“I can’t accept this,” Nicholas replied, handing it back reluctantly as he discreetly sought out the magic he had sensed.
Nothing appeared.
“I do appreciate it, though.”
Manfri smiled as he reclaimed the necklace. “So honest, but it is yours now.” And he leaned over just as Nicholas’ mouth opened in protest and clasped it on. “There.”
The pendant thumped against his chest, forcing his mouth closed as there was no longer anything he could do. The relic had been given to him, and it couldn’t be returned by gypsy law.
Then Manfri gave him a hug. The deepest yet. “I wish I could buy you passage onto the ship rather than watch you stow away.”
Nicholas returned the hug, not quite feeling the same way. He actually no longer wished to go to Tibinda but desired to stay with the gypsies. Their lifestyle had been refreshing. So carefree. And he had grown to love everyone, particularly Manfri and Theodosia. This was just what he had to do. He needed to get away and heal. Find his way back to himself. “You have done enough for me. Thank you. I truly hope we meet again.”
Manfri released him, tears sparkling in those green-gold eyes of his. “Maybe on your way back. I’ll even make sure to be right here to pick you up.”
Nicholas forced himself not to get emotional and hopped down. Only that was exactly when Theodosia leaped off her own wagon as well and waved him over.
“Now don’t be running off without giving me a hug.”
A tear escaped his lids as he motioned toward her, meeting her halfway with the hug. “I would never dream of it.”
“I would hope not as I will miss you to the moon and back, Sir Nicholas.” And she rubbed her face against his hair.
He chuckled as he pulled back. “I thought I ended that.”
“You may be just Nicholas right now,” Theodosia remarked as she clasped his hands, “but one day you will be much, much more. You will see.”
Nicholas looked her up and down, adjusting his sight as he had done what felt like only yesterday.
Still no aura appeared.
Theodosia caressed his jaw then. “You are a beautiful young man. Take care.”
And just like that her lips pressed against his, her body meshed against his, and he stiffened. Yeah, he knew she was attracted to him, but it was still unexpected as he had been quite clear he was uninterested in more than friendship.
Then she pulled back and met his gaze. A smile followed. She walked away just like that, her charms jangling around her waist.
Nicholas mentally shook his head, then waved at the rest of the caravan with his brain awhirl. That was his first kiss, in a way. He simply wasn’t sure if it counted.
“Goodbye, Nicholas!” everyone hollered.
“Bye!” Nicholas hollered in turn. Then he made his way toward the docks with that feeling he was leaving an entire family behind rather than just his father. It ripped him up inside in a way he had wondered would ever come around.
“And don’t forget!” hollered Manfri. “One more week and then the stitches can come out!”
Nicholas twisted with a forced chuckle as he waved an affirmation that he understood, and he regretted it instantly when he found everyone still waving and grinning. Then he fell in with a group jabbering about Tibindan customs and how they differed between Aangding and Utang.
Part 5
December 20, 4464
Stow Away (Nicholas)
Every longboat along the sides of the ship was packed, and more people stood crammed on the deck waiting. Nicholas squeezed between the passengers as he made his way from the starboard to the port side, listening through the cacophony of noises for the elderly Irenan couple he had spotted upon day one. He had watched the couple the entire journey from the shadows, listened in on their conversations. The man and woman were the only two he would be able to smoothly convince to take him off the ship unnoticed.
“Far more people this year than usual,” drifted over a male voice.
Roupan, Nicholas identified. It was similar to the accent found in Haven and Vulturedom.
“Ye doin’ all right, me love?”
Nicholas perked up and slipped in front of a woman standing alone.
“Watch it!” she screeched. “Wait…” She went quiet. “Nope, money still in my pocket,” came the last part distantly.
Nicholas didn’t blame the woman, he most likely would have picked her pocket in normal situations.
“It is joehst ‘ot,” the wife of the Irenan man replied.
Angus and Gladys, Nicholas reminded himself.
The couple appeared, their hair so red they stood out among everyone else on this end of the ship. And he stepped right between them, hand slipping into Gladys’.
The wife physically jumped, nearly pulling her hand away. But Nicholas nonchalantly glanced over and down into her blue eyes, noting the freckles on her plump face for the first time, and smiled. His gaze then shot up to the husband who towered over him as he took his hand as well.
“Stow away?” Angus asked.
Nicholas nodded.
“What is yer name and ‘ow old are ye?”
“Nicholas and I’m sixteen.”
“Mmm,” Angus moaned. “A bit yooehng to be on yer own.”
“Not really,” he looked ahead, there were only a few people ahead of them. “Most boys my age are already married.”
Angus nodded. “Yes, but still too yooehng.” Then he motioned to a boat just as the people in front of them disappeared. “Looks like we are oehp next.”
They stepped toward the boat, but only two spots were open. Nicholas hadn’t anticipated that.
“I don’t recall you coming on board with a third,” a strong baritone voice boomed accusingly.
Nicholas leaned forward to see around the other passengers. It was Dagger, the ship’s captain. He was bare-chested, which showed off the slash across his dark tan. His bearded face held another just under the left eye. The man was from Vulturedom.
