The guard on the left moved closer to the other one and he held my gaze with a look of loathing, directed squarely at me. His new leathers creaked as he adjusted his weight and I watched as his hand moved to grasp the pommel of his sword, my mouth open in shock.
"I said," hissed the guard on the right, "where. Are. You. Going?"
I watched in disbelief as his hand also moved to his sword. This can't be happening! His eyes pierced my own and they were filled with a roiling anger and pure hate. The feeling of unease became so prevalent that I had to swallow violently to keep from gagging. These men, they were not right with the world. They, and I searched for a word to describe them, they are wrong inside.
Then something unspoken passed between us like a heightened awareness. They were the enemy. Somehow they knew what I was sensing from them. The anger and hatred in their eyes burned brighter. I knew without doubt that they represented what my mother had made me promise to remain hidden from for all these years. I had promised to stay safe – to stay hidden – and yet here I was standing out in the open and exposed to them. Tension quickly filled the air and I knew that something terrible was about to occur and I froze in fear.
I started to stammer out a response to buy more time while I tried to find a way out of this and I felt bile rising in my throat threatening to choke me. Then I saw their eyes lift from me to someone behind me. Their hands quickly came off their swords and they straightened. I felt a weight come off me and I slowly turned, trying to keep the two guards in my sight, to see Captain Gendred rapidly approaching. A profound sense of relief overcame me and the foul, almost physical feeling of unease I felt coming off these two guards reduced when their focus left me.
The captain came right up to me, frowning first at the two guards who were so blatantly and oddly out of place standing in the middle of street facing me, before clapping me fondly on the shoulder.
"The Reeve told me you were leaving but I had to see it for my own two eyes. Off to new places, I hear."
The two guards exchange glances. The captain tore his gaze from his men to look at me.
"Port West, eh?" he continued. "I have a good friend down there. Runs the port authority. Make sure you stop by and see him when you arrive, alright?"
"Yes, sir. I will," I said, keeping my eye on the two guards. They were listening rather intently and I recognised a chance to complete my misdirection. "What's his name, sir?"
"William! His name is William! How's that for an easy name to remember?" he said and laughed. "He's the harbour master and can help you reach out to the merchants in town. He knows them all, I dare say. Knows them all. If you don't mind me saying, I think you are making a good choice, young Will. About time you stretched your legs and escaped the life of the wild. It's respectable."
I nodded weakly, keeping my eyes on the guards.
"He'll be glad to take you in. He has a wife and two kids but he has a spare room. Here, take this," and he pressed a folded piece of parchment into my hand. "It's a letter of introduction. He'll put you up until you get your feet on the ground. And that won't be long, I'd wager! Those pots of yours are worth their weight in gold crowns!"
I gripped the paper tight in my hands. "Thank you, sir," I said. "I'll go to him directly."
My eyes remained on the two guards and while the captain nodded at my words, he sensed my interest in them and turned to look directly at the two men. They were oblivious that this was their captain standing in front of them and they were openly ignoring him and staring at me. It occurred to me that when the captain had first approached that they should have probably at least came to attention and saluted him as was befitting his rank and station. I sensed that the captain had just come to the same conclusion and he fixed his gaze on the two of them, his jaw now clenched in anger.
"Ah–ten–shun!" he barked and the men blinked in confusion at the unexpected noise and snapped their attention away from me over to the captain. Both of them failed to respond to the order and stood gawking at him. The captain seemed to swell in size and he quickly forgot all about me and turned his full wrath to the two men. "I said, Ah–ten–shun!" he thundered, his face now a livid red.
The men seemed confused on what to do and then sloppily started to move into the position of attention. They continued to glance over at me and this finally threw the captain into a fit. A long, screaming, tirade burst out of the captain. The authority in his voice was unmistakable and the men turned their full attention on him and finally seemed to forget about me.
