Arm Of Galemar (Book 2)

by Damien Lake

  “Quick! Go!” They hurried in. Kerwin, last, secured the door. He threw the interior bolt. If the persistent bastards were checking doors they might think this one had been locked all along.

  They were inside a kitchen, Marik saw. Dietrik slumped into a chair at a wooden table covered with jars and pots. A low fire burned. It cast a flickering light across the room. Grain sacks were piled in a heap in one corner and a large water barrel rested against the far wall.

  Landon helped himself to a dipper from the barrel. Hilliard took it next, coaxing Dietrik to drink. How would they explain themselves if the owner happened in? No sooner had the problem occurred to Marik when a presence made him spin sharply, hand on hilt.

  Clad in a brown robe falling to her ankles, a raven haired woman watched them. Marik glanced back over his shoulder to take in her view, seeing two hard men bearing weapons, an injured man slumped over her table and a youth clutching a blood-soaked bag. He rejected several possible remarks out of hand.

  It’s the hells own night, isn’t it? Say, would you happen to know where a fellow could find a friendly butcher? Don’t be an idiot, idiot! She’d run screaming. That would be the capper for the day. But if you don’t say something, and this moment, she’ll do that anyway!

  Still fighting his own brain for words that would aid the situation rather than hinder it, she shocked him completely by saying, “You appear to be in trouble. Please, tell me how I can help you.”

  Chapter 08

  Dietrik’s eyes fluttered open. Fine details blurred in the afternoon light. A dark smudge represented the wall. He rolled his gaze and gradually focused on Marik sitting in a chair beside the bed.

  “Ouch!”

  Marik grinned. “Felt that one, did you? Well, it’s almost done, so sit still.”

  He watched Dietrik steady his woozy head, staring blankly at Shalla while she tied the last stitch. Once completed, she washed his arm clean before wrapping it in a proper bandage.

  “I see no telltales of infection,” she told Marik. Dietrik’s dazed state faded rapidly. “The knife must have been clean. With proper care, I see no reason your friend should not recover fully.”

  “As long as he can move, we’ll be all right.”

  “Then you are well off. I will fashion a sling for the arm to allow travel.”

  Marik thanked her, and she tossed her head, repositioning her braid to the center of her back. She departed the room after gathering her medical supplies.

  “Why are you so cheerful?” Dietrik wanted to know, glaring at Marik’s renewed grin.

  “Because it’s good to be the one looking down instead of the one looking up, for a change.”

  “How nice for you.” He flexed his arm with a wince. The torn muscles protested. “I won’t be using my dagger anytime soon.”

  “And not your rapier either, I’ll wager. Having to fight with a slung arm will cut your speed by half.”

  “I’ll find a way to manage.”

  “No you won’t, Dietrik. Your speed is your key advantage with that blade. Without it, you’re overpowered and outmatched.”

  “Bastard,” he swore at the world in general. “A right fit bodyguard, eh?”

  “Nah, you did your job. Hilliard doesn’t have a scratch on him. We talked it over while you were napping and decided to lie low for today. Kerwin eyeballed a nosy type wandering around outside right after sunup. Tomorrow we’ll wander over to the tournament office and register Hilliard, then move into the Swan.”

  “Who did Kerwin find?” Dietrik sat up and rubbed his head. “Surely not one of those ruffians from yesterday!”

  “Might be,” Marik allowed. “We did kill at least nine during the run. They might be sore about that. And they know we went to ground in this general vicinity.”

  “Where is the percentage? They could chase us with impunity through the night, but in the daylight?”

  Marik shrugged. “Perhaps. Shalla says this is one of the rougher districts in Thoenar. The thief guilds can run rampant since the cityguard won’t come in without good reason after dark.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s more trouble than it’s worth to clean this place out. It’s mostly warehouses and production shops, so the guards concentrate their strength elsewhere, and the owners keep the lock makers in wheat and barley.”

  Dietrik placed a hand to his forehead. “No, I meant that those blighters would persist. Maybe they have a deeper stake after all.”

  “I doubt it. So does Landon. With less to fear from the guards, they might feel like evening the score with us, since we weren’t such weak prey as they thought. After they run around today, they’ll move on to other opportunities and lick their wounds. If we get Hilliard registered tomorrow, then we can relax for the rest of the tournament.”

  “Mmm.” Taking in the room, Dietrik asked, “Where in blazes are we, anyway?”

  “Ever hear of the Faith of the One Soul?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Neither did I until last night. I suppose ‘Church’ of the One Soul would be a better name, despite what Shalla claims.”

  “Oh for... We’re not in a schism offshoot of some religious order, are we? Or a heretic cult? Last thing we need is to get tangled in a theological mess.”

  “We’re all right. Shalla says we can stay as long as we want, and they won’t bother us. We can help ourselves to the kitchen, though she’d appreciate it if we leave enough coppers in the mantle bowl to replace the food, if we can spare them.”

  “What are they then?”

  “Near as I can figure out, they’re a bunch of nuts with weird ideas. Big on helping their fellow man and that angle, so it works out nicely for us. I didn’t catch most of what Shalla said last night since the goon squad was still running up and down the back alley.”