“Dis is oehr grandsoehn,” Gladys responded in a sweet voice, and then she and Nicholas made eye contact. The woman had an adorable face, he found himself thinking. “‘e got on a little late.”
“Grandson?” Dagger inquired disbelievingly as he looked from the wife to the husband and back to him.
“My father is from Haven,” Nicholas replied to his concern. It was the hair. Nicholas was blond. “I take after him.”
“We only have two spots left,” Dagger grunted, brows knitting together as he glared at him. “You will have to…”
“‘e can ride on me lap,” Angus answered.
Dagger sighed. “Fine.” He gestured to the spots. “Get in.”
“Let me help you, grandmother,” Nicholas played along. Then he guided Gladys into the boat and helped her sit down.
“Soech a good lad,” Angus praised. “Don’t ye dink?”
Nicholas turned just as Dagger sighed noisily, and then he offered his hand to his temporary grandfather.
“Dank ye, soehn,” and Angus smiled as he accepted the help and stepped into the boat. He sat down next to his wife and patted his lap.
Nicholas hesitantly accepted, hoping he wasn’t too heavy for the old guy.
That was when Dagger turned his back and waved over at the crew members along the railing. “Let them down!”
The ropes eased, dropping their boat and the others with a jerk, and they proceeded to lower smoothly until they hit the water. Oars dipped in next, a rippling echoing around, and they glided away from the ship.
“So,” Angus resumed, his mouth close to Nicholas’ ear, “ye are from Haven.”
“Mhm,” Nicholas nodded, looking out across the smooth water toward the docks in the distance.
“Are yer parents still alive?”
“Just my father.” Nicholas left it at that as he turned his attention to the beach that slowly grew. He didn’t like to talk about his mother, who le
ft him at birth; his stepmother, who died to save him and his sister; or Brida, who he failed to protect.
“I see,” Angus answered. “I am sorry.”
“Wooehld ye like to stay wit’ oehs?” Gladys added. “While we are ‘ere?”
Nicholas shook his head and twisted to meet her concerned gaze. “I am actually heading to the monastery. I read about three monks who live there and they offer lessons on enlightenment, but thank you for the offer.”
“If yer plans change,” Angus added, “de offer shall remain standin’. We are ‘ere for de mont’.”
Nicholas nodded again and returned his attention to the docks and beach. They were minutes away from it. Minutes from his freedom.
Shelter (Sanctus)
The shelter mess hall bustled with chattering children. Sanctus stood behind a counter, ladle in one hand, and scooped stew into a bowl.
“Thank you, Sanctus,” a little girl with tangled black locks and a dark tan spoke as she bowed her head. She couldn’t have been more than six-years-old and looked like she had slept in a stable.
He scooped and poured another bowl.
“Thank you, Sanctus,” a slightly older boy with similar features repeated.
The thing was, though, he didn’t need thanking. His weekends helping at the shelter made him happy. Made his soul feel good. If he could, he would go every day, but he had duties to his brothers, the monastery, and Wyrd.
“Thank you, Sanctus,” came an even smaller voice, and then tiny cheek bones popped into view. Then tiny chest bones that peeked above the collar of a too large shirt.
Sanctus’ heart broke immediately, but the boy continued onward with his now full bowl. It left him to scan the crowd as he scooped out more stew for the next child. Table after table were children who ate as slow as possible even though it was obvious they wanted to pour the food down their throats. They were starving, and one meal a day wasn’t cutting it. Which then drew him to the fact that there were more children than the previous week. Far too many children without parents, or with parents who were incapable of caring for them.
A sigh escaped. The mere sight of them made him hope his sister, who was long gone now, had fared better after he was chased off. There was honestly no way to truly know.
“Sanctus?”
He redirected his attention with a restrained snap to a strongly built man. It was one of the dock masters, Khaleeb.
“There is a young man asking for a ride to the monastery.”
Sanctus drifted his gaze to the end of the line, wondering who it was. No one, at least not human, had visited the monastery in a long time. Almost no human outside of Tibinda even knew about it anymore. His home had faded into time after many had tried to burn it down to rid the world of death.
“I told him to wait outside. Shall I send him in?”
Sanctus nodded. “Tell him I will be with him soon. He may stand in line if he is hungry.”
He resumed spooning out stew as Khaleeb turned away, meeting every strained smile with a smile of his own and letting his heart break with every sad pair of eyes.
How can anyone let children end up like this? Let anyone end up like this?
Then a blond boy, whose hair flowed freely over his shoulders, stepped up.
Sanctus paused, his gaze drifting over the person before him. No, definitely young man. Thirteen to sixteen, he guessed. Tall, too. And white. It didn’t take long from there to realize this was the one seeking the ride.
“I’m actually not that hungry,” his new guest began, a set of the strangest blue eyes meeting his. There was no doubt he was human, just like everyone else present. But those eyes… The gold that streaked through them was startling, and he was most definitely not from this realm.
“At least eat something,” a girl spoke.
