Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  It was a strange and altogether uncomfortable feeling, yet oddly comforting. In a way it reminded him of his humanity, his frailty, and subtly reaffirmed his inability to follow through with his burdensome obligation to duty.

  “Now I remember why I don’t drink,” Adel said as he sat up and looked about, confusion settling upon his features.

  “Good morning,” Odilo said as he stepped into the small room. “Have some of this, it’ll help,” he said as he handed them each a small bowl of porridge, his voice cutting through Aeden like a Vintas wind through a Sumor tunic.

  Aeden didn’t much feel like eating, but he also didn’t much care for the pounding headache. He took reluctant mouthfuls of porridge as he glanced about for Neri. The previous night suddenly washed over him like a bucket of cold water.

  “Where’s Neri?” Aeden asked.

  “Downstairs, he said he needed some space,” Odilo said.

  “And Brom?”

  Odilo simply pointed to a heap in the corner covered in furs. Aeden looked more carefully and noticed that there was a slight rise and fall. He had assumed those were discarded furs upon first glance. Now as the world came into focus he realized differently.

  He took another mouthful of the porridge. It wasn’t particularly good. It tasted like the color gray.

  “We should wake him and be on our way before another snow storm sets in,” Odilo said, his words felt overly loud to Aeden. Why was he shouting?

  “Can’t we just go back to sleep?” Adel asked.

  “No, and it’d be good to remember why the Book of Khein teaches moderation in action and discipline in forethought.”

  With those words Odilo stepped over to Brom and kicked him gently in the ribs.

  “Master Brom,” Odilo said gently at first.

  There was a startled snore that sounded like a choking animal before the small mountain of furs shifted to reveal the Treton merchant.

  “Have some porridge to recover your strength and then perhaps we can leave.”

  Brom peeled his eyes open accepting the soup into his large hands as he looked through the half-frosted window.

  “I suspect this would be as good a time as any,” he grumbled as he noisily slurped some porridge down his gullet.

  Aeden watched him in fascination. He looked like a bear hovering over a tiny morsel, with his dark eyes, thick mane of hair and wild beard.

  “If you need any help getting your oxen ready these two have volunteered,” Odilo said as he stepped out.

  Aeden and Adel looked at each other.

  “We did?” Aeden whispered in confusion the wooden spoon of his porridge threatening to fall out of his bowl.

  Adel shrugged and blinked his eyes a few times.

  “Well boys I’d be glad for the help once I’ve found me a chamber pot!”

  “Down the hall,” Adel said.

  “Really?” Aeden asked as Brom lumbered into the hallway.

  “I don’t know, but if he pulled out his snake right here, I don’t think I’d keep my porridge down.”

  “Good point,” Aeden took the last spoonful of porridge and placed the bowl on the floor, “I guess it’s time to get moving.”

  Aeden was briefly reminded of his early morning training in the S’Velt. The memory washed over him quickly before fading into the rhythmic thumping of his persistent headache. He had little desire to remember much of anything.

  Within an hour the band of monks were snuggled under layers of fur in the back of Brom’s cart as his oxen pulled them slowly toward the capital of Gemynd. They sat in silence, listening to the echoing rant of the wheels slipping and scraping over rock and ice.

  The clouds were thick, but not so thick as to block the sun’s buttery brilliance, melting through the steel gray in gobs of watery light. The hours faded under heaven’s watchful eye as Aeden struggled with heavy eyes and shivering cold.

  A gentle snowfall had begun carrying the soft note of life. It rustled through the trees whispering and singing as it swept across the land. It cooed as it settled upon the thick furs before finally resting peacefully in a thickening blanket of purity.

  Aeden was so transfixed that he hardly noticed as they arrived at the outskirts of the great capital city of Gemynd. Had he been paying more attention he would have seen the road grow wider. He would have noticed the growing numbers of people plying the roadway. Finally he would have caught sight of the scattering of snow covered buildings that marked the countryside outside the frozen capital of the north. But he had noticed none of this. Instead he sat quietly transfixed as if meditating upon the subtle nature of being, consumed by the weather and the slow rocking of the cart.

