Rogue Beyond the Wall

by Giselle Jeffries Schneider

  He let those words fill him as he continued onward unseeing, then the torchlit lodgings swept over him and he opened his eyes. It was just a left from there, so he went ahead and balanced the tray and reached out for the door.

  Please do not let me judge him by what he is but rather who he is. It is not his fault he was born a mixed-breed.

  He turned the knob from there and stepped inside, where it was immediately clear the spirit was gone as no crying met his ears. She had burst into useless sobbing quickly when she realized her brother wasn’t going to die.

  That girl could possibly cry a river if she were still alive.

  “Nicholas?” came Sanctus’ voice.

  Ángelo journeyed to the nightstand and slipped the tray onto it.

  “Nicholas, can you hear me?”

  “Did Wyrd say anything?” Ángelo ventured. He was a little worried for the boy. For whomever his parents were. He didn’t think himself that heartless.

  Sanctus shook his head. “He refused to respond to my call. Nicholas, I need you to wake up.”

  “Won’t he be confused if you know his name? It sounds like he never introduced himself.”

  “Well I can’t keep calling him boy.”

  Ángelo nodded as he slipped onto the edge of the bed and looked down at the creature before him. He looks human, and Salbatzaile says he is. But…”

  The boy groaned.

  “Nicholas?” Sanctus resumed.

  Another groan was the boy’s response, though it sounded a lot like he tried to form words.

  “I need you to tell me where you are from? Can you do that?”

  “Father,” he moaned just audibly this time with a contorted face as he squirmed.

  “All right. Let’s start there. What is your father’s name?”

  Probably something unpronounceable. Then he mentally kicked himself just as he caught a glare from Sanctus.

  “Father,” the boy moaned again as he squirmed some more. “Brida.”

  “I can message him if you tell me his name, Nicholas. Who is your father?”

  The boy continued to squirm, sweat beading off his skin as his face contorted more and more.

  Sanctus placed a hand to his forehead again.

  “Does he still have a fever?” Ángelo asked.

  His brother nodded. “It keeps rising.”

  “Well I have his soup,” Ángelo answered as he looked back at the tray. “Salbatzaile put something in it to help break that fever.”

  “Isaiah,” the boy breathed at last.

  “What was that?” Sanctus leaned in.

  “He said Isaiah,” Ángelo answered, looking the boy over with an attempt at a fresh perspective, and then he realized the boy was holding Sanctus’ hand. “His father’s name is Isaiah.”

  “Master Isaiah,” the boy breathed again.

  “And what of your mother?”

  The boy’s chest rose dramatically, much more so than it had been, and Sanctus gripped the hand he held tightly as he brought it up to his own chest. Tears were next, from both his brother and the boy.

  “I understand,” Sanctus responded as he brushed the boy’s hair away, but it didn’t make it past the ears enough to show whether he was part magical being or not.

  “I take it she’s…”

  “Don’t,” his brother interrupted with another glare. “Have respect.”

  Ángelo shut his mouth as Sanctus redirected himself.

  “Where is your father, Nicholas? Where does he live?”

  The boy’s head fell to the side then and it went quiet.

  “Nicholas?” Sanctus resumed as he placed a couple fingers to the boy’s neck. “Nicholas, come back.”

  “Maybe he is from Haven,” Ángelo submitted, hoping to relieve the tension that was rising between him and Sanctus. A rift had formed long ago with Salbatzaile. It wouldn’t help to have one with Sanctus, too.

  “I might just have to go with that,” his brother responded as he slipped into the bed and lifted the boy against his side. “Hand me the soup. I am going to see if he will eat.”

  Ángelo reached for the bowl and passed it over. “Salbatzaile says he may fall asleep before he finishes eating.”

  “Thank you, Ángelo.”

  “Just holler if you need anything else.” And he rose from the bed and made his way out.

  Now for some meditation, he sighed to himself.

  Part 7

  December 22, 4464

  Bad News (Brida)

  It did occur to Brida that standing in the corner of her father’s bedchamber was creepy. Of course he couldn’t see her, but that was what made it worse as he slipped out of bed with dark circles under his eyes. She had watched him toss about the last few hours, sometimes waking up crying. It led him to sleep in until noon, which she didn’t blame him for doing. This was all the hardest on him.

  Then her father sniffled, wiped the dry tears and crust from his eyes on his sleeve, and strode across the room to his wardrobe. Only he stopped there and just stared at the handles.

  Brida glanced over to the window, straining her ears to listen for the owl Sanctus would send. She was sure he figured out who and where to send it, and it had been just enough time for the creature to travel from Tibinda to Haven, with rest stops included. After passing over so much sea, the owl most definitely rested.

  A click reverted her attention to her father, who had pulled open both doors of the wardrobe and reached inside. He flipped through shirt after shirt, his mind obviously elsewhere as he reached the end and started over in the other direction.

  Brida sighed without thinking, the sensation strange compared to forced sighs, and began pacing. She went from one wall to the other, passing the bed several times and nearly walking through the nightstand.

  Then a screech broke the solitude. It was the sound of a large barn owl.

