Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

  “Out of your wagons!”

  “What is going on?” came a tired voice.

  “We have done nothing wrong,” reacted another.

  “We are free people, you have no right.”

  Nicholas got himself onto his hands and knees as he clasped his freshly opened wound, only a palm stopped him from rising further.

  “Stay here,” Manfri whispered.

  “But…” he looked over at his gypsy friend, who shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. So he nodded and sat down, pulling the pieces of fabric he had been using as blankets over himself. It was unclear what he should think about all this. Think about being asked to stay when someone was demanding everyone wake up.

  Then Manfri stood and exited the wagon.

  “Who is the head of this caravan?” boomed that voice again.

  Nicholas perked his ears to follow the flow of mumbling, the shifting of feet. His pupils tried to follow, but they met the side of the wagon instead.

  “That would be me,” Manfri responded nonchalantly. Nicholas imagined him strutting over in that smooth way he had, jewelry jingling loudly. “And my family deserves to be treated with respect, not like animals.”

  “We are looking for a young man,” that voice resumed, bringing his volume down but not changing his tone. “He is an outlaw.”

  Silence fell, aside from the rustling of paper. It sounded a lot like it was unrolling.

  That must be the warrant or the public announcement. He shifted, seething between his teeth, and checked under the fabrics to see how his wounds were doing. His side was stained red, but it didn’t look too bad. His thigh and shoulder were unharmed.

  “I see,” Manfri responded after a time, the paper rustling some more. “Well I do not recognize him, and I haven’t seen anyone come by. Sorry.”

  “We need to check all your wagons.”

  A thrumming picked up against his chest and he darted his attention around for a place to hide.

  “By all means,” replied Manfri, “go ahead.”

  “He’s a spell caster, guys!” the voice rose once more. “Make sure to poke around! He could be under a charm!”

  His breathing quickened next and he rose to his feet, forgetting the pain of his wounds. Except he was trapped like a pig.

  I could make a run for it, he bargained with himself. I did it before.

  No, his inner voice replied, then the gypsies will be punished for sheltering you and lying. They are already, in a way, outlaws.

  But if I’m found, they are in trouble anyway. Why would Manfri let them check the wagons?

  Doors began to open. He heard a few curtains swish violently. Things were tossed to the hard ground. There was stomping, rocking.

  “Empty!” hollered a deep voice.

  “This one, too!”

  “And this one!”

  The doors slammed shut, and the world spun as Nicholas registered two more voices and the invasion of more wagons.

  Five men, sixteen wagons. Think, Nicholas! Think!

  He glanced around despite knowing there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide among the fabrics.

  I’m going to die! The gypsies are going to die! No amount of magic will hide…

  His own breathing echoed into his ears as he froze. The key word was in hide. Like in, hide in plain sight. It was a mid-level illusion charm, and he had used it before to pass himself off as his father. It had been perfect then, and it was perfect now.

  So he inhaled a trembling breath and prepared himself, a desperate cry wedging its way in. His mind still knew he was about to get caught, and then he directed himself to sit.

  Except his body collapsed, the fabrics giving way under him, and his whimper escaped. But he quickly breathed in again, determined not to make another sound, and closed his eyes. This was just as hard a spell as the cloaking charm, so he needed to relax.

  And with that he began mumbling the words, black hair and green eyes in mind, as more doors opened and closed. The sounds were awfully close.

  Then his own wagon door burst open, splintering as it was on weak hinges, and his lids flew open. He was sure his heart stopped as well.

  “Why didn’t you come out when requested?” A man yelled, his pupils just noticeable as they darted up and down. He was a bounty hunter, it was clear by his rough clothing and the simple daggers he carried.

  “Uh…”

  “I’m sorry, Manfri responded. “That is my son. He has fae pox.”

  The man leaped back and stumbled into the next wagon. He nearly fell over in the process.

  “Fae pox is contagious,” stated that first, rough voice.