  It was Brom that finally stirred him from his mental state.

  “Gemynd, the capital that never forgot, the capital that never gave up.”

  These words had stirred more than just Aeden. His friend, Adel, glanced about as if waking from a dream. His mind was already filling with questions.

  “What does he mean by that?” Adel asked, suddenly wishing for Thomas’ presence.

  “He’s referring to their history. Gemynd actually predates the other capitals. There was a settlement of the Early People who lived here before its creation, or so I was once told. And there was a later history of draccus fiend attacks and barbarian attacks, yet it never forgot its roots and always rebuilt itself,” Odilo said.

  Aeden was suddenly awake and curious. Had Odilo said draccus fiend attacks?

  “Aeden, look!” Adel said, his enthusiasm clear as day.

  Aeden turned in his seat allowing the blankets to shift and a draft of cold air to slip under the pile of warmth. He hardly noticed as he gazed upon a thousand yellow lights flickering amidst the white of snow.

  “The lights, those are people,” Adel said his voice quivering from both excitement and the frigid temperatures.

  He was right. They were the lights of a thousand torches. The golden light flickered off snow drifts and thickly blanketed buildings draped in powdery white. Ice formed broken clusters near the shore and by the bridges that spanned the many islands that formed Gemynd. The islands looked like small mounds topped by stone buildings, low and tall.

  “Whoa Maggie,” Brom’s voice cut through the cold to calm the hairy ox.

  “Is this normal?” Odilo asked as he leaned toward Brom.

  Brom was silent for a moment as if considering his response.

  “No, this smells like a blood moon in Sumor.”

  Aeden looked to Adel confused.

  “A blood moon in Sumor speaks of bad things.”

  “Perhaps we should steer clear of the growing crowd,” Odilo offered, still speaking to Brom.

  “There, there Maggie, you’re startling Marie. C’mon, we’ll go somewhere quieter.”

  Odilo nodded to himself as he readjusted the blankets to better cover his legs. Aeden adjusted to maintain an eye on the gathering band of lights. They were just close enough for him to make out body shapes and hear the rising voices of those arriving. It had the ominous feel of a distant fire, crackling and sucking at the wind, foreshadowing a devastating inferno to come.

  A thump on the cart and a loud voice startled everyone to the core.

  “Monks on the road, not safe monks, not safe at all.”

  Three men lumbered past, each welding a mean looking farm tool.

  Aeden shifted in his seat so as to better get at his Templas sword if needed. It was only a mild comfort, for what could he do against such a large number of gathering men. He didn’t like the feeling that was settling in his stomach. It was the flittering weight of nervous anticipation.

  Slowly the wagon turned around. The view of the unfolding scene was ever more present from the back of the cart. Despite the cloud of impending violence, the monks were determined to continue their pilgrimage.

  The sky still held the last embers of light, glowing a faint purple-orange above the strewn clouds. The faint light cast the islands and buildings of the capital in pale
shadows. The biggest island was dominated by the largest castle Aeden had ever seen. Its towers were thick and tall. Buildings nestled close to its walls as if for protection, much like a cub to its mother. Only one bridge led to the island, flanked by its own towers. Fires burned in guard huts, highlighting the falling bits of snow in their feathery embrace.

  Aeden was so caught up in the scene that he hardly noticed Odilo lean toward Brom.

  “We thank you many times over, but Gemynd is where we must go,” Odilo said to him.

  Brom looked back and gave each of them a discerning look before pausing on Aeden. Aeden nodded ever so slightly. Despite his gut twisting uncomfortably within, he knew it was what Thomas would have wanted. Aeden needed to prove he wasn’t afraid. He was through hiding. His hand slipped unconsciously into the pocket with Dannon’s lock of hair. He fingered it for a moment as he looked at the others.

  “Who am I to question Salvare’s ways,” Brom grumbled as he pulled on the reins bringing the cart to a gradual halt.

