Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  With perfect synchronization, the monks parted just enough to let us through.

  “Thank you,” I murmured as I passed.

  A monk turned his head, eye to eye with me, though I was seated on the horse. The monk’s eyes reflected everything, the yard, sky, me and Marc, as well as the web of robed monks behind us. A smile split the monk’s chalk-white face, baring yellowing teeth. The same smile rippled down the line and across all their faces.

  I turned as far as I could while keeping my seat.

  Behind them, the line broke formation.

  I leaned into Marc, pulling the reins to turn him around, but Marc tossed his head.

  “Turn, boy.”

  Turned all the way around and transfixed on the monks’ eerie smiles, I wasn’t prepared for Marc to rear. With a loud whinny, Marc’s front feet flew into the air.

  Pivoting, I leaned in and hugged tight to the saddle, clenching my legs around the horse’s abdomen. I put pressure on the reins, hoping to gain control of Marc’s head to disengage his hindquarters. He squealed as if in pain.

  I released the reins. The leather strip whipped from my hands and out of my reach.

  The moment Marc’s hooves slammed into the ground, he bolted for the road.

  I had been thrown from a horse a hundred times before. If a horse was determined to unseat someone, he would. Marc’s reaction spoke more of being spooked than him trying to dislodge an unwanted rider.

  Lying low, I loosened my limbs and leaned in to the left. Marc ignored the order to turn, keeping his charge for the road. The horse’s rapid gait sent me flying up and thumping down with every stride.

  Moving my toes to the ends of the stirrups, I focused on staying loose and on the saddle as Marc ran until whatever spooked him faded from his mind.

  Yet instead of heading for the barn, like I’d expect from a spooked horse, Marc picked up speed, flying down the road. Placing one hand at Marc’s neck, I sat up and focused on keeping my balance and watching the road, the forest whipping past us from the corner of my eye.

  I didn’t know what the monks saw or thought, or what any other servants from the manor thought for that matter, but Marc had gone from the most docile horse in the stable to wild.

  It had to be Lady Annabelle.

  Then there was that smile. Just thinking of that long line of bared yellow teeth made panic rise in my chest. I pushed it down. The worst thing to feel on a spooked horse was panic.

  After a few more direct body signals were ignored, I decided the only way out of this situation uninjured would be to go with it. Anything drastic would result in one of us breaking something. Marc would take me where he was so determined to go, and then I would lead him home.

  Marc didn’t slow his gallop until the trees fell away and Hopesworth lay out before us. Wheezing from his exertion, Marc made a much slower descent into Hopesworth.

  At the decreased pace, I leaned up and unhooked the reins from where they had tangled over Marc’s ears. I didn’t pull or try to lead the horse; Marc wasn’t going to stop, not for all the carrots in Hope Manor.

  The sun sunk toward the spires of the Templum of Weire, looking more to be heading for its demise than the horizon. The moment we came to a crossroads, Marc turned toward the templum, blasting sunlight into my eyes. I held up a hand but rays still filtered through my fingers. Every time the road turned away from the blinding light, Marc took a turn toward it. Five streets in, I was sure that we were heading for the mammoth templum that sat central in Hopesworth.

  “She couldn’t be this stupid,” I mumbled.

  Marc snorted, but whether it was from dust, agreement, or in annoyance, I couldn’t tell.

  After the strange ride, I could come to only one conclusion about Marc’s behavior; he wasn’t running away from anything, he was running toward something. And if he was running toward something, I would bet all I owned that it was Lady Annabelle.

  If our course was for Lady Annabelle, it meant that instead of staying safe from the monks in the east wing, she’d stormed into the templum itself.

  As we turned onto the final street and the sun ducked behind the templum, I knew I was right. On the steps before the monolithic Crimson Templum, Lady Annabelle sat. Crowds fed around her, streaming into one of the great templum’s doors.

  Something akin to relief filled me, a relief so strong my face heated and eyes burned with it. I was so invested in this, much more than I wanted to be. I cared for her fate, whether it was because of my love for her parents or the fact I’d risked my life by concealing her existence for days, or if it was that persistent guilt. Whatever the reason, the emotion had rooted into me.

  The road ended, and Marc made for the staircase. Pulling on the reins, I signaled him to stop.

  Marc stopped but shuffled his feet, seeming unconvinced.

  Patting him on the neck, I leaned in. “Let me get her, boy. Let me get her.”

  The horse finally listened to me and trudged to a restless stop.

  Hesitating for a second, I dismounted. I tied Marc off on a pole to convince him not to head up the templum steps.

  Lady Annabelle didn’t look up as I ascended the stairs. Her gaze fixed down on her lap, and she remained so still she could have been carved from the stone around her.

  In front of the golden doors of the templum, not fifty feet from her, a crimson-robed monk stood sentinel. Darkness obscured his face, cast in the combined shadow of the templum and his hood.

  I halted three steps below the lady where, if she looked up, we’d be eye to eye.

  …there will be a price to be paid for what we’ve done… and it is those I love who will pay it.

