The Exiled Monk (The World Song Book 1)

by James T Wood

  Together they walked back to the monastery and climbed up the wall to stare out over the sea. The ships of the Markay clustered around the island like flies on dung. Dray stood with him as Peek found the calm that had eluded him at the listening place. Then, with a squeeze of his hand, she slipped away. Peek knew without words that she wanted him to meditate and find the answer that would keep them alive. Peek desperately hoped it would come to him before the raiders did.

  As the clouds shifted from black to gray, dawn came and brought with it a misting drizzle. Peek thought, at first, that the Markay ships around the island were just shifting as they had for the last few days, but something was different. A ship broke away from its orbit around the island and headed straight toward the monastery.

  Peek stared at it in shock for a while. When the second and then third ship followed behind it, he panicked. Peek ran from the wall to Locambius’ hut. He ran from hope into the teeth of dread. He ran like a shepherd outracing a wolf. He ran like a leader.

  Cor saw him running and shouted out something that Peek didn’t quite hear.

  “Raiders!” Peek yelled as he ran by.

  Next Peek came to the table in the center of the monks’ huts, already filling with sleepy-eyed men and women. They shouted questions at him; his response was the same and his pace never slowed until he reached Locambius’ hut. The leader of the monks was inside and came out to Peek’s call.

  “Raider ships are coming toward us,” Peek rested his hands on his knees and gasped for air as he spoke the words.

  It wasn’t until his message had been delivered that Peek looked at Locambius. He looked lost, confused, as if the news Peek brought him couldn’t be true.

  “Peek—”

  “We have to make plans,” Peek cut him off. If he was to be a leader, then let him do it, “We can fight them off again. We can—”

  “Peek!”

  He stood silent after Locambius’ shout. The monk gripped the shoulders of the acolyte.

  “They’ve taken Adrocus and Duhlga. I received a message. The raiders have them and are holding them for ransom.”

  The bottom fell out of Peek’s world. Plans and leadership were forgotten. He stumbled back a pace before saying, “What do they want?”

  “They want us to surrender and for us to teach the raiders the magic,” Locambius shook his head as if the outcome was already decided.

  Peek looked at the old man through a fog of fear, “But they already know the magic and they took our scriptures.”

  “They know one song, and that only poorly,” Locambius continued to shake his head, nearly a nervous tic at this point, “They have the scriptures, but they don’t know how to read them. That’s the only reason we’ve been able to survive this long.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Locambius swallowed and looked at his feet. Peek repeated the question once and then a second time before his mentor looked up at him.

  “We must refuse.” His steady, quiet voice belied the tears disappearing into his beard. “We cannot, at any cost, allow the Markay to have any more of the magic.”

  Peek staggered and looked for a place to sit; he decided the ground was better than falling.

  “You’d let them die? Adrocus and Duhlga?”

  “I don’t want anyone to die, young sir,” Locambius held out his hands and shrugged, “but I can’t surrender either.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Peek looked up at Locambius and matched his head shaking as if they could deny the truth so much that it would repent and cease to be.

  “I don’t know yet. But we will honor Duhlga and Adrocus, especially their commitment to The Melody.”

  The villagers huddled inside the monastery, the monks prepared the walls and defenses, Peek started to fill the cisterns, but Locambius called him over to the council table. When they sat together Peek looked around and saw reflections of Locambius’ expression: resolve mixed with grief. They discussed their defensive plans, adding to what had worked last time and refining those things that didn’t. They decided that it did not violate The Melody to have the wind-magic push the arrows farther. That would give the archers more time to rain down death on the raiders before they could approach the walls. They also added some surprises to the trench filled with pitch-soaked bails at the perimeter of the monastery wall.

  After they’d planned nearly everything, Peek looked around to see if one person would even mention the captives. They did not.

  “Are you joking?” He slapped his hands on the smooth stone of the table, “Have you given up? You won’t do anything to help Duhlga or Adrocus? Are they not your sister and brother?”

  “Young sir,” Bracius started, “there is nothing we can do but continue the fight in their name.”

  “Bullshit!” Peek shouted, half-rising from the bench. Locambius gripped his arm and pulled him back into a seated position.

  “I understand your fervor, young sir. I share it even,” Locambius looked around at the others as he spoke, “But those who lead must make decisions with their heads as well as their hearts. We all love Duhlga and Adrocus, but we love what they live for more. They chose to give their lives to The Melody. We will not dishonor their choice, though it rends our hearts.”

  Peek slumped over the table, suddenly unable to hold up his own weight.

  Twenty-Two

  Darrah looked at him and asked, “Have you ever played with reeds?”

  “Certainly not. I’ve been studying with Eytskaim or at his pool my whole life.”

  Before Talib could reach out to stop her Darrah snatched the reeds from the table and blew across them. The hollow plants sang a ghostly tune.

  “What if Eytskaim played The Melody as well as listening to it?”

  Talib, by this point, did not question Darrah, but instead reached out for the reeds. He too blew across the open tops and heard the sounds. He simply nodded and turned to leave. Darrah stayed for a while hoping to find something else from the wise king. Eventually she walked back outside to find Talib showing the reeds to the rest of the disciples. They exhibited both awe and disbelief.