  “I’m not sure about this, mate. Religion has a way of biting you in the rear when you least expect it, even if it’s not your own.”

  “I’ll be careful. For now, you need to rest.”

  “Not a chance. I’m starving as a dog in a pit fight. What is there to eat?”

  Marik offered his help. Dietrik refused it. They walked downstairs, being careful of his tender left arm.

  In the kitchen everyone still worked at the same tasks as when he had left to help Shalla tend Dietrik. Landon sat by the back door, keeping it cracked so the archer could watch outside. Kerwin slept in an armless chair beside the hearth, dozing lightly to compensate for the sleep lost during his watch throughout the night. Hilliard still picked through his belongings at the table, studying every inch of the expensive clothing for any blood traces. The bag’s thick canvas had shielded the contents yet the young noble would be satisfied only after a thorough examination.

  “That same man,” Landon gestured with his chin, “has been circling the back alleys all day. This is the fifth time I have seen him. He looks like no messenger I have ever known.”

  “Then Kerwin was probably right,” Marik allowed.

  “Course I was,” the gambler muttered without opening his eyes. “Don’t trust me?”

  “Let’s chalk it up to hoping for the best.”

  A brief hunt through the kitchen unearthed bread, fruit spread and several eggs. Dietrik filled a small pot with water and lit a fire in the cast iron stove from the hearth. Three eggs went into the water, which held his attention until Hilliard spoke.

  “I owe you an apology for the injuries you sustained, Dietrik. It never would have happened if you were not bound to protect me.”

  Intrigued, Dietrik asked, “And how was that your fault, Hilliard?”

  “Had you not been assigned to my father’s contract, you would be elsewhere, beyond Thoenar.”

  Dietrik laughed. It took Hilliard aback. “If I hadn’t been assigned to your service, I would have spent all spring and summer going from one battle to the next! Don’t fret over it.”

  The eggs came out minutes after the water boiled. Dietrik crac
ked the tops with his spoon after wrestling it from his pack. Exhaustion hit him hard after scooping out the liquid, steaming innards.

  “Perhaps I need my rest after all.”

  Kerwin left with Dietrik, both deciding to lay down in the room. Marik took over the watch from Landon with a bread hunk slathered in apple jam clutched in one hand. The archer passed Shalla coming in as he left.

  Still clad in her brown robe, she carried a bundle of white cloth and a small wooden box. She sat across the table from Hilliard and used the tabletop to arrange her items. The box contained thread, needles and other sewing implements. A sling for Dietrik formed while her efficient movements made quick work of it.

  Hilliard, in an effort to demonstrate his gratefulness, said, “Thank you for all you have done for us. I am pleased to find honest people willing to aid those in distress.”

  Shalla nodded. “To turn your back on others is to turn your back on yourself.”

  “Many people choose not to see life that way. Is there any way I can show my gratitude?”

  She smiled. “There is no need. I thank you for your kindness, but I expect no sacrifices on your part in return.”

  “Be that as it may, I insist on returning the favor. As the heir to my father’s barony, if there is any trouble I can ever aid you in, please call upon me.”

  Shalla nodded again, accepting the offer, her needlework continuing without respite. With his bag’s contents spread across the kitchen, Hilliard next needed to clean the dried blood from the canvas. A wash tub had been arranged in a different room so he departed with the fouled bag and a soap cake.

  Marik quickly grew bored with his view through the doorway. With nothing else to occupy him, he pondered Shalla’s brief words from the night before while they both carried Dietrik to bed. Too many other events were transpiring then for him to devote much attention to her. He had missed most of her explanation on her order. Ordinarily, any person bent on religious sermonizing annoyed him to no end, but her complete non-effort to proselytize him actually sparked his curiosity.

  “I’ve been wondering,” he offered, testing her willingness for conversation. “About when you said your members were all enlightened to the existence of the soul, exactly what you meant.”

  “Are you familiar with our order?” She continued sewing.

  “No, I’m not. I never heard of you until we snuck into your kitchen.”

  “We’ve been around for long and long. This chapter house was originally constructed when this area was the outer city, before the third wall was erected.”

  “That’s was a long time ago! How come I’ve never heard of you?”

  “Our order has never had large numbers in Galemar. We only have nine houses outside the four cities. People take comfort believing in utopian afterlives, and so naturally shy away from us.”

  “Most religions I know of usually end that way. What’s so different about yours?”

  “We are not a religion. We are simply awake to the truth of our nature.”

  Sounds like a religion to me. “That being?”

  “How many religions can you name who preach reincarnation?”

  He winced. That was a question he wished she had not asked.

  Most reincarnation fanatics over the years had spawned cults that always ended up on the wrong side of the highwayguards’ swords. They caused fantastic trouble because they believed they would be reborn, and were willing to burn the kingdom down in order to rebuild it according to their own perfect views. Thus would they then enjoy the rewards of their efforts in their next life as they lived in a re-constructed perfect world.

  Mindful of this and hoping her order was not such a one, he answered, “I’ve heard of a handful.”

  “The first of our order followed such a religion when he was young. One day, he realized the sect leaders had misinterpreted the truth and, in so doing, he attained enlightenment.”