  “That it is,” Manfri replied, “which is why I kept him inside.”

  “You bumbling buffoon!”

  Nicholas leaped out of his skin. The fabrics returning under him moments later.

  “You just came out of there! All of you are contagious!”

  “Captain…” entered a meek voice.

  A pause. Nicholas assumed the lead bounty hunter was glaring at the other.

  “… fae pox is deadly. Might as well be considered a plague.”

  Silence now.

  “This is on your hands, gypsy,” the first voice growled this time. “If you weren’t already doomed, I would kill you. Move out!”

  The bounty hunter just outside made eye contact with Nicholas, and then trotted out of sight.

  Nicholas resumed breathing slowly in and out, his body trembling far worse than before, and listened to the whispering that broke out. There was no sound of hooves or anything – just boots breaking through the foliage and remaining snow.

  Then Manfri reappeared in the doorway. “You can drop that charm now.”

  “What do you…” Nicholas looked down at his hands, at the purple and green sashes around his waist that hadn’t been there moments ago. Pieces of black locks dangled down his shoulders in place of the blond ones. It all should have fallen away now that he no longer needed them, which left him rather embarrassed to say what he was thinking as it revealed he was an amateur with little control of his gift. “I’m stuck,” he redirected.

  “Stuck?” Manfri climbed inside. “You mean you can’t reverse it?”

  “Usually it just falls away when I am done, but...”

  Manfred slipped to his side and lifted a lock of that black hair that wasn’t his, and let the strands fall through his fingers. Then the gypsy man sighed as he went for Nicholas’ chin and directed his gaze over.

  “… I didn’t finish,” he admitted. That was partially what made this a mid-level charm. Lower-level ones did nothing when incomplete.

  “You didn’t finish? What does that mean?”

  Nicholas jaw worked to explain, but no words came out.

  “I see,” Manfri answered as he dropped his hand into his lap. “I wish I could help, but unfortunately I have no gifts of my own. I’m sorry.”

  Tears started to build up.

  “Aww… come here.”

  And he found himself in Manfri’s arms with his face in the gypsy’s neck, which smelled of earth and smoke. The man had a rather fatherly touch to his hold, too. One Nicholas hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “It’s all right. But if it makes you feel any better, your eyes are still blue-gold.”

  Nicholas sniffled, focusing on not breathing into Manfri as he took that information in.

  “And you basically look the same.”

  And that bounty hunter didn’t notice? He looked right at me.

  “It’s just the hair and the clothes that have altered a bit.”

  “Is he all right in there?” Theodosia interrupted as she appeared in the doorway.

  Nicholas pulled away and wiped his face on his sleeve. That was the entire point of Manfri’s charade, he realized. To take notice off him even if they were looking directly at him.

  “Now what is this?”

  “His illusion charm
is stuck,” Manfri answered.

  Now he was even more embarrassed.

  “Maybe a circle?” Theodosia suggested.

  Circle? He glanced back to Manfri, then returned to Theodosia. They must mean that sitting thing they did.

  Manfri perked up at his side. “Yes! That might do the trick. Get the family together. We will all help him.” And he gave Nicholas a slap on the back that shoved him forward and sent his side pulsing in pain.

  He jerked, fingers meeting warm blood as he swayed back up. “Can you re-stitch me first,” he moaned.

  “Oh…” Manfri’s fingers appeared around his. “I am so sorry. I didn’t even notice. Let me see how bad it is.”

  Theodosia vanished with that.

  “Lay back,” Manfri resumed, guiding him into the fabrics. “This will only be a minute.”

  He gasped as his wound stretched open a bit more. He could feel extra blood pooling out, and he looked over at his gypsy friend pleadingly.

  “You will be fine,” Manfri breathed, so assured with his words.

  “Why are you helping me?” he finally ventured. He had to know why a stranger and his entire family were risking their freedom for him. Possibly even their lives. They had nearly lost everything just now.