  Talib retired to the tree and began testing the instrument to determine how it worked. When he grew weary Darrah took the reeds from him. For weeks they traded the reeds back and forth trying to suss out the magic within them. Eventually Darrah took careful measurements and created her own set of reeds and bound them together with wet leather.

  “Change is the harbinger of both hope and fear.” Pales of Baile Tiarna

  A

  t the entrance to the cove the Markay ships gathered, over a dozen warships. All of them bristled with raiders along the rails. Stout wooden shields were hung from the sides of the ships painted in bright colors with different patterns and images. Here a chevron, there a raven, there a dancing wolf. From the shore, the monks and villagers could hear shouting and the banging of weapons against shields. They kept it up all night and throughout the day. No one in the monastery slept for more than a few minutes at a time. At sunset the following day a longboat left the largest of the raiders’ ships and skated toward shore under a white flag.

  Locambius called Peek, Bracius, Rudi and Darella to join him and they walked down to the beach to parlay with the Markay. With the sun setting behind their boats, the raiders took on the image of shades emerging from flame. It took Peek back again to the image from his nightmares of the defeated warriors burning themselves alive. These Markay were fearsome and somehow beyond human.

  The first row of men leapt out into the knee-deep water and dragged the longboat the rest of the way onto shore. The others emerged and formed a circle around two people that Peek couldn’t quite see. One was obviously important due to his crested helm that towered above the other, plainer helmets. The other figure was only glimpsed in fragments, back lit by the fiery red sun.

  As they approached, Locambius stepped forward with both his hands up in a show of peace, “Let us reason together, gentlemen, and come to a
solution.”

  The tight formation of raiders moved forward in unison. Just in front of the monks, they moved from a circle formation into two columns and their leader stepped forward dragging the limp form of Duhlga with him. Peek took a step forward to help her, but Rudi gripped his shoulder and held him back.

  In his other hand, the Markay leader held out a scroll. Locambius and the other monks gasped when they saw it. Peek had only heard of their holy texts, but had no doubt this was one of their valued scriptures. The parchment of the scroll was yellowed with age, but the rollers that held the scroll were bright brass, kept shiny with frequent use. Peek could see the red, silk ribbon that held the scroll shut. It looked as if the scroll itself was bleeding into the hand of the raider.

  “Teach read,” he gestured with the scroll, “or die.” He punctuated his sentence by shaking Duhlga. Her head flopped back and forth without any resistance. Only Rudi’s hand on Peek’s shoulder kept him from running forward and attacking the raiders with his bare hands.

  “Please return our scriptures and people to us,” Locambius said with his hands still spread wide, “we can find a peaceful solution that will help all involved.”

  The tall, bearded warrior squinted at Locambius before turning to the shorter man next to him. The two talked for a moment in the grating words of the Markay before the leader looked back at Locambius and laughed.

  “You teach read or die.” He used the same emphasis with the scroll and the monk.

  “Don’t hurt her, please,” Locambius nearly begged, “We can teach you to read, but you must return our scriptures.” The rest of the monks and Peek looked sharply at Locambius. He could not mean to teach them the magic, nor could he lie. What was he doing? He did not look to the left or the right, only held the gaze of the Markay leader.

  The leader looked at his translator, a thick, blond brute whose sloping forehead and protruding jaw were at odds with his linguistic prowess. The translator frowned as he considered Locambius’ words and then reported them to his leader. They exchanged a few more words with the leader becoming more and more agitated.

  This time the translator spoke for the raiders, “Svag is having the worry.” He spoke with a thick accent that elongated vowels in an almost sing-song fashion. “If he give you scroll, how he know you make teach us? How he know you not… uh… fjalenrander? Uh, lie-with-text.”

  “You can stay to witness the training,” Locambius nodded and licked his lips, “You know our tongue, you could vouch for our truth, yes?”

  The translator spoke with Svag again. He shook his head once, and then again as he heard the proposal. His response was emphatic; spittle flew out and clung to his beard as shouted at his translator.

  “No! Now-teaching. You must teach first. After, you get other scrolls.”

  “That puts us in a similar situation, good sir,” Locambius kept his tone placating and humble, “How can we trust that you will return what’s ours once the translation is over? What assurances can you offer us?”

  “Assurances?”

  “Guarantees? Pledges?”

  “Oh, trust-sign?” the translator nodded vigorously when he discovered the right word, “Trust-sign is you not dead. That trust-sign. Old woman and young man not translate. Say they bite out tongues instead of translate. Leader-monk tell them to translate. Leader-monk will do it or all monks die.”

  “If you kill us you’ll never translate the scriptures,” Locambius dropped his hands and his tone.

  “Not never; just longer,” the translator shook his head, “Getting impatient. War coming.”

  “War?”

  He waved his hands, “Not concern you. You translate. We war.”

  “We serve The Melody, good sir,” Locambius pulled himself up straight, “Not you, not Svag, not this village, not even our own lives. If you don’t learn The Melody from us, you will never learn it. If you don’t return our scriptures, you will never read them. This is not negotiable.”