  Everything inside her lit up. “Father!” she hollered excitedly, and she ran for the bed, leaping onto it without messing anything further or causing it to creak. Her eyes went out the window there as she gripped the ledge. It was wide open, the spells to keep out the cold clear in her sight.

  Up in the sky was the owl, and he was swooping down. Balancing himself on the breeze as he aimed for the window.

  Brida got out of the way and slid back off the bed. “Father! The owl is here!”

  Those magnificent wings brushed the window sides, startling her father around, and the owl landed on the frame at the foot of the bed.

  “Well what do we have here?” her father’s groggy voice asked as he released the shirt he had grabbed and walked back toward the bed.

  The owl held out a leg, a tiny shackle attached to it.

  “Is that for me?” That was when he took the thin leg carefully and unclipped the latch, letting a tightly folded note slip out. Then he reclip the shackle. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t have any treats.” He gave the owl a scratch on the head as a reward instead. “I haven’t had an owl in a long time.”

  The owl hooted as it tilted for a scratch by its ear, and her father looked curiously down at the note. It was intricately folded far beyond Nicholas’ skills and had his name and title scrawled across it in fancy writing.

  His hand got shaky as he pulled away from the owl and proceeded to undo the folds, so Brida went and made her way to his side.

  Master Isaiah,

  Let me begin by letting you know Nicholas is with my brothers and me at our monastery in Tibinda. I am unsure if you knew that already as your son did stow away on a ship and arrive with only the things on his person.

  A sniffle, and she caught a tear fall down her father’s cheek. There was a brief smile, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  Which brings me to the reason for this letter. Prepare yourself. I don’t want to cause you any alarm. It is just that I figured you should know, due to a misunderstanding on my part, there was an incident and your son was criticall
y injured. He has lost a lot of blood, picked up a fever, and has been in and out of consciousness. It doesn’t help that he is underweight…

  Her father crumpled the paper and inhaled loudly.

  “Father…” she ventured.

  But he turned away just as a few more tears escaped. There he proceeded to sob. No doubt he blamed himself for Nicholas’ condition.

  She was left unsure what to do. There was no way to comfort him. So she just watched as her father clutched the letter he was unable to finish to his chest, his body clearly fighting to remain standing.

  Then her father inhaled again, this time with a struggle, and she heard the paper rustle. So she stepped up to see around his shoulder for the rest of the letter.

  It doesn’t help that he is underweight and malnourished. All I could get out of him was your name and Brida’s.

  I do feel he is fighting, though. He is trying to survive. I have even been able to get some soup into him, and Salbatzaile has given him medicine.

  If you desire to visit, I am in town every Saturday and Sunday. You can find me at the inn, the shelter, or in the market. Or you can find a ride by the docks of Aangding.

  Yours truly,

  Sanctus

  Her father swiped his eyes with the ball of his palm and looked over at the owl, his eyes seemed to sadden. “I am afraid I have even more unpleasant news for you to deliver,” his voice cracked as he spoke once more to the creature.

  “What?” Brida started as she moved with the movements of her father. “What do you mean more unpleasant news?”

  But as was the norm now, her father didn’t respond but rather continued to the desk along the far wall and took a seat in his favorite chair. He pulled open a drawer from there and drew out a paper, plucking up the quill at the same time. So she hovered to see what he had to write.

  Part 8

  December 25, 4464

  Owl (Nicholas)

  It was very possible Nicholas’ lids had turned into rocks. They were far too heavy to lift, but then he found himself squinting at a ceiling and the sunlight that shined across it. He pushed himself over with a groan with that, right wrist sore and stiff, and sat up to an empty room he had never seen before.

  Where am I?

  The stable came to mind as he noted a desk by the door and a privy straight across. He had been helping a monk of Carimacan descent get his horse for the wagon so they could make the trek to the monastery. From there he looked down at his wrist, where he discovered a thin scar that didn’t match the pain that went with it.

  Brida’s voice rang in his ears then, her words that she would always be there to protect him. It didn’t sound right. He should have been there for her, making him wonder if his sister’s presence had all been in his head.

  Finally, he stood up, legs resembling jellyfish as he swayed, and stumbled to the door. The path was rather short, the room being small. Then he reached for the knob, nerves trembling and aching as his wrist bent back, and felt a breeze around his legs that shouldn’t have been there.

  He froze, eyes drifting downward, and there he realized his shirt and trousers were gone. In their place he wore one of those red and gold robes.

  Where are my clothes? Not that they had actually been his, he corrected as he twisted to face the bed, which was placed between two nightstands. One stand held a glass of water.

  He redirected himself to the door as he considered all he remembered, and then turned the knob with a seethe and slipped out.

  Again he looked about, and this time he saw he was in a building with a single circular hallway. Across from him was what looked to be one of many open paths to a bath chamber as he could smell the water, but it zig zagged for privacy. To the right was a doorway, and the path stood wide open. Sounds and smells were coming in that told him it led outdoors.

  He perked up his hearing, mind fully alert, and listened for other sounds – voices, feet.

  Nothing.