I took the opportunity to flee, waved farewell to Captain Gendred, and walked briskly through the south gate. The guard on duty at the gate was peering at all the noise from around the corner of his post. I nodded at the guard at the gate, who ignored me completely and suddenly I was free of the gate and the strange guards and I made my way quickly south down the road away from Jaipers. The feeling of unease faded away completely and I filled my lungs with fresh air and thanked the Word for my escape.
Behind me, I could hear the captain's yelling fade into the distance and I had to smile to myself despite the fear that still lingered. Those poor bastards, I thought. But it serves them right. As my boots opened the distance from Jaipers, I fervently hoped that they believed my story and would soon forget about me.
I couldn't explain the illness I felt being near them. I was glad I hadn't used my powers to get a better feel; just being in their presence had been enough. I shuddered and felt a chill go through me. I lengthened my stride and opened the distance between myself and the gate. If I never saw those two mean again it would be too soon.
My promise to my mother was forefront in my thoughts. The urge to run deep into the woods and disappear was strong. I felt exposed and vulnerable. The assurances from the Reeve that I would not be a target were gone and replaced with panic. As I debated simply hiding, I remembered the carefully laid deception. The people of Jaipers thought I was heading to Port West. The plan was still in place. I could still make my way east and find the truth about my abilities. With effort, I shrugged off my fears and pushed south as quickly as my feet could take me.
I walked just over two miles or so south from Jaipers before I abandoned the road and circled around the town to the east and then headed north until I connected with the road to Munsten. I pushed myself and managed to travel a good number of miles that afternoon. As I travelled my fears subsided and I relaxed and stopped looking over my shoulder as frequently.
The road out of Jaipers paralleled the river but kept about a hundred yards of separation. Out on the river, I spied the occasional slow moving barge running east with the current toward Lake Belger and the lakeside town named after it. On my side of the river I saw a total of two barges being slowly pulled upstream to Jaipers by labouring work horses. The poor animals strained against the current and dug their hooves into the horse trail that hugged the bank. I imagined the barges moving upstream looked to the ones moving downstream with envious eyes. I felt for the horses, too – it was hard work.
Thankfully, no one shared the road with me and I blamed the heat of day for the solitude. That heat coupled with a lack of wind soon drained half of the water from my skins. There were no streams along the way that I knew of and I refused to use the river water downstream from the town until I was well east of Jaipers. I would need to be careful about how much I drank. The Reeve had warned me about water intake and here I was drinking it with no thought to tomorrow. I wasn't worried though; I would refill my skins from the river. Daukyns had once taught me to boil the river water first and I hadn't forgotten. With what I knew of the motes that had infected the people of Jaipers, I was starting to understand what the boiling did.
The surrounding area undulated in rolling, sun browned scrub grass that slowly rose upwards to the hills in the south. It appeared as if the countryside mimicked the course the river now took and I wondered how that was so. Throughout the scrubland I could see the odd clump of trees that were randomly placed here and there breaking the
scenery. The air was filled with surprisingly loud and incessant buzzing of insects. Looking ahead, the road shimmered with the heat. As I walked along the side of the road, keeping to the grass, grasshoppers leapt away from me in all directions in panicked fright.
I was glad that my wanderings and life outside the town of Jaipers had kept me strong and fit. I seemed to have fully recovered from my convalescence in town and felt that my strength was good and hale. Despite the oppressive heat, I managed to take in my new surroundings on a road I had only travelled once before and I was thankful for every step that brought me that much closer to my goal while rewarding me with new sights and the promise of new wonders.
My pack fit snug to my back and at some point early in my travel, I had found a sturdy and straight branch which I had whittled as I walked into a suitable walking stick and it now served me well to pace myself. I luxuriated in the feeling of my new boots on my feet and how they cushioned my steps. I no longer had to pay such close attention to where I placed my feet amongst the sharp stones, nettles and thistles that lay and grew along the roadside. Head held high, I strode along, gazing around me in comfort.
