the flame of his words and ideas.

  For Aeden, the adventures into town allowed the days to pass more quickly and alleviated the weight of the constant iron-gray clouds looming overhead. Before Aeden knew it the scribes of Treton had finished their copying of the Book of Divinus and the band of pilgrimaging monks were free to travel north once again.

  Chapter 41

  “Ale is the truthsayer alchemists have been struggling to find since the birth of science.” Herlewin’s Anthology of Gemynd

  It was a cold morning the day they decided to travel north. Snow fell in angry sheets. The wind howled as it swept past ice-covered buildings. And thick white drifts concealed the stone road.

  The monks from the Treton Monastery had given each of them a long cloak and thick furs. Aeden had been given new boots on one of his nightly excursions, lined with rabbit’s fur. Yet despite all the layers, it was still cold.

  The monks trudged through the dark gray in silence. There were very few people out. In fact, it was odd for people to be traveling in this weather, but Vintas was only beginning in the north. If they were to wait they could have been stuck in Treton for months and none of the monks wanted that. Talk of the great capital of Gemynd was upon their lips and served to warm their hearts.

  Aeden was rubbing his hands together for warmth when he heard the snorting of a pair of yaks. He turned about struggling to see through the falling snow as it swirled about dancing to some unseen rhythm.

  “Brothers you shouldn’t be out in the cold!” a man yelled out to them above the din of Vintas.

  The monks stopped and stepped aside to make way for the thick-furred animals, their Vintas coats covered in bits of white as their misty breaths steamed from dark nostrils.

  “Brother Aeden?” the same man shouted again, this time in surprise. “Please, all of you come aboard; there is greater warmth in my humble cart.”

  The man pulled on the reins causing one of the yaks to rear its head in protest.

  “Stop it Maggie, let me drive for once, eh,” the man said attempting to sooth the agitated beast.

  The monks squeezed onto the back of the partially covered wagon. A set of blankets had been stretched over a simple wooden frame and tied in place providing a modicum of shelter from above and the sides, but let in a howling draft of air from the front and back.

  They huddled together for warmth on the half-full cart. The man twisted in his wooden bench, his thick furs obscuring half his face. He turned his attention to them.

  “It’s not much, but I’ll take you as far as you need to go,” he said, his eyes fixed on Aeden.

  Aeden recognized him after a moment’s thought. Brom Dyer was his name, but he couldn’t quite recall his story. If he remembered correctly, Dyer meant he worked with clothing.

  Adel looked at him quizzically as Odilo answered.

  “We’re headed to the capital.”

  Brom paused in thought. He eyed the weather and then looked back toward Aeden.

  “It’s a long stretch of road,” he began.

  “Perhaps you’ve business in the capital?” Aeden offered.

  Brom looked at each of the monks sitting upon the pile of his goods. His large beard covered most of his face, hiding his expression. His dark eyes were the only indicators of thought.

  “I guess I can sell there just as well, and I’ve a brother who owes me money,” he said half to himself before looking back toward the monks. “Fine, fine, of course. Then off we go to the capital.” The man turned in his seat and coaxed the yaks forward, “let’s go Maggie, you too Marie.”

  The cart lurched to a slow rocking rhythm over the slippery cobbled stones of the great north-south road.

  “Salvare watches over us even now,” Adel said.

  “As does Brother Thomas,” Aeden replied in a barely audible whisper.

  The road was long, bumpy, and cold. The cart was buffeted by icy winds that cut through the blanketed shell like frozen blades of tempered steel. The winds howled, speaking of quiet desperation, fear, and impending change.

  “We should bed down for the night, and my girls need some rest,” Brom said as the wind whisked away the clouds of steam from his blue lips. “There’s a place ahead, warmth and food, and more importantly good ale.”

  The driver turned to face forward, once again urging the yaks forward.

  Aeden struggled to see through the falling snow only to catch a face full of frozen tundra. He blinked his eyes and rubbed at his cheeks. They felt numb. He wanted to smile, but it hurt when his teeth were exposed to the bite of Vintas.

  “Is it normally this cold?” Aeden asked to no one in particular.

  There was a pause as if the other monks were debating to answer or simply sit shivering.

  “This is an unusual year, could be a storm sent by Salvare to test us,” Adel said.

  “It’d be better if He were testing some other lot of monks. Man shouldn’t live without the kiss of the sun upon his skin,” Neri said with disdain, uttering more words than he had the day prior.

  “How is it different where you’re from?” Adel asked.

  “Where I’m from is better than here,” Neri stated matter-of-factly.