  A scuffing noise from outside delayed his response when he peered through the crack at an unsavory fellow slinking along. He moved away without showing any particular interest in Marik’s doorway. “About reincarnation?” he murmured with only ten percent of his attention fixed on what he said.

  “The concept is not solely the domain of one or two deranged prophets,” she imparted, gazing at him over her work. “Hundreds of religions have struggled with it throughout history. Without surcease the subject is approached, and time without end the leaders present a different conclusion. Why is that, do you think?”

  Marik remarked, off the cuff, “Probably they loved their vices too much to want to give them up simply because they died. Reincarnation makes for an easy escape back to what they know and love.”

  For a moment he thought that might have offended her. She remained smiling. “An interesting idea, but I don’t believe that is the case. More likely is that each of these religious leaders, who opened their hearts to their gods, also opened their awareness to the truth. Each glimpsed it in part, though never were they able to comprehend the full picture.”

  “And your founder managed to do that.”

  “Yes, he did. The others, with their partial knowledge, believed a soul could be reborn, but only under specific circumstances. The truth is that all souls come to be reborn, because all lives are the same Soul.”

  Marik spared a moment to shift his attention from the alley. “I don’t follow.”

  “The fact that you are reborn after death is what all sects who accept reincarnation agree upon. But they all base their theories on the existence of multiple human souls. The truth they each miss seeing is that there is only one human Soul in all existence, which is born over and over throughout time.”

  “That suggests none of us have souls at all.”

  Shalla’s smile broadened. “Not at all. You see the issue though your physical perceptions. Time has dominion over us because of our physical bodies. Over the Soul’s pure being, time has no power. When it reaches the end of one life, it is reborn as a new person. Perhaps it will be born in the same time period its previous body died, or perhaps the new child housing it will be born nine-hundred years in the past. Or five-hundred in the future.”

  The idea was bizarre, and one of the fundamental reasons Marik preferred working with his sword to interacting with priests. This idea intrigued him only from a ‘passing-the-time’ standpoint, but he found conversing with Shalla was pleasant. It was rare that he had the chance to talk to any woman alone.

  He would be careful in how he replied, though. Her generosity had saved their hides once already, not to mention providing shelter for the coming day. Marik wanted to avoid inadvertently upsetting her because of his layman’s view on practicality, religion or common sense.

  He chewed his inner-cheek as he followed her logic through its twists. “So…under your theory, this soul has been born countless times. And everyone is an embodiment of the same soul?”

  She beamed happily at his understanding. “Yes, exactly! Every human who has ever lived, or will be born, is but one life in the One Soul’s cycle.”

  “What’s the point of that?”

  Shalla shrugged. “There are many debates regarding that very question among us. Most agree that the Soul is very like us. In our infancies, we are fresh and new. Children learn, and mature by doing so, becoming adults. Most believe the Soul is doing exactly that. With every life it lives, that is but a day in the life of a child. What it learns, it carries to the next day and beyond.”

  “Except that doesn’t hold water.” Marik returned his attention to the alleyway. “If that was true, then every infant would be born knowing what it did during the last life.”

  “The One Soul is the core of a human, but very alien at the same time. Struggling to understand its nature is akin to struggling to understand the gods. What it is that the Soul learns throughout a single life is one of the oldest arguments discussed among our order. My belief is that the Soul and our minds are not connected, and so the mind is born anew along with the bod
y.”

  “Must be a slow learner, then.”

  “With all eternity, it is free to take its time until it is done.”

  “Done? What then? The end of humanity?”

  “Another question we debate frequently. But the signs of the Soul’s growth cannot be denied. Look at the people surrounding you every day. Those who chased you last night are bestial. They live only to take what they can, preying on others. They resort to violence with no considerations for its consequences. Surely they are incarnations of the Soul during its infancy, before it has learned the values of right versus wrong.

  “And then there is your companion. Hilliard Garroway appreciates the consequences of his actions, deeply understanding the implications of them. His values are ingrained, probably as a result of the Soul’s continued growth. Within him must lie a more fully matured age of the One Soul.”

  “On the other hand,” Marik countered, “a different argument could run exactly the opposite. Hilliard, still weak and innocent, hasn’t learned the dangers of the world. The goons, with older soul experience, have learned to be harder and predator-like to survive. In the wilds, the natural course is for the strong to eat the weak.”

  Shalla’s smile persisted, unfaltering. “A few believe that may be the case. I pray not, for that means the Soul is headed toward an animal existence. Each day I see so many savages outnumbering the individuals like your companion, and I wonder if that might not be the truth.”

  “So where am I in this lineup of lives? Before you or after? Underneath or on top?” Marik tossed the question out with a cocky grin.

  The smile broadened. “We’ll never know. You may be a thousand lives before me, or as many after. Most who recognize the truth of the One Soul tend to believe we are closer to the end. Having lived so many lives, we are sensitive to recognizing the patterns, and so that explains our enlightenment and the cause behind our low numbers.”

  Her word choice spawned a related question in Marik’s mind, arriving fully formed. “If all lives are part of the same soul, then why are some so different? Why are some able to perform magic while others can’t?”