  Manfri shrugged and offered a smile. “Just felt right, I guess.” A twinkle crossed his irises, turning the green to an emerald and making the gold dance. The gypsy was not lying, but he was also not telling the truth.

  Natural (Brida)

  Brida floated off to the line of trees as the gypsies took their spots around the fire and clasped hands. Nicholas among them. They had all definitely surprised her by standing at her brother’s side and protecting him. Caring for him as part of their family.

  “This is like normal, everyone,” Manfri began over the crackling of the fire. “Just close your eyes and relax with nature. If you feel the need, send your good energy through the link to our new friend, Sir Nicholas.”

  “Honestly…” her brother remarked exasperatedly. He didn’t usually get like that. “… it is just Nicholas.”

  Manfri chuckled. “For now,” he repeated.

  Brida watched as everyone closed their eyes as before and breathed in as one. Nicholas appeared to flow along with them, making it all the more nerve-shattering that he didn’t look himself. Despite knowing the boy among the gypsies was her brother, the hair and sashes made her skin crawl. At least that was how it felt to her, and she squirmed. Fidgeted.

  No. This is not Nicholas.

  Then she drifted over to another tree, but her brother’s altered appearance kept returning. The way he blended in as though one of them. It just wasn’t right.

  Finally she turned away from the sparks of the flames and toward the cold breeze that whistled through the branches. The snow that crunched under small padded feet.

  She shifted again, though. It couldn’t be helped, and she pointlessly inhaled to sigh loudly as she moved back to the first tree.

  That was when she caught the fire dwindle. Someone needed to stoke it, and she nearly moved to do just that when Nicholas’ head tilted back from just outside her line of sight. It was here that her brother breathed in much more calmly and naturally than he had in a long time.

  Her shoulders sagged, gaze drifting around the circle at the other men and women. The few children. They were all happy the way they were, out roaming the land as a family with no home or materials to care about.

  That was when a lock of Nicholas’ hair went blond. The purple sash vanished. The green sash vanished.

  A smile escaped Brida’s lips as she stepped forward, and just like that the rest of Nicholas’ hair went blond.

  Just a Game (Isaiah)

  With blanket pulled tight around his frame, Isaiah sat against the wall and stared across the hallway unblinking.

  Nicholas’ door was closed.

  Brida’s door was closed.

  And it was silent.

  He drew in a breath, puffing up his chest, and blew it all out slowly. It was all he had to prove he still lived. Proved that he survived losing his family entirely.

  Then there was a click, Nicholas’ door creaked inward, and Isaiah straightened.

  But no one came out.

  “Nicholas?” Isaiah rose from the floor, letting the blanket fall around his feet, and squinted into the dark bedchamber. “Nicholas, are you in there?”

  It took some encouragement to move his feet, cover those few paces and step into his son’s room.

  “Are you playing with me?” He sure hoped it was just a game, despite it being cruel.

  Then the door slammed shut behind him and he jolted, spinning on his toes.

  Only the closed door greeted him.

  “Nicholas?” he called again as he scanned over the walls for a hiding place and went back around to face the bed. “Nicholas, where are you?”

  “Over here, father.”

  He sighed and followed the voice to a corner, where his son stood hidden in the shadows.

  “Nicholas,” Isaiah breathed as he clasped his chest, “you frightened me. Did you sneak in through the window?” That was just his son’s common way in and out of the house.

  Nicholas didn’t respond, just remained where he stood.

  “Nicholas?” Isaiah inched closer, his heart beginning to race. Something didn’t feel right. “Nicholas, tell me where you went. I have been waiting all day for you to come home.” Then he cocked his head, noticing the paleness of Nicholas’ features. The arrows in his chest appeared next.

  “Nicholas!” He lunged forward, but his son vanished and he rammed straight into the connected walls and crashed to the floor. “Nicholas!” he hollered again, only this time into the space as he fumbled to his feet.