  Each of the monks thanked Brom in turn before hopping off the relative safety of the partially covered wagon. Brom cursed and yelled to get his stubborn oxen moving again in an effort to leave as quickly as possible. They snorted and complained before finally relenting and struggled to find purchase on the snow covered road.

  A light flurry whipped across the terrain as the monks stood by the roadside huddled together under their thick furs. They were looking to Odilo.

  “Let’s find the monastery, we should find shelter and warmth there,” he said.

  The monks all nodded their approval. They trudged down the snow covered road toward the swelling tide of torches and scattered shouting. As they drew closer the shouts became intelligible.

  “Down with Geobold!”

  “Burn the churches!”

  “Stop the taxes!”

  “They wouldn’t touch the church. It’s protected by Salvare, right?” Adel asked, a cloud of warm vapor escaping his pale lips, as a hint of fear shaped his question.

  His question was followed by the continued vague shouting of the crowd, which grew more intense with each passing. An echoing response of neighing horses grabbed Aeden’s attention. His mind spun as he was sucked into the past. Images from the market of Nailsea threatened to drown him.

  He wasn’t the only one. They all tracked the incoming horses. The strong riders wrapped in armor and fur clung to horseback with the same intensity of the Nailsean attackers. The crowds parted at their arrival.

  Aeden’s stomach clenched in fear but he remained rooted to the spot. He watched, waiting for the bloodletting, the terrible screaming. It never came. Instead the crowd grew more anxious, more excited.

  The monks were no more than a hundred feet from the swelling masses. The crowds formed at the crossroads to the main island chains of the city of Gemynd. A wide road branching to the northwest climbed over a bridge, passed through the Isle of Repose, before continuing to the Isle of Castle Forge.

  The last slivers of light faded giving way to an emotional tide. The mob’s mood was a fluctuating colostrum of angry torrents. Burning torches showed pinched expressions, flushed red from exposure to the cold. Bearded faces with dark eyes, tracked the movement of incoming horses.

  The feeling of history unfolding at Aeden’s feet swept over him and settled upon him like a blanket. Curiosity tugged at each monk in turn, blinding them to danger. It robbed them of rational thought and whispered of Salvare’s folly.

  A thickly accented voice spoke up and the shouting of the crowd died to an anticipatory murmur.

  “One of Salvare’s own has spoken of the atrocities of the rich, the despicable acts of the nobles, taxing, taking, and raping these lands. He has helped lead you to our own path, the path of the righteous!”

  Aeden watched as the crowd seemed to grow tense with the energy of the words. A palpable anger was swelling. Who was the man referring to? The strings of destiny seemed to have formed a rich tapestry with layers of fiber that remained hidden to the young Aeden. All he could do was watch and listen in an attempt to comprehend unfolding events.

  The mounted horseman continued to shout to the masses.

  “Tonight is our night. You have come to the right place, and made the right decision. Tonight we take what is ours and send the thieves of Gemynd to be judged!”

  A roar swept across the crowd like an untamed fire.

  “Let Gemynd remember the true voice of the people, the voice of the Mystae. Follow and we shall lead. Listen and we shall respond.” The rider pulled free a sword and pointed to a few of his fellow horsemen as he rode the length of the crowds. “Take them to the houses of greed to feast on what is rightfully theirs!”

  Another shout of approval leapt up from the torch carrying masses as the mounted horsemen began to splinter from the group. They bore down different streets leading groups of angry men. The shouts began to grow as fires were set to the wooden roofs of stone-built houses.

  More people streamed toward the cacophony of sound. The monks were jostled as large men shoved their way roughly past. Aeden gave voice to the obvious.

  “We aren’t going to the monastery tonight,” Aeden shouted over the din, startling the monks. “We have to make our way to the ports and leave before the city descends into chaos.”

  Odilo looked at him thoughtfully as Adel looked to the older monk for guidance. Neri watched the city burn for a moment longer before speaking up.

