The young man straightened and turned.
“Thank you,” Sanctus submitted then. “You made this much easier than usual.”
Again there was no answer. The young man just made his way back to the edge and hopped down, his arms going out for balance.
“Oh…” Sanctus released, lids widening and sending his brows high.
Blood stained the young man’s right cuff. In fact, it was soaked. Then those strange blue-gold eyes shot up into his own muddy brown ones. There was only a few inches height difference between them.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” He offered a hand and stepped closer.
But the young man hid his arm behind his back and shied away. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Sanctus reached out further, suddenly realizing he had carried the trunk with that arm. “Let me see. I might need to bandage it until we get to the monastery.”
“It’s truly fine. Just a cut. Do you need help with the horse?”
Sanctus dropped his arm back to his side with an internal sigh. I guess I will need to earn his trust. I don’t blame him.
“At least let him bandage it, Nicholas.”
It was hard not to respond to the spirit who had called the young man by name, reminding Sanctus that she had also indicated they shared a father. Harder yet was remembering what had just been asked. “Yes. That would be helpful.” So he led the way back around the stable and past the spirit who stood at a safe distance from them.
“He really cut deep,” the spirit girl resumed. “You might bleed out before you reach the monastery. If father were here, he would insist on healing it himself.”
So their father is a healer. That explains why he protected Advika’s doll. Sanctus pried open the stall doors, which were worn out from age and needed fixing, and glanced over to make sure the young man was still doing all right. He hoped he would let him know if his wound got worse or he felt unwell. “My horse is this black one,” he pointed as he walked over. “He’s a bit excitable. The tackle is over there.” He pointed to the racks just off to the side of the stall. “You get those and I will lead him out.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“My name is Sanctus, by the way.” He released the latch on the stall and stepped inside, where the horse immediately tossed his head and neighed. “The little girl was Advika, and she said thank you.”
There was a grunt. Sanctus took that as a reply, only a clank followed and he snapped around realizing himself a fool. The gear was on the ground, and the young man was grasping his wounded wrist.
“I told you!” the spirit chastised as she swooped over.
“Ni…” Sanctus caught himself as he rushed over as well and snatched the young man just as he swayed. Then they both went down together. “Hey.” He pushed the blond hair that had swooped across the young man’s face away, all the while cradling him like a child, and noted how quickly he was paling.
“Oh, no!” the spirit began to cry, hands drifting up to cover her face as she dropped to her knees. “Don’t let him die. Gods, don’t do this. It’s all my fault.”
Sanctus sought out the wounded wrist frantically and slipped back the soaked sleeve just enough. It wasn’t a cut. It was a gash, and it sliced through his vein and was letting out blood at a pretty good pace. “Curses!” he hissed. “Stay with me, boy. Don’t drift away.”
But the boy’s head toppled against him and he was out.
Part 6
December 20, 4464
Contact (Salbatzaile)
Grey set across the evening sky as Salbatzaile strode from the greenhouse and through the garden. He had completed his duties for Sanctus as promised, watering every flower, plant, shrub, tree. Every detail his brother normally took in caring for each potted life in his possession was gone over meticulously.
Then the gong went off, its sound reverberating through the life around him.
Salbatzaile smiled, looking up into the sky. It would be awhile before he went to the door, but it was nice to know Sanctus was back.
Then the gong went off again, the echo of the second round falling in behind the first.
Salbatzaile frowned but picked up the pace, and then he broke into a run. In all the years the three of them had lived together in the monastery, not once had any of them needed to ring the gong twice. Three times yes, but not twice. Three meant a threat was on the way, two was a healing emergency.
“Ángelo!” he hollered, rounding his way along the lodgings, grateful for being so close to it when Sanctus arrived. “Ángelo! De medicine!”
“I’ve got it!”
His feet kept going as the jingling of vials clanked into the quiet of the live garden, just behind the flapping of his sandals and the swishing of the grass and leaves. It followed him into the dining room, through the dark interior, and out the other end onto the path.
There was no bother taken to use this path. Salbatzaile went straight through the sand garden before him, messing up all his work from that morning. That was when his sandals fumbled off and he slowed to a clumsy trot. He could tell from the grunts on his tail that Ángelo didn’t fare much better.
After that it was the steps in and out of the meditation room, only the cushions getting in the way, and the yin and yang courtyard beyond.
At last Salbatzaile snatched the latch of one of the heavy doors and shoved it open.
“Quick, over here,” Sanctus waved from the wagon bed just as the door burst open and slammed against the wall.
A brown-haired lass stood up at that moment, and the way her face contorted as she looked over told Salbatzaile something was off about her. It looked like she was crying, yet there were no tears. No puffy, red eyes. No flushed cheeks.
His senses adjusted automatically as he ran out the gate and across the terrain, Ángelo still on his tail with the clanking vials growing louder by the second. And just like that, he slid to a stop and grabbed the edge of the wagon. He was in equally as fast, where he found himself looking not only at a spirit who was part wood nymph but also a lad who was out cold and breathing heavy. Blood stained the cuff of the wrinkled, sweat-soaked white shirt that sat open enough to reveal the bare white chest underneath.
