The Exiled Monk (The World Song Book 1)

by James T Wood

  “We can negotiate,” Plafius said, “There is no need for violence.”

  “No negotiate. Village ours.”

  “I understand your position,” Plafius bowed his head in a show of submission, “If I were you, I’d want such a nice village too—”

  “No talk. Village ours!” A trickle of blood dripped from the point of Karl’s sword; Vlek whimpered.

  “Oh, I agree. You are right,” Plafius nodded profusely, “The village is yours. I only ask that we monks have time to leave peacefully.”

  Cor looked sharply at Plafius who made no response to the interim village chief. He simply continued to smile at the raiders. Cor cleared his throat to speak but never had the chance to say the words that were on his tongue.

  “Good. Village ours,” Karl grunted, “Monks leave. Also leave, uh,” he waved his sword hand as he thought of the right word in the Iklay language, “you call, music-makers?”

  “Our instruments?” Plafius asked.

  “Yes. Monks leave. Not take instruments.”

  “I don’t know…” Plafius shook his head.

  “Do it. Or he dies,” the raider pressed his sword just above Vlek’s collarbone. The man who had reigned over Peek’s life with fear and violence now stood whimpering and weeping. The tears and snot running down his face made him look as if he was melting away before them. Peek gripped his pipes, but kept them at his waist. He was ready to lift them into position and start playing at a moment’s notice. He didn’t have a moment.

  The song came from behind the raiders. It wafted to the sky in pure ecstasy. From the heavens descended the response — hail. It rained down on the raiders with audible thuds and cries of pain in response. Half of the raiders crumpled to the ground and struggled to find shelter under their shields. The other half scattered looking for cover near the huts that surrounded the clearing. Only the translator and Vlek stood unmoved. The raider took several blows from the hail without flinching. Vlek wailed in pain every time he was struck.

  “No negotiate,” the raider said with a note of finality.

  Peek saw him tense his muscles and narrow his eyes a moment before he moved. The pipes couldn’t move quickly enough nor the song flow fast enough. The raider’s sword slid down inside Vlek’s ribcage, between the collarbone and shoulder bone. The angle from right to left meant the sword pierced Vlek’s heart. Peek’s grandfather died a moment before Peek’s magic knocked the raider off his feet. Still Peek didn’t stop the wind that pummeled the Markay and held them pinned to the ground. Peek wept as he played. The wind Peek pushed at them started to twist and then spin. His song called forth a tornado that lifted the prone men from the ground. Still Peek did not stop. When the Markay spun about at eye level, Plafius stepped toward Peek. When they reached the height of the huts, Cor turned toward his nephew-brother. When Peek finally had the pipes wrested from his grip by the two men, the raiders fell twenty feet to the ground and landed with a powerful thud. Two of them shrieked in agony as their limbs snapped.

  The Markay translator shouted to his people. The ones that could stand formed up around him and readied their weapons. One of them gave a spare ax to their leader. They started advancing on Plafius and Cor. Peek readied another wind-song to push the group back, but Plafius was faster.

  The dual reeds mixed the wind and earth songs again. They raised dust devils all around the raiders and soon the men were lost in a cloud of dirt. From the opposite side of the village Dray sang again. This song was one of rest and peace. It made Peek drowsy just to hear it. She sang one chorus of it, then another and another as she walked closer. While she sang, Plafius continued to obscure the raiders with dust. At first they shouted loudly, but soon the cries faded until only a few were speaking. Finally the sounds ceased and Plafius stopped playing. The dirt settled to reveal the raiders sleeping soundly on the ground.

  Numbness descended on Peek like fog. He barely heard the conversation between Plafius and Cor about the fate of the raiders. He gave his hand to Dray, but barely felt her warm grip. Vlek was dead. Peek swallowed against a growing lump in his throat. Vlek was dead. He stumbled forward a step before his knees gave out. Dray settled to the ground with him. Vlek stared vacantly at the sky. Blood soaked the ground. The lines of his face relaxed from their constant scowl into something that almost resembled peace. Peek reached out for him but his hand froze and refused to move. Without warning, Peek’s bile rose to the back of his throat. He vomited once and then again before Dray pulled him away from the corpse of his grandfather.