Sanctus flicked his attention beyond the foreigner. The last person in line was a girl a few years younger, but she had brown hair with a few vines sticking out from underneath. She was not fully human. Or even alive.
“Father wouldn’t be pleased to learn you aren’t eating, and you’re getting thin.”
Sanctus set the ladle down and reached behind to unlace his apron, his eyes watching the two of them curiously. The young man was without a doubt thinner than he should have been, but he clearly did not hear the spirit speak. Yet the spirit seemed to be related as she had used the term father to indicate they shared one. “Take a seat and I will be out soon. I have some cleaning to do.”
With a nod, the young man turned away, spirit in tow, and claimed the nearest available spot.
Not Going Anywhere (Nicholas)
There was a somberness to the shelter. Nicholas could see it despite the chatter and laughter. It was in every set of eyes, in the ragged clothes. Worse, he could feel it on the air. It wasn’t anything different than what he had witnessed in the lower-class district of Haven, but it still got to him as he knew nothing would save them from starvation.
That was something Nicholas learned the hard way when taking up the title of King of the Rogues. Or rather, The Hooded Knight. Only a select few knew they were one and the same.
He shook his head discreetly, missing his friends and his father. Missing the way life used to be before Brida died. Before Seraphina died.
“Thaaaat’s miiiine!” cried a little girl. “Give it baaaack!”
Nicholas’ eyes casually scanned the mess hall. There were so many people it was hard to pinpoint who had cried out.
“Look! It jumps!” laughed an older boy.
“It’s really simple,” responded another boy. “Your stew for the doll.”
A little girl jumped into view. She looked a lot like a rabbit with a treat dangling just too high for her to reach. There were two boys before her, laughing.
Nicholas sighed deeply and slid off the bench, magically flicking out his wrist daggers a little as he mentally felt for the one at his back and in his boots. Then he made his way along two rows and up the third.
The two boys weren’t paying attention. They had their backs facing him, but everyone else had drawn their attention over and watched as he made his way toward them and stopped.
“She said to give it back,” Nicholas spoke sternly as he prepared to drop his daggers further.
The boys turned around as the girl stepped back. Then the oldest scanned him up and down.
“You aren’t from around here. Get off our turf.”
Nicholas huffed a chuckle. “I am not going anywhere until you give that girl her doll back and let her eat.”
The oldest stepped closer, the distinct sound of a dagger dropping as he sneered and side-eyed his friends. Nicholas waited, though. It had to be the right moment.
And then the boy twitched, and Nicholas snagged the hilts of his daggers and brought them up just in time to make contact with the attempt at a slash. With that he snapped his brows together, thought the word for his blasting spell, and the boy went flying with a burst of green light that filled the entire space.
No Emotions (Sanctus)
Sanctus shifted his weight against the swinging door and pushed backward. The bucket in his hands sloshed, splashes hitting his wrists. Then he rotated, letting the door go, and was caught by a burst of bright green light.
He came to a halt with a flinch, nearly dropping the bucket, and snapped his eyes closed. The light was most positively bright, though, and despite scrunching his lids tight, he could still see it.
Then there was a thud… a second thud… and the green light vanished.
Sanctus blinked, his vision blurry, and caught sight of a blond figure standing at the end of the third row. There were two lumpy shapes on the floor along the far wall ahead.
A force he never felt before rose through his belly and into his chest, sending his mind into a tizzy as he visualized how that foreigner had so innocently stepped up to him. The burst of green light was just as clear in his mind to make the connection to what h
e had just experienced and who had caused it.
He’s a spell caster.
“What is going on?” he shouted, a dizziness hitting with the action. But it wasn’t really necessary. The place had gone silent. Then he set the bucket on the floor to slosh about some more and braced himself as he tried to focus on what was in the mess hall.
“That boy just attacked Raja and Ali!” hollered a child.
“He came out of nowhere and attacked them!” hollered another.
“They weren’t doing anything!”
Sanctus blinked some more, his vision slowly clearing, and he breathed in to clear his mind of the anger that was taking over. At last he saw everything clearly.
The blond was most definitely the young man, and he was bent down next to a small girl hugging what looked to be a doll.
That spirit girl kneeled next to him.
“You!” Sanctus pointed, hating being firm already as it just made his heartrate go up with the dizziness. But this new boy was old enough to understand, and clearly well off to know better based on his clean, although strange, attire.
The blond turned, his expression painful despite the emotions being absent. Not one piece of guilt or fear came off him.
“Come here now!”
There was no verbal acknowledgement, but the boy did rise and proceed to make his way up the row and to the counter.
The spirit trailed behind him the entire time.
“Follow me.” Sanctus turned, leaving the bucket, and returned to the swinging door. His anger was rising like liquid fire into the rest of his body now. It burned in his cheeks as he shoved the door open and stepped aside.
Boy and spirit passed by, no argument, and then Sanctus guided the door closed with as much forced calm as he could muster. He didn’t like the sensation of being upset at all.
“I don’t know who you are,” he began, returning to his two guests, “or why you are here, but you are leaving this instant.”
Rogue Beyond the Wall Page 6
