The Exiled Monk (The World Song Book 1)

by James T Wood

  “What?” Both Peek and Cor exclaimed together.

  “It’s only what’s best for the village.” Vlek crossed his arms again and puffed-out his chest.

  Peek stepped back a pace and considered Vlek. He had never cared about the monks. But now that the monastery was built, food stores for the winter were gathered, and he had a fortress at hand, he didn’t need the monks anymore. His warriors could defend the walls almost as well as the monks could, and the monks were unwilling to kill so they became a liability in battle. Peek cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Vlek didn’t care about alliances, only getting as much as possible for himself.

  “And if the monks refuse to go?” Peek asked as a formality, knowing Vlek’s answer.

  “We’ll drive you out by force,” the proclamation lacked the weight of fear that it once would have held for Peek.

  “I see,” the knowledge that Vlek feared Peek bore with it a calm that he had never felt before when facing his grandfather. Peek considered the options and, even though he was a mere acolyte to the order, found the best means to slow, if not stop Vlek’s machinations.

  Peek addressed Cor over Vlek’s head, “How many do you think will survive the next attack?”

  Cor pondered for a moment, “I hope a quarter of the village survives, it may be less though.”

  “That’s about what I figured too,” Peek nodded and rubbed his chin, “We can leave you full cisterns here, but since this fortress is designed for monks, there’s no water source. You’ll probably run out of water after a week.”

  Cor nodded in agreement, “With filled skins and all our ale we could make it another week.”

  “So you’re saying we should come back in,” Peek wavered his hands as if weighing the air, “a month to bury the dead?”

  “That sounds about right.” Cor winked at Peek from behind Vlek.

  “What makes you so sure the raiders will attack again?” Vlek snarled.

  “That was a scout ship,” Peek returned his attention to Vlek, “The attack party signaled the ship to leave when they knew they were defeated. So, either the scouts are going back to tell the raiders that this village is too tough for them and they should just give up, or they’re going to gather the rest of the fleet and will come back and raze this village a second time.”

  “So you’re not sure,” Vlek smiled.

  “No. I’m not. Are you?” Peek smiled back at him.

  Vlek glared at Peek with a stare that would have intimidated the boy, but now just amused the monk-in-training. Eventually he stalked off, stomping the earth into submission as he went.

  Cor reached out a hand and Peek took it firmly. Their hands made a satisfying slapping sound as they came together. Cor drew Peek into an embrace and they laughed together.

  “That felt good,” Peek said.

  “It looked good too. Brother,” Cor smiled at him, “I think you were born to lead.”

  Peek blushed. “It was nothing. Locambius is just indisposed. He would have done a better job.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Cor shook his head, “You played Vlek expertly. I don’t think Locambius, or anyone, could have done it better.”

  “Thanks, I guess. You know we only delayed him for a little while though. I still don’t know what we’ll do if he tries to have us removed by force.”

  “Listen to you, ‘us’ and ‘we’ flow right off your tongue,” Cor smiled, but his eyes were filling with tears, “I’m glad you have a home, little brother.”

  “What?”

  Cor didn’t answer, just embraced him again, and walked off after Vlek.

  “He was right, you know.” Locambius emerged from his hut, causing Peek to jump.

  “What?”

  “You are a leader and I could not have done better with Vlek,” Locambius rubbed his eyes against the bright sunlight, “We are lucky to have you training to become a monk.”

  Peek felt himself drowning in praise, casting about looking for a rope to pull him back to the steady shore of self-doubt. Locambius cut him loose.

  “You are far more powerful at the magic and more skilled with leadership than I am. Young sir, if you complete your training, I will take you as my apprentice and second in command,” Locambius put his hands on Peek’s shoulders and looked earnestly into his face, “You will lead the monks when I am gone.”

  Peek panicked as he lost all sight of land. He tumbled in acceptance, worthiness, and purpose. The surface, any glimpse of the sky or shore, disappeared. Desperately Peek groped for any way out.

  “I’m not… I’m a bastard.” There, now he would be disqualified.

  “No, you are not,” Locambius held him still and shook his head, “You are a child of The Melody.”

  Peek drowned.

  When he stopped reeling, Locambius reformed in front of him. Peek saw the hollow, puffy eyes that spoke of a night spent weeping. His smile had little strength, like one sick with the plague anticipating death’s release. The strong, capable leader who guided the monks from the island to their new home was gone and in his place stood a gaunt, wasted, wraith.

  “There is another way that our positions are reversed,” Locambius allowed his hands to drop to his sides, “It is now I who must ask you for forgiveness, as I will ask the rest of the monks. I failed yesterday,” he swallowed hard and his puffy eyes filled with tears, “I failed you and The Melody. Can you forgive me?”

  The words hung between them. The man asked forgiveness of the boy. The teacher asked forgiveness of the student. He touched the idea and found it tender and sensitive like the quick under a fingernail. He found himself nodding and Locambius giving him the wan smile once again.

  “You were right, by the way,” Locambius said.

  Peek shook his head to clear the thoughts from it and return to the conversation. “What?”