When the sun drew close to the horizon, I knew I had to find a suitable spot to camp for the night. I spotted a copse about two hundred yards south of the road and made my way through thick, waist–high grass, trying to follow a deer trail that appeared and disappeared at random. Often only their spoor and hoof prints marked their passage. I saw no signs of anything threatening like a cougar or wolf – and I felt relieved. In the past I had seldom had difficulty with predators. I had lived with wolves for a time and understood them. But I preferred to leave them alone and I thought they felt same way. The relief was real though: I didn't like to push my luck.
When the trail I was on veered sharply left, I headed right to a small copse of trees nearby. Sure enough, when I reached the trees I found a small clearing with the remains of a fire in a scorched ring of stones and a small pile of wood. The deer would swerve clear of what was clearly a common camp for travellers along the road and I counted my blessings that it was deserted and based on the remains of the fire, it had not been used in many weeks.
I spent some time foraging for fuel wood and returned with a large armful. I had spotted a few full raspberry bushes, enjoyed a some of the tart fruit, and marked them in my mind to return for them in the morning. I laid my wood down on the pile and finally dropped my pack down near the fire pit. Despite my earlier feelings of being fit, I could now feel my legs trembling with the day's efforts and I fought the desire to simply plunk myself down and take a load off. Instead, I forced myself to tend to making a small, smokeless fire. The wind was blowing off the river and would keep any smell of smoke from the road. Only after I had filled my small cooking pot with the remains of my water and brought it to a roiling boil did I finally sit and prepare myself a tea to cure my aches and pains and replenish my energy. As the tea steeped, I reached into the brew and urged the nutrients to be stronger than normal. It was so easy to accomplish this simple act and I wondered how I could have survived before without it. The coin did not seem to be required by me anymore but having mulled this problem over during my entire walk and finding no answer forthcoming, I pushed the problem aside for now.
I transferred the tea to my tin cup and refilled the pot with the rest of my water, boiled it and added a handful of beans, lentils and some of my dried herbs for flavour. I carefully removed the pot from the flames, covered it with a piece of cloth to keep the flies out, and left it for the morning.
My mind was empty of thought. I could only think of sleep and dreaded the thought of a full day's travel in the morning. The sun disappeared below the horizon and the land was dark except for the small light my fire cast. I drank my tea, listened to insects chirping in the darkness and ate some of my dried meat, soaking it first in the tea to soften it. I sliced off slivers of my sharp, hard cheese until my hunger was sated and washed the remains down with my tea. Fatigue brought on from having food in my belly was quickly overcoming me and so I buried my small leather bag containing the sickle and coin and rolled my bedroll and wraps out over it. After relieving myself behind a nearby tree, I collapsed with a groan under my wraps. My last thoughts were that perhaps I should have found a more hidden location to sleep and then sleep took me and I was oblivious to any more thoughts of danger or threats.
I slept a dreamless sleep until morning.
The next morning, I woke with the sun and had to spend time stretching out the muscles in my sore legs. I limped over to relieve myself behind the same tree and then foraged for the berries I had spotted the night before. I filled a small cloth with them and tied it closed at the corners – careful not to burst or damage the ripe fruit – and then hung it from my belt to enjoy as a snack during the morning walk. I checked my pot and verified that the beans and lentils had softened overnight and I had it for breakfast with a few added berries to sweeten the mixture. It was a pleasant meal and reminded me of the many solitary meals I had enjoyed over the years. Another mouthful of food always meant another day of survival and another day to take pride in my accomplishments. I mentally took stock of my food and was content that I had enough to last me weeks, should the need arise.
Satisfied, I cleared up my camp, carefully stowed my leather pouch in my tunic, shouldered my backpack and made my way over to the river to wash out my pot and cup and refill my water skins. I returned a wave to a barge descending the river and started back down the road munching on the berries from my makeshift pouch. Soon the muscles in my legs stretched themselves out and my stride lengthened.
After a while, I realised that I was enjoying myself and that I was filled with a strong feeling of contentment and purpose. For once I had a goal in my life and I was confidently heading toward it. The tart and sweet taste of the berries filled my mouth and I chewed and swallowed as quickly as I could. A smile burst across my face.
I felt at that moment that I could walk forever.