  Both Adel and Aeden looked at each other as Odilo stifled a smile within the hood of his cloak.

  “Whoa Maggie, you can stop, we’re here, we’re here.”

  The cart slowed to a stop. Brom twisted in his seat.

  “We’re here,” he said to the monks as though they hadn’t gathered that from the stopped cart and his gentle admonishment to his more stubborn yak.

  “Thank you kindly, do you need any help with tending
to your cart?” Odilo asked.

  “No, Maggie and Marie are cautious animals, don’t much like the touch of strangers. I’ll do rightly fine, I suggest you get warm inside.”

  “Thank you,” Odilo said.

  Aeden waited for the others to get off the cart. His back and legs were stiff with cold. He was looking forward to some warmth.

  A two story wooden building stood as a barrier to the cold and wind. The small windows were half covered by snow, but a warm glow was still visible from the other side. The monks made their careful way up the half-frozen steps and to the heavy doors. They all piled into the warm room as a gust of wind followed them in.

  A large fire crackled on the opposite side of the room. The orange flames spoke the quiet song of warmth. Chairs and tables were strewn about on either side of the room. A bard sang as his fingers carefully strung accompaniment on a simple lute.

  There was a smattering of people. Aeden’s eye took in the scene quickly. Only a few men seemed large enough and in a non-inebriated state to potentially pose a threat. There were a few engrossed by the music, tapping their feet or attempting to sing along. Most, however, seemed engrossed in conversation or were staring deeply into the bottom of their beer mugs.

  “Brothers, welcome.” A young woman said. “Will you be wanting a room or something to drink?”

  “What’ve you to eat?” Adel asked eagerly.

  “Stew and buttered bread.”

  “I’ll have some of that,” he replied.

  Aeden followed suit, his stomach grumbling. Odilo and Neri ordered as Adel found an unoccupied table. A few eyes tracked them as they crossed the room. There was a polite nod from an older man. There was a glare bordering on curiosity from a younger mercenary, and a flirtatious smile from a young woman on the far side of the room sitting on another man’s lap.

  Aeden removed his fur cloak and touched his thawing hands to his cold cheeks, smiling back sheepishly. The sensation of warmth from the room slowly spread like a thousand tingling needles.

  “There is nothing like a little hardship to remind one of the simple pleasures,” Odilo said as he rubbed his hands together.

  “There’s nothing like hardship to remember how few pleasures there are,” Neri grumbled.

  Adel looked to Aeden for a moment. They were both thinking the same thing; Neri seemed to have taken over Bosco’s position of chief complainer, although with greater sarcastic wit.

  “I brought a deck of cards from Treton,” Adel said looking hopefully at the other monks.

  “Let’s enjoy our meal first,” Odilo said catching his eye, “then I’d love to play a hand.”

  “I’m in too,” Aeden said quickly.

  The three monks looked to Neri who at first attempted to look everywhere else but at them. He finally relented.

  “Cards it is,” he said.

  “The bread and soup are two drams,” the waitress said as she carefully placed bowls of soup before each monk, a fat slice of buttered bread resting atop the stew.

  Another gust of cold Vintas air marked the room with its glacial reach. The fire flickered in silent protest and the woman upon the man’s lap frowned.

  Aeden looked up to see Brom lumber toward them. He had the wild look of a black bear wandering into town searching for food.

  “Stop pestering, I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” Brom’s husky voice cut in.

  “Of course,” she said a look of annoyance passing briefly over her face, “two drams a piece.”

  “Bring me some as well will you,” Brom said placing a gloved hand on her arm.

  She carefully slipped away. Brom watched her with a smile.

  “Sometimes I forget what you’ve given up. It can’t be easy not wanting after a woman like that.”

  “Salvare gives us strength and helps us on our path,” Adel said.

  “Of course brother, I meant no disrespect. It’s just that it can’t be easy is all. She’s a fine looking lass. I’d imagine she’d keep a man nice and warm at night.”

  Odilo smiled as Brom spoke, “we thank you for your kindness, but you’ve already taken us thus far, you needn’t pay for our meals.” He said in an effort to guide the conversation to safer ground.

  “Nonsense, I’d best do right by Salvare’s eyes if I want a piece of that salvation,” he glanced about looking for the waitress, “how about some ale, what’s music without ale?”

  There was a lingering moment of silence, filled with the warmth of the crackling fire, the lilting tune of a singing bard, and hot soup filling the belly. Fingers had thawed, hunger had been satiated and Adel had already pulled out his deck of playing cards.