  For the rest of the day Peek went where he was bid and did what he was told. They dragged the raiders to the shore — with Dray or Plafius singing the sleep song to them lest they awaken — and loaded them into their longboat.

  “Why didn’t you just put them to sleep at the very beginning?” Cor asked when the limp form of Karl was finally dropped into the boat.

  “They would have attacked the moment I raised my reeds. Dray had some leeway, but even the sleep-song can only put one person down at a time. She had to sing it for each raider and the other raiders could not attempt to awaken their sleeping friend or she would have had to start all over again.”

  “You think this is the best choice?” Cor looked at the sleeping raiders in the boat.

  “Would you hold them prisoner?” Plafius pressed him, “Would you execute them? No? Then this is the best choice. We will push them out to sea and toward the south. When they awaken they will have a choice, they can attempt to retake the village that defeated them already or try to get home. It won’t be easy, but they will have a chance at survival.”

  “I suppose it is the wisest choice,” Cor sounded unsure.

  Peek stood observing them almost as if this were another vision. Dray held his hand tightly and often throughout the day looked over at him with concern in her eyes. Slowly, as the import of their words passed through the fog, Peek realized he had to speak. He thought of every lesson on leadership that Locambius had tried to teach him and saw that Cor could be that person for the village.

  “It’s your choice,” Peek released Dray’s hand and stepped over to Cor, “You are the leader now. You are the chief. What you say goes.”

  “I don’t want to be the chief,” Cor said, and for the first time in years Peek saw the little boy that had run with him down the beach when they were young. Peek’s childhood had ended long ago; Cor’s died on that day.

  “You may offer the job to someone else in the future, but for now it is yours,” Peek clapped him on the shoulder, “The village needs a strong leader right now.”

  Cor nodded and reached over to squeeze Peek’s shoulder in return. In that awful moment, Peek had a brother.

  “Send them off, please,” Cor said to Plafius.

  The old monk nodded and played the wind-song on one of his reeds. The longboat scraped against the sand and then slid into the water. Plafius played for a long time pushing the boat out of the cove and toward the south. They all stood and watched as the raiders disappeared behind the cape.

  “We must go and rescue Locambius,” Plafius pleaded with the monks. Bracius, Rudi, Darella, and Adrocus were seated at the stone table of the monastery along with Plafius, Dray, and Peek. The rest of the monks stood around the table listening to the debate.

  “He gave himself to save us. Why would we send more people to die?” Bracius said.

  Rudi nodded slowly in agreement, “Much as I love my brother, it would not be wise for us to risk more.”

  “He won’t teach them,” Adrocus spoke the words with the slightest quaver. Since his return he hadn’t met Peek’s eyes for more than the briefest of moments. He shifted uneasily in his seat and looked behind him often.

  Darella reached out and placed a hand on Adrocus’ shoulder. He flinched first, but then relaxed. She looked back at the gathered monks, “He’s right. Locambius won’t give in. We have to let him go.”

  Plafius looked around the table. They had allowed him in on the condition that he
would leave with the villagers. His exile was not ended, merely suspended for the moment. He inhaled as if to speak, but then let out the breath with a sigh and shook his head.

  “Locambius was trying to teach me to lead,” Peek spoke to the center of the table, “He told me that leaders think of others first. He told me that leaders consider many options. He told me that leaders look for what’s best for the most.”

  Peek stood and looked around the table at the faces of people who had, in a short time, come to loom large in his mind. Adrocus had guided him into the first steps of being a monk. Rudi, through gregariousness and guile, had trained Peek to listen to The Melody. Bracius, with his stern gaze and bald head, instilled in Peek the seriousness of the rules that guided the monks. Darella weighed each decision carefully and gave balanced advice that Locambius had valued greatly. Plafius had awakened in Peek the hunger, the need to dance to The Melody. And Dray danced with him.