“‘ow long ‘as ‘e been ooeht?” He bent down, taking up the uninjured wrist.
“All day.” Sanctus had his fingers on the lad’s throat, checking his pulse as well. “I haven’t been able to wake him.”
“And…” he gestured to the spirit.
Sanctus shook his head.
He nodded as Ángelo slid in at his side and pulled open the bag.
“That oaf, Dagger, sliced his wrist over two gargots,” Sanctus continued calmly, but it was clear from his features under the fading light he was ready to scream and cry in frustration. He was the sensitive sort, and he didn’t do well under stress. “I changed his bandage every hour on the way here.”
Salbatzaile took in the wrappings in question. They were currently soaked through as well based on what peeked out from under the sleeve.
“His pulse has been erratic the entire way here. I fear he won’t make it.”
“Noooo!” the spirit screamed, entire body going into the action. It was blood curdling. Then she backed into the corner and slid down, tucking herself away by the trunk as she stomped her feet unproductively and grabbed her head. “Noooo!”
“Ángelo?” He turned to his other brother to see if he was getting out what was needed, but he was also trying not to react to the spirit.
Ángelo pulled out a vial of clear-red liquid marked with the appropriate symbol. “This should stop the bleeding.”
Sanctus snatched the vial as he shoved the lad’s sleeve over his elbow aggressively, revealing a dagger strapped to his forearm.
Salbatzaile’s brows rose as Sanctus ripped off the old bandage. “Where did ye find dis lad?”
“He stowed away on a ship from Eurotopa.” Sanctus poured the liquid
, drenching the small wound that looked so insignificant compared to all the blood.
“Brida…” the lad forced out breathlessly, throwing his head to the side. Then he squirmed as the medicine cauterized the wound with a sizzle.
The spirit made a startled noise and her head shot up. “Nicholas?” she squeaked, eyes hopeful in his peripheral.
The lad’s face contorted as tears spilled over his cheeks.
“Nicholas!”
That screech almost made Salbatzaile flinch, and then the spirit leaped up and lunged at Sanctus. Only she fell right through him, and Sanctus surprisingly didn’t react as expected. His brother didn’t even react when the spirit – Brida, Salbatzaile assumed – rolled away and jumped back to her feet. He had apparently, at some point, shut down his connection to the spirit world to prevent her from making contact with him.
“You’re hurting him!” she screeched. “Stop it!”
The flow of blood ceased, and the lad gasped.
“It’s all right, boy,” Sanctus spoke softly as he put the vial down and cradled the lad in his arms. “You are safe now.”
“Brida…” the lad repeated just as breathless as before.
“I’m right here,” the spirit came around and bent down as close as what appeared she dared, which forced Salbatzaile to the side as he didn’t want to make contact with her, either, if she didn’t know they could see her. “I will always be right here to protect you.”
The lad shook his head weakly just as more tears spilled. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.
Salbatzaile felt his lungs catch. That response meant the lad heard the spirit. So he adjusted his sight.
Only the aura that ignited was blue-gold and wild. No black graced a speck of it. The gold was strange in itself, but the lad was definitely not of Death or Wryd.
“Here is something to heal the wound,” Ángelo interjected as he held out another vial, this one a clear-blue liquid marked with a different symbol.
Sanctus took that one shakily but much slower and began to carefully pour it out over the gash.
“We should get ‘im inside,” Salbatzaile suggested as he maneuvered around Ángelo and slid off the end of the wagon. Then he twisted around curiously to look once more at this lad named Nicholas. What does the gold mean? He had never seen such a sight in all the generations he had witnessed come and go from this world.
And there he caught Ángelo gather up the two vials as he closed off the bag, Sanctus readjusting the lad gently at the same time while the spirit hovered over him.
“Maybe figure ooeht who ‘is parents are and send dem a message,” he concluded.
Sanctus nodded solemnly and stood. “I will see about asking Wyrd. I am sure he knows something.”
Salbatzaile nodded in return, hoping Wyrd would be cooperative. Fate had a funny way of not doing as one expected. He wasn’t like Death, who was the most straightforward of all the gods.
Simple Coin (Sanctus)
Carrying the limp boy was excruciating. Several times, Sanctus drew him close just to give him a hug and kiss his sweaty forehead. The boy had fallen unresponsive again, though, and was paling by the moment.
“Don’t fret, Sanctus,” Salbatzaile interjected into his thoughts. “De lad shall recoehver. I can feel ‘is soul is strong and fightin’.”
“This is all my fault, though,” he choked. “I turned him away and he nearly died.”
“Ye shall ‘ave to explain dat later. For now…”
Sanctus followed his wise brother and Ángelo into the lodgings and turned into the first room on the left.
“De lad needs a change o’ clothes and soehme rest.”
Sanctus nodded as both his brothers parted to let him pass. Then he strode across the small room and laid the limp form of the boy onto the mattress, resting his head on the pillow as gently as possible. “Will you help me, Salbatzaile?”
“O’ course.”
With that, Sanctus began to unbutton the strange shirt, shifting the boy to pull it over his shoulders and down his arms.
Two daggers appeared, one on each forearm, and the shirt snagged.