  “Cards, eh?” Brom said as if to himself, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t care to make it interesting?”

  Adel seemed slightly confused, “it’s almost always interesting.”

  Brom smiled as Odilo leaned over to explain. Aeden leaned in too.

  “He means wagering coin per hand.”

  Adel nodded as understanding dawned on him.

  “Perhaps not so interesting tonight, however,” he quickly said.

  At this Brom exploded in a deep bellied laugh. Adel flushed in shame and Neri glanced about to see who had notice his outburst. Very few seemed interested.

  “A round of ale,” Brom said as the waitress collected plates. As she left he slapped her once on her thigh the way one would a good horse. “She’s a looker.”

  Adel had already begun dealing cards to the other monks.

  “What’re we playing?” Brom asked.

  Apparently Adel hadn’t thought to include Brom in the dealing. Odilo quickly cut in.

  “Kayles,” he said, “Do you know how to play.”

  “Kayles? Do you mean King’s High?”

  “They’re one and the same,” Aeden replied, shocking the other monks.

  Adel looked at him a moment, surprised. Aeden had learned about some of Gemynd including their card games by frequenting establishments in the evening as he conversed, dispensed judgments, and fought for the memory of Thomas. He of course didn’t want to reveal that and simply shrugged.

  Odilo had already gathered the cards so Adel could deal Brom in. They’d be playing individually as opposed to teams as they normally did back in the Red City Monastery.

  The waitress returned with five sloshing mugs of ale. She was careful to approach from the side avoiding Brom’s groping hands, however, Aeden thought he caught a mild smile part her lips as she caught his eye.

  By the fifth hand and the sixth round of ale the small group of monks and the merchant from Treton had become progressively louder. Lips had loosened as the alcohol worked its hidden magic. Even Odilo seemed affected.

  For Aeden it was his first time being drunk and he loved it. The world swam in his vision as his speech felt thicker and slurred. His body felt relaxed and the ever important task of constant awareness seemed far less important, as if he had been transported to a place where fear was a distant memory struggling to take shape.

  With a clouded mind Aeden struggled to track the conversation that now spilled across the table like an upturned jug of ale.

  “No drinks and no women!” Brom echoed again incredulously. “I’d rather be stabbed than live in the wretched lands to the south.”

  Neri’s eyes grew narrow, “you’d likely be stabbed if you were in the south, for you have worse manners than the stinking barbarians of the Gwhelt!”

  Odilo cast a look toward Aeden. Aeden only barely comprehended the words, clearly not enough to take offense. The argument continued oblivious of the insults inadvertently hurtled.

  “You’re drinking now,” Adel stated innocently, seemingly confused by Neri’s complex beliefs.

  “Am I in the land of the A’sh? Do you see me surrounded by my brothers of D’seart? Only there does the true word of Salvare touch the hearts of men, showing the divine path of…” Neri suddenly seemed to catch himself and stopped abruptly.

  Odilo now regarded him with a more careful l
ook. Adel waited for Neri to finish as Aeden watched the whole interaction with detached curiosity and amusement.

  “Who cares about all of that, why hide your women is what I don’t understand,” Brom cut in stumbling over his words the way a child learning to speak would.

  “Because they’re to be protected. They are weak like children. Do you have children fight your wars? Do you wish for children to be touched and violated by dirty hands? Or seen with unclean eyes?”

  The words burned through the hazy cloud that spun around Aeden’s head. His eyes dilated and adjusted to the dim flickering light of the fire and candles as he focused on Brom. Brom’s features changed as if he had just realized he’d hit a nerve.

  “It’s a crime is all and doesn’t seem right not having women folk out and about,” Brom said in his defense.

  Aeden started nodding his head in agreement. He loved women and loved their delicate grace. He couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t allowed to gaze upon the beauty of the archduchess, to smell her as she passed, to think on her once she left the room.

  “I think it’s your turn to deal,” Odilo said handing the cards to Brom. “And perhaps pursue a different avenue of conversation.”

  Neri suddenly stood up and stormed off. A negative cloud seemed to follow him obscuring the light of the candles as he passed.

  “Or per… perhaps it’s time to call it a night,” Adel said, stumbling with his words.

  Chapter 42

  “One man’s rebellion is another man’s bid for freedom.” Isaac the Philosopher - Gemynd

  The following morning Aeden awoke to a pounding headache. It felt like a woodpecker had become trapped on the inside of his skull and was attempting to peck its way out. Every sound was amplified. The very light, weak as it was, glared through the window angrily as if its very purpose was to drill a hole through his weary eyes.