  To all of them Peek said, “Locambius tried to teach me how to lead, but I can’t accept his lessons. I can’t let him die because I refused to do something. I will fail as a leader and as a monk, but I won’t let another person die because of me.” He turned, stepped over the bench, and through the crowded monks. The next thing Peek remembered was sitting and staring at the stones around the listening place.

  It was fully dark before Dray came and sat next to Peek on the bench. The light of her song faded away as the last notes left her throat. Plafius followed in a moment and stood beside them. Dray leaned her head against Peek’s shoulder as the old man spoke into the blackness.

  “Do you two want to go after Locambius?” his tone intense, “I have to because he’s my friend and he wouldn’t be a captive if it weren’t for me. But you don’t have to go.”

  Peek looked at Dray for a long moment before responding, “It’s as much my fault as it is yours,” he nodded slowly, “I will go.”

  Dray squeezed his arm and nodded her head against Peek’s shoulder. Even through the numbness and fog, Peek’s heart started beating faster as he thought about the insanity of their plan. But what held him was the greater insanity of not going — not trying at least — to save Locambius.

  Plafius said, “We must prepare for our journey. Peek can we use your canoe?”

  “Yes,” he rubbed the fuzzy stubble sprouting from his chin, “it was designed for two people, but it can handle four.”

  “Your canoe?” Dray turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I made it for my journey to the island. I didn’t want Vlek to accuse me of theft.”

  The words were softly spoken, “You made it for two?”

  Peek blushed and looked at his feet. Dray wrapped her arms around him from the side and firmly kissed him on the cheek. Plafius coughed, but Dray ignored him and reached up to turn Peek’s face. For an instant Peek saw her eyes shining and her mouth spread into a silly grin. She kissed him with a fierce possessiveness that Peek found both enticing and terrifying.

  Twenty-Seven

  “This is not wisdom!” she shouted at the spluttering men in the room, “Our friend Talib exhorted us to not divorce power from wisdom nor wisdom from power. Today the schism has begun. I can think of no other way to heal it than to remove the cause of the argument.”

  The crowd muttered trying to determine what she meant.

  “I will not rule on Eytskaim’s throne nor will I remain in his city. I will go away and another will rule here. I will study The Melody and seek the wisdom and power of the great king in solitude as he did.”

  “Where will you go?” asked one of the disciples who supported her claim.

  “I will go to the west, away from the kingdom and past its borders. There are still those in the world who do not benefit from the wisdom and power of The Melody. I would share it with them.”

  “Wisdom and power do not replace love.” Darrah of Cosa ag Taisteal

  F

  urther debate with the monks proved as fruitless as the first round. In the end they decided that they couldn’t help Peek and Dray, but they wouldn’t oppose them either. The trio left on the morning tide. Peek’s canoe was loaded with food and water as well as long ropes and grappling hooks taken from the raiders boat before they left.

  Cor had helped them leave, this time with his blessing. He had doubted Peek before, he said, but now he knew that Peek could do anything he wanted to. It seemed wrong to have Cor support him instead of besting him. Peek noticed that the carefree innocence that once left Cor’s face open and welcoming, had now been replaced by a furrowed brow and dark circles under his eyes. His brother-uncle would be a good chief, Peek thought, but it wouldn’t come easily.

  After Peek paddled them out of the cove, Dray began to sing the song of the wind. It carried, cradled, and lifted the canoe so that it skimmed the water rather than wallowing in it. They sped along faster than Peek thought possible. The shore raced by on their left as they ran to the south and then toward the southeast after the raiders. It took no more than an hour for them to get within sight of the longboat of the raiders they’d set free the previous day. Plafius called for a halt when they appeared on the horizon.

  “We will need stealth to get by these men and it will offer good practice for what we will need to do against the flotilla,” Plafius had neglected to bring either tankard or ale so his gesture seemed half-formed as he pointed, “Peek, can you play the wind-song? Would that offend your conscience?”