With another twist of the boy’s body, Sanctus looked to see what the shirt caught on and spotted a third dagger strapped to his back. “Oh.”
“What?” Salbatzaile inquired as he grabbed the boy’s boots.
Sanctus reached around to unbuckle the dagger and get it out of the way.
“Oh,” Salbatzaile finally echoed.
“Five daggers,” Ángelo mused aloud.
“Five?” Sanctus repeated as he looked over to see Salbatzaile removing two daggers from the boots. Then he glanced at the two on the wrists as he set the one he held aside.
“Who is this boy?” Ángelo resumed.
“Well he is Eurotopan,” Sanctus explained, unbuckling the wrist daggers next and setting them with the other.
Salbatzaile immediately claimed the weapons and set them on the floor with the two he found. Only four of the five were a matching set. The fifth had a hilt of vines.
“His accent would place him in either Haven or Vulturedom.”
“Haven is unlikely,” Ángelo commented. “They are a peaceful kingdom.”
Sanctus looked into the boy’s ashen features, not seeing a threat. All he saw was a helpless, lost young man who may very well have still been a boy at heart. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe de border o’ Roupan and Vulturedom, o’ Haven and Vulturedom.”
Sanctus shrugged as he redirected himself to undoing the boy’s strange pants. Salbatzaile helped ease them off.
“Look at his physique,” Ángelo resumed with a gesture of his head. “He looks like he was once quite fit, and those scars aren’t something one would find on someone from Haven.”
The pants came off just as Sanctus looked up at him, Salbatzaile close behind, and caught a glimpse of Brida standing against the wall. Her face was rather pale for a spirit. If Sanctus didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was in shock.
“I guess I will find out when I get a hold of Wyrd. He should be able to show me something.”
“We’ll joehst ‘ave to wait.” Salbatzaile gathered up the garments just like that. “I shall go ahead and clean dese, den locate soehme kasayas for ‘im. Maybe soehme sandals. ‘e needs clothes dat fit and aren’t abooeht to fall off ‘is body.” Then he bent down for the daggers and placed them on the pile in his arms. “I shall keep dese in me room, for safety precaution.”
Sanctus looked down at the boy before him again, wondering himself now who he was. The scars he held looked fresh, and it was odd he was thinning if his father was a healer. Maybe his parents are deceased and he is all alone.
“Anything you need me to do?” Ángelo inquired.
“Help me prepare soehme soup,” Salbatzaile responded.
The boy threw his head to the side and groaned. Shivered despite the heat. “Father,” he said this time.
Sanctus put a hand to the boy’s head. It was warm, meaning he had caught a fever on the way through the mountains.
“Sanctus will stay wit’ ‘im tonight.”
Then silence. Sanctus barely glanced over when his wise brother hesitated leaving.
“What is dat?”
“What?” Sanctus looked over the boy again, not seeing anything.
Salbatzaile put the clothes and daggers onto the foot of the bed once more and walked around to the other side.
Ángelo drew closer as well.
“Dat pendant arooehnd ‘is neck.”
Sanctus looked where directed. There was indeed a dark metal charm dangling over the boy’s bare chest. He picked it up, seeing a leaf engraved on the front. Then he turned it over to see a wheel with sixteen spokes. “Looks like some coin.”
It was hard to miss. Salbatzaile shook his head, blue eyes flickering, and he lifted the item from his grasp. Only he dropped it less than a second later, leaving it to thump
back into place on the boy’s chest.
“Dat is a gypsy coin.” And a slight nervousness broke his natural calm.
“Gypsy?” Ángelo’s voice rang as he stepped back. “He’s a gypsy?”
A sinking sensation gripped Sanctus as he observed his brothers. Only one of them was a bigot, but they were both reacting negatively. Then Salbatzaile regained his composure and Sanctus relaxed along with him. Salbatzaile was his rock.
“It appears to be imbued wit’ deir magic,” Salbatzaile corrected, “which is not like gifts or magical bein’ abilities. Do not tooehch it furt’er oehnless freely given to ye.”
Sanctus exchanged a look with Ángelo at that while Salbatzaile reclaimed the boy’s things. But the other did not appear satisfied.
It was just a simple coin.
Mixed-Breed (Ángelo)
Ángelo reluctantly picked up the tray of soup and water and turned back toward the dark live garden, where Salbatzaile was already walking with the dirty pot. He had spotted the spirit girl’s ears upon leaving the boy’s chamber, the vines poking from under the mass of brown hair. This Brida was part wood nymph, part elf. There had been very little human in her, he had realized as he had stolen a second look. That meant the boy was barely human as well. But as follower of Death and a brother of the monastery, Ángelo had to accept all guests no matter what their species or ethnicity. Whether they were law abiding citizens or gypsies. It was also the accepted law in Tibinda.
So with a deep inhalation, off the monk strode the few steps between dining table and garden. Then he exhaled as he stepped into the night, drawing out his time as much as possible.
But his sandaled feet touched the stone path quicker than he wanted, and he breathed in once more as he closed his eyes.
Dear gods, please give me the strength to accept this boy. Remove my hatred and replace it with pure understanding.
Rogue Beyond the Wall Page 8