  He walked over cautiously, pupils working to see further than what was allotted while also keeping the closed doors ahead in view. But only a cornucopia of bizarre plant life peeked around at him in return when he finally got close enough.

  So he ventured further a bit more quickly, rounded the corner, and fumbled to a halt right at the edge.

  There was a stone path, each one placed neatly with blades of grass growing along them. But he wasn’t really looking at that. He was goggling at the magnificent forest that towered all around. It wasn’t anything he had ever seen before. Flowers, plants, shrubs. Everything seemed to have come from some other world. Then his eyes caught sight of a large tree that looked to have been planted upside down.

  I think I may be dead.

  He looked ahead, but he couldn’t see what laid beyond the foliage.

  Will Brida be at the other end? He sure hoped so. Death honestly sounded much less terrifying than life if those he loved were waiting for him. And that realization made him think he had indeed heard his sister. Maybe she came for him.

  And his feet hesitantly followed the path with that thought, chest drumming in anticipation, as he breathed in the scent of the world around him. It felt so fresh and new and alive. Even the stones were refreshing, at least in the way they burned at his bare feet.

  If I am not dead, I am at least having one amazing dream.

  “I shall get a bowl ready for de lad,” broke through an Irenan man’s voice then, shattering all illusions. He didn’t sound familiar, but he brought to mind Angus and Gladys.

  Nicholas slowed, his heart picking up an uncomfortable pounding.

  “I am surprised you left his side, Sanctus,” drifted over another voice.

  Sanctus? He knew that name, but his body still fought the motions forward. There were now two men up ahead he didn’t know, and one of them had an unrecognizable accent.

  “I needed some air. I just feel awful.”

  “Dere is no need to beat yerself oehp. Ye didn’t know. Ye only caught de tail end o’ de confrontation.”

  A second building came into view at last, which was also circular. It was just dark inside from where he was located. And now his breaths were loud in his ears as he squinted to catch a sign of the bodies within.

  “I still should have asked him about his side of the story. Then he wouldn’t be in this state.”

  Nicholas’ breath quivered, and he stepped off the path and up against the red wall of the building.

  “But you have been taking good care of him,” that unrecognizable accent interjected. “Stayed at his side and held his hand for four full days.”

  Four days?

  A screech. It filled the air and seemed to hang on it. Nicholas fumble backward, but then caught himself on the wall as he shot his gaze down a bit late for signs of flowers. Seraphina, dead or alive, would not have been pleased with him if he harmed a plant of any kind.

  “Ah,” the Irenan sang. “De lad’s fat’er moehst ‘ave answered.”

  Nicholas covered his mouth, smothering his gasp before one could even try to escape. How did they find him? The thought made him regret this trip already. It was falling apart as it was, so why not regret it?

  There was a soft thump, a rustle of feathers, and a smaller, more playful hoot. Then a latch unclasped just to re-clasp immediately.

  Nicholas leaned into the wall, cocking his head just enough to hear more clearly, and felt his heart rise into his throat. This was much more than just hearing the monks had located his father. His father was a fusser, but most healers were. His father was beyond normal fusser healer, though. At least in his opinion. In the case with his father, his father was likely to board the next ship to get to him. That just couldn’t happen. This was Nicholas’ trip to heal and find enlightenment. Get back on the right track.

  The flaps of the note opened, and the paper was smoothed out.

  “Looks as dough ‘e cried while writin’ it.”

  Thank you for your letter
,” Sanctus began to recite. I had no idea my son left Haven, let alone Eurotopa.

  There was a rude, muffled snort.

  A directive grunt responded.

  I am not upset over it. Nicholas has always been a restless boy despite all the activities and tasks I supplied him with. It is part of his identity, I guess. But I believe he became much more unmanageable after his stepmother’s death.

  “Stepmother?” that strange accent blurted.

  “Shush, Ángelo,” that Irenan commanded firmly, yet quietly.

  It is difficult for me to think about what exactly happened all those years ago. How I hadn’t been there to protect my family. Worse to realize my son saw it all. Saw who took the only mother he ever knew and refused to speak up. I only let it go because he had been five-years-old, huddled terrified in the pantry with Brida.

  That was actually the death that hit him the hardest. Brida passed away nine months ago…

  “Dat poor lad,” the Irenan breathed.

  … and it became one downward spiral after another. I was just counting the days to when I would find him dead. I actually expected it that morning when I got home and all the torches were out.

  To hear he went to you and your brothers, though, gives me some relief. Some hope my son will come back to me somehow. I was honestly out of ideas on what to do to help him. I hated giving up. He has so much potential. But what was I to do? I tried everything.

  Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that, despite how distressed the news of his wellbeing makes me, I am unable to leave Haven. I am under house arrest.

  The gasp escaped, but he bit his lip quickly, sending blood trickling into his mouth. He could only hope no one heard him.

  It is quite a complicated matter. Just know that a warrant was issued for Nicholas the morning of November 12, although I did not hear of it until the next day. He is officially an outlaw now. So until I willingly hand him over or someone kills him, I am restricted to my property and out of work. In a month, I will be facing a trial of my own for withholding information of his identity and whereabouts.