  “The raiders will return. The scout ship will bring back the fleet. We had best prepare. Our plan was good, but we underestimated them. Our next plan must be better if we hope to stand against the Markay hordes.”

  Locambius led Peek toward the center of the monastery’s huts where the communal table stood. Bracius, Darella, and Rudi were already gathered there waiting. Locambius gestured for Peek to sit and then sat down beside him.

  “What did we learn from the battle?” The leader of the monks addressed the gathered lieutenants.

  Bracius closed his eyes and folded his hands so that his fingers were inside his knuckles. They all looked at him as he replayed the battle in his mind. He nodded a few times, cocked his head to the side once, and then gave a final nod before opening his eyes. His hands remained clasped before him on the stone table.

  “Together the monks and villagers form a strong team,” he made a fist with one hand, “Apart we are flawed.”

  “We knew that, Brother,” Darella said, “What we didn’t know was the deadly tenacity of the raiders. In defeat they took their own lives, but with sufficient forces could they not throw their lives against us and overwhelm us? An enemy that is willing to kill themselves out of spite is much more dangerous than one who will surrender and live.”

  “Can we defeat them then?” Rudi asked. “If they come at us with such a force, are we not penning ourselves up for the slaughter by hiding within these walls? Wouldn’t a better strategy be to run far inland where their ships cannot go?”

  “If we do that,” Locambius said, “we abandon the villagers who are born to fishing and the coastal life.”

  The gathered monks looked to Peek after Locambius spoke. He took a moment to realize that they were waiting for his response and had to recall what the conversation had been about. His mind had wandered back to the notion that he would apprentice to Locambius and then lead the monks. It seemed a tale told to children to coerce obedience, not a genuine offer. How could they consider him fit to lead?

  Locambius cleared his throat, “Brothers and sister, I have selected a second in command and apprentice. I will train Peek to lead us. He is new to our orde
r, but powerful in The Melody. He knows both the music and this village well. Earlier he negotiated with the village chief masterfully. We should hear his council before we decide.”

  “They could…” Peek started and then adjusted himself on the bench, straightening and squaring his shoulders, “It’s Vlek that’s the issue. He won’t give up the power he has now, not even for the sake of saving the villager’s lives. He would rather see the village burn to the ground again than appear weak. The villagers are, generally, good and wise. They could adjust to life inland, but Vlek won’t allow it.”

  The monks nodded together and silence fell over the table. Peek looked from face to face noting how they regarded his words. They took his counsel as equal to any other. He couldn’t quite decide if it was patronizing or empowering, and vacillated between pride and shame.

  “So, we cannot stand without the villagers, Vlek will not allow us to stand with them, and even if we could the raiders would inevitably overwhelm us with their forces,” Bracius summed up what they were all thinking.

  “Think on it. Ask The Melody for wisdom. We shall gather again tomorrow to decide what path we will follow,” Locambius dismissed them.

  Peek started to rise too, but Locambius held him at the table with a touch.

  “Your first lesson in leadership, young sir.”

  “What is that?”

  “Wisdom is found in many voices.”

  “I don’t—”

  Locambius held up a hand to stop Peek’s protest, “Go and meditate. Listen to The Melody.”

  Twenty-One

  It was truly like unlocking a door with a key. Once Talib heard The Melody the wisdom and power of Eytskaim opened before him. All the words of Eytskaim, when examined while listening to The Melody, shimmered in pure harmony. They sang truth.

  All one had to do to distinguish true words from false was to hear their music. The wisdom of Eytskaim became apparent, even simple, for those who knew of The Melody.

  It took somewhat longer for the source of Eytskaim’s power to be revealed. The disciples were loath to enter the Master’s hut by the pool, but Darrah went inside before they could stop her. Talib followed to make sure she didn’t harm anything of Eytskaim’s.

  Inside the simple interior spoke of the king’s true heart. A low cot sat against one wall and a table and chair against the opposite. On the table was a set of reeds lashed together.

  “What is that?” Darrah asked.

  “We do not know. We think it may have been the Master’s artwork.”

  “Breathing is to life as music is to meaning.” Antiphates of Faoisimh Spioraid

  T

  he listening place seemed farther away than normal. The steps that led Peek to the cape opposite the monastery multiplied as visions of Vlek conspiring, Locambius weeping, Plafius leaving, and the grinning, flaming, dying raider all competed for space in his head. There was no room left for hope.

  When Peek arrived at the listening place he was almost disappointed that no one else was there. He sat down on the sun-warmed stone bench and looked out to sea. In the distance clouds scudded over the horizon and disappeared from view. The wind whipped the waves into froth that mirrored Peek’s thoughts. Summer had turned to autumn; soon the rains would come in earnest. He tried breathing, but kept losing track of where he was in the rhythm and having to start over again. He quit in frustration.

  Instead, Peek paced around the clearing that he’d cleaned of dirt and debris. Some had resettled since he’d learned the magic through pain and repetition. Leaves and needles from the surrounding trees gathered in drifts around the stone cubes that he’d been studying with Dray. Peek brushed back the piles to look at the stones anew. Maybe they held the answers. If only they could speak.

  “Peek?”