  “I don’t think so,” Peek weighed the idea against what Locambius had taught for a moment, “Just the normal wind-song? That should be okay, I guess.”

  “Good,” Plafius nodded and turned, “Dray, can you create a fog bank around the raiders’ boat?”

  She closed her eyes for a breath or two before responding, “With cold, right?”

  “Yes, good memory,” Plafius clapped her on the shoulder in approval, “Cold will draw the moisture out of the air. Make the air around them very cold and fog will form.”

  “What will you do,” Peek asked Plafius.

  “I will watch them to be sure we are safe.”

  Peek nodded his assent and looked to Dray. She reached out to squeeze his hand and then started singing a song Peek had never heard before. It sent shivers down his spine and caused Dray’s breath to come out steaming. After a moment Plafius played the water-song and conjured the spheres of water that allowed him to see a great distance. Peek held his pipes at the ready waiting for the fog to form and for Plafius to signal that it was time to proceed.

  On the horizon in the morning sun, the raiders pulled at their oars since the wind provided no assistance to their travel. Tendrils of fog slithered on the water and devoured each other. They grew larger and more voracious by the moment until Peek could only see the heads of the raiders sticking out of a cloud on the water. A moment later they disappeared altogether.

  Plafius tapped Peek with his toe. Peek raised his pipes and started playing the wind-song. It felt odd to play his music against the tunes of water and cold. At first Peek feared something might happen like when he mixed the elements of fire and water. There was no explosion, no death. Peek used the magic to push the canoe ahead. Slowly he built the speed, but also kept their course far out to sea from the raiders. The cloud remained on the horizon, but passed to their left and then behind them. Peek kept playing and found that the different songs were not discordant, but flowed together and filled the missing spaces that he didn’t even know needed filling.

  He started to enjoy this kind of music, joining his song with Dray’s and Plafius’ to create something more. It enticed him, drew him, and he found that he didn’t want to stop playing, even when Plafius tapped him again. Peek pushed the wind-song and they skipped across the water like a bird rising into the air. The shore was a blur and the waves barely touched the bottom of the canoe. Peek felt himself grinning even as he played the notes as fast as possible.

  When they rose up and left the water, Peek didn’t notice. He let the wind have its head and fle
w along with it. The song raged, took over, filled him and left nothing else. The world was made for this moment and Peek thrilled in it. Dray grabbed Peek’s shoulder and shook him. When he didn’t respond she took the simple step of putting her hand over his mouth. The spell was broken and the speeding boat dropped to the waves with a jarring crash. Their speed kept them skimming across the waves for quite a while, even after the music stopped.

  “Peek?” Plafius placed a hand on his shoulder, “How are you?”

  These moments of being overcome by The Melody were terrifying and intoxicating. Peek looked around and saw only water in every direction. He had no idea how far they’d come nor how far off course they’d gone. He slumped down on his seat and rested his head on his knees.

  “Dray,” Plafius asked, “can you take over?”

  She started to sing the wind-song again and the canoe lurched at the magic’s command. Peek heard Plafius play the water-song for a moment. When he was done he felt the canoe shift slightly to the left.

  “We’re back on course now,” Plafius said to Dray. He turned next to Peek, “What happened?”

  He swallowed hard and searched for the energy to respond. He was exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally.

  “Have you done that before?” Plafius continued probing.

  “I…” Peek fought for moisture in his mouth, “A few times. I get lost in the music. It… it’s so beautiful I just want to hear and make more.”

  Plafius leaned closer from his bench seat that he shared with Dray, “What did Locambius say about it?”

  “We never really had time to deal with it,” Peek still pushed against the exhaustion to pull thoughts together into words, “The first time was just before I got to the island when I was paddling out there. I also did something with fire and water that killed the raiders that attacked the island, but also many of the monks,” Peek fought off the tears that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he thought of the dead wind-singers. “It happened again at the new monastery when I was filling the cisterns. I just kept going and nearly flooded the place. What’s wrong with me?”