Part Two: Munsten
Eleven
Munsten, 900 A.C.
ARCHBISHOP REGINALD GREIGSEN of the Church of the New Order scowled at the missive on his desk where he had tossed it moments ago. It lay on top of the numerous religious writings he was studying in preparation for his next sermon. That sermon work could now wait. His anger threatened to consume him and he tried to distance himself from the information it contained if only for a moment so he could best decide what to do next. He wouldn't make smart choices if his anger continued to consume his thoughts.
He absently picked up a piece of the broken wax that had once sealed the missive and broke it into smaller pieces before tossing them unerringly into the fireplace behind his desk. The pieces landed deep in the flames and caught immediately, flaring brightly as they were consumed. He looked around what most people erringly considered a tailored insult to his position. His lowly office sat forgotten in the rear quadrant of the castle and was, as most people thought, in one of the worst locations and as far removed from the true workings of the castle as possible. It was a windowless room on the ground floor, with poor ventilation, and off the normal pedestrian wanderings in the castle corridors. Part of him still longed for the homage afforded him in the days when the Church ruled the country. His old office from decades ago was next to castle's interior church. The Lord Protector now used the church as the council chambers.
This office was considered by most people in the castle as being more than he deserved and they rarely hid their contempt. The feeling of anger that washed over him had become such a well–known companion that he barely recognised or acknowledged it anymore. It constantly burned through him. He walked the corridors and seethed inside while he gave the perfect expression of reverence and faith. He spat the word faith in his mind. The heathens know nothing of faith. Nothing!
Admittedly, compared to his old office this one was spartan, pallid, and beneath his station. The walls were bereft of ornamentation except for one tattered tapes
try behind him in the corner wall and an icon of the image of God on the wall directly across from his desk. The floors were bare and exposed with the same rough stone work and poor mortar work that made up the walls. Two torches barely lit the dark room and they sputtered and filled the room with an acrid smell that stayed with him throughout the day and tainted the taste of his food. The room was a carefully crafted insult to his stature forced upon him by the revolution so many years ago. His position as Archbishop was reviled by the heathens and only suffered by the graces of the Lord Protector, but only if he remained as unobtrusive as possible and didn't 'spew' the word of God everywhere he went, as the Protector had stated so elegantly one day long ago. Thankfully, he was rarely granted an audience with him and only when it seemed to suit the Protector's twisted sense of humour. The Archbishop hated the man with all his heart and soul but doubted the Protector was even aware of it and if he did, he doubted he cared.
He kept his innermost emotions hidden from all those around him. He had mastered deception. He was considered quiet, reserved and pious. The Archbishop laughed to himself. If they only knew, he thought. How that opinion would change.
The looks the Archbishop received by people as he walked the castle halls were barely tolerable these days. And yet he suffered the exile as was befitting a man of his stature, regardless of how much he longed to reach out and strangle those who smirked behind loosely covered hands or worse: those who glanced at him with pity and disdain. He had tried for the throne once, and had failed but like the mythical phoenix, he had managed to rise from the ashes. This forgotten corner of the castle was his reward.
The Archbishop knew he would have the last laugh. He prayed for the days that would come when he could throw down those who mocked the Church and hid behind the Word and pretended to understand the blasphemy that the Word preached. Little did they know the horror they faced on their death when their refusal to accept God and the teachings of the Church would be prove to be their ultimate undoing. When they stood alone to face their Maker and be judged and tossed into the fiery pits of Hell to suffer relentlessly for all eternity. He smiled at this welcomed imagery, his imagination flooding with scenes of bodies burning and writhing in fire and sulfur. His Church, by God's will, would overcome the usurpers and he, Archbishop Greigsen, would wear the heavy mantle of the crown and rule the hearts and souls of the people of Belkin. He would guide them to the Promised Land. Forgiveness of their sins was the Lord's work and he would hasten them on to His righteous judgment. His work, he knew and accepted, was to return the country to its intended rule by God and God alone.
Duilleog (A New Druids Series Book 1) Page 17