  He jumped and spun around to see Duhlga walking toward him.

  “You know we should not be out here. With the raiders so close we are only safe within the walls,” She smiled to take the sting from the rebuke.

  Peek nodded and slouched onto the bench. She was right. He was risking too much by coming here to meditate — not that he was successful at meditating. The raiders could come from anywhere at any time. But the confines of the monastery stole thought from him, the closeness of all those people left no place to be alone, no place to sit and listen to his thoughts until they sorted into anything resembling reason. He put his hands on the bench to push himself up and walk back to the monastery.

  “I heard about Vlek’s ultimatum,” Duhlga took a seat on the bench, “How are you feeling about that?”

  Peek paused in the middle of standing and looked over at the stooped woman, “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know, Peek,” Duhlga cocked her head knowingly, “He’s afraid of you. He’s been taking it out on the monks and now he’s found a way to get rid of you completely, along with all of us.”

  “Oh, that,” Peek slumped back onto the bench and stared at his feet. This was yet another problem that he had to solve. Peek felt like a kitten trapped in a burlap sack, the more he tried to get out, the more lost and tangled he became.

  “Yes,” she could speak more eloquently with her silence than most people could with words flowing.

  Peek stared out at the gathered fleet of Markay ships before responding, “I guess I feel… guilty isn’t the right word. I wish it could be different. I want to fix it.”

  “Yes,” she left the word hanging with the clear indication that more was expected.

  Peek hated her for not saying more. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do so he could fix all this. He paced up and down in front of the bench. Questions swirled before him, but nothing resolved into answers and here Duhlga was asking about his feelings. Peek couldn’t understand what his feelings had to do with the monks and villagers surviving another attack by the raiders. The convection of thoughts accelerated along with Peek’s steps until finally they boiled over.

  “What do I feel? I feel hate, I feel pain, I feel fear, I feel loss, I feel weak, I feel worthless.”

  “And?” The tone was nearly identical to her previous word.

  And what? Peek stared at Duhlga sitting on the bench looking out to the dancing waves. What else did she want from him? He told her about his feelings and it still didn’t get him any closer to an answer. Did she expect him to feel more? Did he feel more? Was there something other than hate, pain, fear, loss, and weakness within him?

  “I also feel… unworthy, accepted, like I’ve got a purpose,” Peek swallowed as he admitted the emotions to himself as well as Duhlga, “as though I have no hope of accomplishing that purpose. I feel lost and loved at the same time.”

  Peek looked over at Duhlga expecting her to be shaking her head in disapproval or motioning for him to continue. Instead he found her eyes shining with unshed tears and her face split by an unabashed grin. She stood and pulled Peek up from the bench before she enveloped him in a warm embrace. Into Peek’s shoulder she uttered, “I’m proud of you.”

  “But—”

  “Hush.”

  So Peek stood there hugging this old woman. At first it felt awkward as he tried to not squeeze her frail frame too tightly. But after a moment her words filtered through his walls. She was proud of him. Not for anything he’d done, but for sharing his feelings. It didn’t make sense, but the more they stood there, surrounded by The Melody trying to break through the thinness of reality, the more it didn’t have to make sense. It just was. Peek clung to Duhlga for a long time, reveling in warmth and love.

  Peek sat there for hours after Duhlga left. He kept replaying her words, especially her pride in him. Her pride was a crushing burden of joy. He tried to wriggle out from under it, but it crushed him, broke him. He thrilled in the feeling.

  When Peek wandered back to the monastery the stars were emerging from the hazy twilight. Wind pushed the salt air over him and brought with it a wall of clouds that, by morning, would cover the sky. Halfway between the monastery and the village
Dray found him.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  Peek shook his head to clear the thoughts that bound him, “I was meditating — or trying to.”

  “Were you planning to tell me about it?”

  Peek looked at her more closely, mouth set in a firm line, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips, “Are you upset?”

  “I didn’t know where you went. I looked around the monastery and the village. You were gone.”

  “Locambius told me to meditate. He thinks I should lead,” Peek still fought the riptide of shame and worthiness.

  Dray dropped her hands and stepped closer to Peek, looking up into his face from inches away, “Peek,” she breathed the words, “I thought maybe you’d left again.”

  He looked down into her eyes, filling with moisture, and suddenly saw the world through those warm, brown pools. Saw himself. Saw a boy who ran.

  “I’m sorry,” Dray looked at her feet, but before she could speak again, Peek pulled her close. Above them the moon slipped behind the clouds and back out again.

  “Dray, I,” all the words floated before Peek until he found the right ones. He tested them a dozen times before daring to utter them aloud, “I don’t want to run anymore.”

  Her lips found his and they lost themselves in the bliss and wonder of each other. If only this moment could stretch out and eclipse every other one. Yet it could not, Peek’s rising passion reminded him of the fear that threatened to cover everything like the front of clouds. If they couldn’t figure out how to stop the raiders, this stolen moment of joy may well be the last Peek and Dray experienced. He pulled away from her mouth and pressed his forehead against hers. From that vantage Peek lost focus on her features on only felt her trust that he did not deserve and couldn’t validate.