  “This word? Negotiable?” the translator cocked his head to one side.

  “It means we won’t bargain. We won’t give up. We won’t surrender. We won’t allow you to defame the scriptures.”

  “You no translate?”

  “Not without you returning all our scriptures and all our people. We will teach you to read, but only if you return what’s ours.”

  The translator looked intently at Locambius for a moment and didn’t break eye contact with the monk as he relayed the conversation to Svag. Without a word, Svag handed the scroll to the translator, who stepped forward and handed it to Locambius. Peek tried to take in everything while still focusing on the raiders before him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Locambius receive the scroll like a newborn baby, cradling it yet holding it away from himself in wonder and fear.

  Almost everyone was looking at Locambius when Svag moved. He was so quick that Peek could barely follow his arms and hands, let alone have the mental capacity to stop him. In an instant Duhlga’s neck was snapped and she crumpled to the ground. Peek heard himself shout, but had no idea what words came out of his mouth. He’d heard of moments where everything seems to slow down, but this wasn’t one. Peek felt mired and frozen while the world happened around him. No matter how much he willed it, he couldn’t move or react quickly enough.

  “Why?” Locambius whispered, his jaw agape and eyes round.

  Svag laughed as he shook Duhlga’s body off of his leg. He barked a command that caused his men to flinch, but they obeyed. Each Markay warrior pulled out one of their horns and started to play the song of fire. At first Peek thought they were attacking the monks, but they all played a quiet, controlled tune as opposed to the vociferous tumult they’d used in battle.

  At first the monks looked around for the object of the fiery song, but soon Locambius’ swearing alerted them. The scroll in his hand started smoking and then burst into flame. Still Locambius held it. Bracius and Rudi got out their instruments to play the water-song and quench the fire, but the raiders attacked their instruments too. Still Locambius held the scroll. Darella rushed over and knocked the scroll out of his hands. It unfurled as it fell to the ground and Peek saw the sacred text turn brown, then black, and crumple into ashes. Locambius reached out for the scriptures while Darella held him back.

  “No negotiate,” Svag said.

  The raiders turned and walked back to their longboat with Svag laughing the entire time. Their translator remained behind for a moment longer and said, “If you ‘negotiate’ more you get no scripture and no people. All burn.” With that he turned and followed the raiders toward their boat.

  Together Locambius and Darella swatted at the fire to save any portion of the scroll. Bracius and Rudi nursed burned hands, and Peek stood as a statue witnessing time. From his knees Locambius looked up at the retreating raiders. His normally tidy hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he looked through it at the raiders. Peek watched as Locambius snatched his simple pipes from their pouch. The leader of the monks took the instrument of an acolyte and played.

  First he played the wind-song, pushing not at the men walking away, but their craft. It shuddered for a moment and then broke free from the sandy shore and slid across the water out of reach. When the raiders turned to confront him, he switched to the earth-song in mid note, raising up sand and flinging it into the faces of the raiders with stinging force. They were forced to throw their hands in front of their faces to protect their eyes and mouths.

  Peek marveled at Locambius playing his simple instrument with such mastery. Instead of the five notes Peek could draw out of the instrument, Locambius coaxed a symphony out of the reeds. He slid his jaw back and forth, tilted the reeds at an angle, and moved them back and forth with lightning speed.

  Water came next, first capsizing the longboat floating out in the ocean and then lifting waves twice the height of the raiders and crashing them down on the men. The first one drove the warriors to their knees, the next one took them to their hands, a third wave pinn
ed them to the wet sand.

  Locambius played three notes of the fire song before Rudi and Bracius tackled him and Darella plucked the reeds from his hands. They wrestled on the beach for a moment before Locambius gave up, though he still glared at the collapsed raiders as he barked the order: “Get their weapons. Find a rope and tie them up.” He punctuated the words by spitting sand and blood.

  The raiders sat laughing among themselves in the monastery’s clearing. They were tied back-to-back and surrounded by guards, both villager and monk. Peek paced around the group of men standing watch on behalf of Locambius, unbidden and unyielding. Since they’d captured the raiders, Locambius had stayed in the scriptorium with the burned, sodden, sandy scroll that was his last connection to the faith of his youth.

  From time to time Peek would walk past to see if there was anything he could do. Locambius just sat staring at the words on the scroll. Peek, unable to read since Vlek wouldn’t permit a bastard to rise above himself, didn’t quite understand the value of words on paper, but Locambius couldn’t give him a coherent reply. He mumbled things about prophecy, kings, young women, and ancient times. None of it made sense to Peek, so he satisfied his desire to help by watching over the raiders.

  But each step around the monks also brought the image of Duhlga falling to the wet sand, limp and lifeless. Her calm, wise, loving voice would be forever gone. Peek didn’t know how to mourn; he had no tears for Duhlga’s death, only rage. He played the scene over and over in his mind. There was no reason for Duhlga to be there, no reason for her to be a captive of the raiders, no reason for them to bring her as a hostage. But there she was, standing on the beach in the grasp of the raider. When the moment came, she wasn’t fighting or resisting. She was calmly waiting. Peek had felt the calm radiate out from her.

  And when she died, it left.