  Nicholas now stood in the moonlight streaming through the window. His eyes were in deep, dark pockets and the arrows were gone. Blood drenched his entire front.

  “Nicholas,” he gasped as he moved toward him once more, but then stopped as Nicholas took a step back. “Please. Let me help you.”

  Then there was a thump.

  “Master Isaiah!” came a distant voice from within his mind.

  Nicholas proceeded to dim, fade into the moonlight.

  “No!” He rushed forward once again.

  “Master Isaiah!”

  “Nicholas! Don’t go!”

  Gone.

  Isaiah crashed through glass and wall, sending it all shattering through the air, and landed in the snow on the other side. The white stuff flew up everywhere.

  “Master Isaiah, wake up!” the voice boomed into his ear this time. “You are dreaming!”

  He rolled over to see the hole in his home, but it no longer existed. Even the cold snow that should have enveloped his palms never seemed to have existed.

  It was just darkness all around.

  “Master Isaiah!” that voice repeated once more.

  Isaiah went to sit, but it occurred to him he already was sitting. Then he felt his lids twitch.

  My eyes are closed?

  A rag swept over his forehead then, so he pried his lids open to see the blurry frame of Cedric kneeled before him.

  Nicholas’ door just beyond remained closed.

  Brida’s door remained closed.

  And the house was silent.

  “I had food brought over. I thought we could eat together,” Cedric resumed as he removed the rag and glided down to his side.

  Isaiah’s eyes barely managed to glance over at the sack Cedric held. Whatever was inside smelled great, but his belly just didn’t feel like eating anything.

  “Are you all right, Master Isaiah? You sounded as though you were having a nightmare.”

  He shook his head as he resumed staring across the hall.

  “Maybe food will help.”

  “No,” he croaked.

  “For Nicholas, then. Eat for him, because I can assure you that he is eating for you
.”

  Isaiah swallowed at that and nodded. “I can do that.”

  Goodbyes (Nicholas)

  The forests of Haven merged into a poor farm village at the edge of Roupan on the seventeenth of November. It had been hit by a harsh early snow storm as well, and from what it appeared the horrible white stuff was refusing to melt despite the nice fall day. It actually felt like fall at last, but the snow screamed winter and forced everyone out with shovels to begin clearing paths while children stood by fires drying out their clothes.

  Manfri simply rolled his caravan through, Nicholas noting when a few villagers paused and twisted to glare at them. One went as far as spitting on the ground before turning back to his shoveling.

  “Cursed gypsies,” a voice mumbled over just clearly enough.

  Nicholas shook his head, and then they were back in the forest and trundling along deeper into Roupan.

  Four days later, the weather miraculously warmed further. The snow melted at last, and that was good because they were finally entering one of many seaside villages. This one sat just outside the border of Irena.

  “Looks like this is it,” Manfri spoke up as he drew the entire caravan to a halt with a pull of the reins. It stopped them all where they would be less noticed among the hustle and bustle of the large village. “I have a gift for you before you go, though.”

  Nicholas twisted in his spot, astonished. And a bit guilty. What could he have to give me when I have nothing to give in return?

  That was when Manfri reached for the back of his neck where the clasp to his chain hung. Nicholas had noted the piece of jewelry once or twice, but never saw what hung at the end of it.

  Until now.

  He heard the tiny clasp click open, releasing the other end, and the gypsy man pulled the chain from under his shirt to reveal a charm. From there he held it out. “This is a symbol us gypsies wear.”

  Nicholas took the pendant in his palm, the dark metal chain falling to dangle through his fingers, and noted the magical tingle that emanated from it. Then he gave the object a flip – one side was engraved with a leaf while the other side held a sixteen spoke wheel.

  “The wheel represents the gypsy caravan. The leaf, the specific caravan,” Manfri proceeded to explain. “This way you will always be a part of us no matter where you go or how far you journey.”