  “Aeden’s right. We set sail for Petra’s Landing and then hire a sea going vessel to the safety and warmth of my people, leaving this frozen firestorm to the dastardly north.”

  “Adel?” Odilo asked.

  Adel looked from Aeden to Neri back to the city of Gemynd.

  “I agree.”

  Chapter 43

  “Lies before the eyes of Salvare are transparent truths waiting to be judged.” Archdeacon of Sawol

  The small group of monks stood shivering quietly behind a few wooden barrels waiting on Aeden. It was fully night and the distant shouts of fighting, the glow of fires, and the smell of smoke permeated the air.

  Aeden crouched in a dark corner that smelled of half-rotten fish. His fingers were bordering on numb and his nose was runny from the cold. He ignored the discomforts as he had in the S’Velt. Instead he focused on the words of a couple lone docks men.

  “We should leave now,” a deep baritone intoned.

  “That wasn’t the deal. Lord Bristol promised a hefty payment for passage north,” a second voice countered.

  “He also said he’d be here an hour ago, and there’s no lord gracing these docks!”

  “How’d you know, you’ve never met him!” the smaller voice rebuked.

  “You never met him either! You ought change your name to Gavin the Idiot. Look around. There’s no one on these bloody docks,” the deeper-voiced man said.

  “We wait until the candle burns half, then we cast off.” There was a note of finality in Gavin’s voice, followed by the grunting approval of the other man.

  Aeden lingered a moment longer, casting a quick glance around the corner of a small building. He caught sight of a well-built man. His wide shoulders and thick frame were evident through his Vintas clothing. He was fiddling with the lines attached to a small barge floating in the frigid waters of Lake Stevol. Aeden figured this must have been the deeper-voiced man.

  A smaller man paced the wooden deck looking toward the fires burning red at the heart of Gemynd. He had a pinched face, with a large head and a receding hairline. He was clearly upset. His shoulders were hunched and his brow was wrinkled in worry.

  Aeden figured the smaller man was thinking what he was thinking; the city would never be the same. The smell of death was upon the air. It was carried by the wind and being deposited as ash. It fell as if mocking the snow.

  Without further hesitation Aeden slipped into the shadows and worked his way back to the other monks.

  “It’s me,” he whispered as he approached.
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  Adel stuck his head out from behind the barrels flashing a quick smile. Aeden joined the others behind their temporary concealment, his mind already working on two separate plans, neither of which seemed very church-like.

  Taking the boat by force seemed out of the question. The others would never go for it, and he doubted any of them had much experience on the water. That left bribery or deception. Bribery would leave little money for the next leg of their journey. That left only one good option.

  “Would Salvare object to a small lie?” Aeden whispered, his mind struggling to tie the pieces of a makeshift plan into place.

  “Lies are what hold the church together,” Neri uttered.

  Odilo frowned briefly at Neri before addressing Aeden. “I would imagine if it served his greater purpose bending the truth could be forgiven.”

  “Then I think I have a plan,” he said, as he whispered a silent prayer.

  Odilo strode confidently toward the docks. The younger monks followed his lead. With his head held high he did his best to give the impression that the entire area was filthy. To Aeden and Adel it appeared that Odilo was doing his best Bosco impression. Odilo was able to imitate Bosco’s best mask of barely contained disgust.

  “Why the Lord Bristol chose these docks is beneath me!” Odilo said loudly, doing his best to adopt a mild Gemynd accent.

  “I don’t see why you’re complaining, you’re the one who failed to secure the luggage, leaving us with nothing but coin,” Adel replied, his voice shaking slightly.

  “You saw those brutes! They’re burning the damned city to the ground. You think they’d stop for his house staff?”

  “Where’s this damned Gavin anyway,” Adel stammered.

  A larger man stepped onto the dock before them.

  “Are you the Lord Bristol’s men?” His deep voice cut through them like a knife through leather.

  “We are,” Odilo responded.

  Another man jumped deftly from the smaller barge onto the wooden dock.