  Someone bumped into me, dislodging me from the thought. “Keep moving,” said a man’s voice. A hulking figure passed and veered around Lady Annabelle, continuing to the templum doors. The crowd surged around us, hopefully obscuring us from the monk’s view.

  “My lady,” I whispered, leaning toward her.

  Little more than rags covered her, showing both her ankles and a good portion of her legs as well. Feeling heat lick up my cheeks, I kept my eyes at eye level and cleared my throat.

  Shaking her head, the girl glanced up from her hands clutched in her lap and blinked sleepily. Her gaze met mine, one eye gray but the other a startling blue. I hadn’t noticed the color before, but it glowed in her ashen face.

  “Stable boy?” she whispered.

  “Yes, it’s me."

  For a moment, something shone in her strange eyes that could have been fear or perhaps relief. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them, her expression changed to impassive and schooled. “Well met. Are you on your way home?”

  “No.” I leaned in, furrowing my brow. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”

  She leaned away, almost onto the steps. “Quite well, thank you for inquiring.” Her arm moved until her hand went behind her back. It was an odd move, noticeably odd. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. Thank you for your diligent service in the stables. It comforts me to know that Marc has you for company.”

  “Are you injured?” I nodded to where she hid her hand.

  “Of course not.” She affected what was probably supposed to look like a smile. It fell short. “I’m well. Thank you for your concern, but it is unwarranted. Please, don’t let me keep you from your supper.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I scanned the crowd again. “I’m here for you, I brought your horse. We need to go.”

  “Oh.” She pressed the hand she wasn’t hiding into the ground and with a sharp inhale, leveraged herself up. Her gaze passed over the crowd and stopped on Marc. Again, that almost desperate relief lit across her face. Once more, it extinguished immediately. She teetered as she took her first step, but regained her balance.

  “You’re injured.” The way she moved, the practiced look on her face, everything about her gave it away. She was injured; I knew it to be true.

  “No, I am not.” She straightened, her chin lifting.
“Thank you for bringing my horse, but it was unnecessary. I’m fine to walk.”

  It wasn’t true, not even close. Her feet barely supported her as she descended. It didn’t help that she kept that damned hand behind her back and her body pivoted away. Three steps down, she lifted her chin again and said, “I’ve been meaning to apologize to you…” she teetered, “…for the words I said in the stable.”

  Ignoring her apology, I glanced at the portal of the templum. A group of what looked like lords had exited the templum, and the monk had turned his full attention to them.

  Checking that the crowd had swallowed us on all sides again, I kept a hand close to her elbow just in case she fell, which was looking more and more likely with her every step.

  “Did you hear me? I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “Are you apologizing for calling me a rake or for saying that I enjoy ruining women?” I asked. The words had just come out unbidden. I was trying to keep a good leash on my temper, but between the infuriating way she was acting and the mounting fear that was filling me at the entire situation, my temper was riding me high and hard.

  She looked at me, almost sharply if she didn’t look so dazed. “They were private words not meant for your ears.”

  “So, you’re not apologizing for the words, but that I heard them?”

  “Well, I didn’t know you could hear me,” she said.

  “Do you want me to apologize for being near you then?”

  “No, no. That’s not what I meant—” She cut off as her whole body keeled forward.

  Hand already ready for this, I grabbed her elbow and yanked her to standing.

  A man turned to me, likely noticing the abrupt movement. “Are you addled?” he asked before continuing up with the crowd.

  Lady Annabelle glanced around, her eyes seeming half awake. “Let go of me,” she slurred.

  “I’m the only thing stopping you from taking the rest of this staircase head first.”

  She looked to my hand on her bare arm. Her words came out breathy. “No… it’s… if your sleeve touches my skin, it will lose its color, then people will think you’re here without a shirt. And I really can walk.”

  Reaching over, I rolled the sleeve up and away from her. “Just let me help you to your horse, and then I’ll leave you alone,” I gritted out. “We cannot stay here.”

  She nodded. “If you feel you must.”

  We descended the rest of the way with me holding her elbow. I looked mad, though the moving crowd around us barely hesitated as they streamed up to the templum doors.

  Marc whinnied and stomped when I finally led Lady Annabelle off the stairs. He turned his side to us, as ready to leave as I was.

  At the top of the dais, the lords looked to be attempting to excuse themselves from the monk’s company. They nodded incessantly, but attempted to both step and glance away.

  Lady Annabelle stopped dead. “The saddle,” she whispered.

  “We need to get you on that horse and go.” My heart pounded in my chest and blackness edged around my vision. We were out in the open now, no longer hidden by the evening templum goers. The moment those lords stepped away, the monk would turn and notice my strange behavior.

  She didn’t move. “My… unmentionables… I’ll…”

  The lords stepped away and started down the stairs.

  “Lady, please, who cares about propriety? We’re both going to die if we don’t get on that horse now,” I whispered harshly.

  “I don’t care about propriety, I swear. If I straddle the horse, my skin will touch the saddle, and the saddle will disappear—it might spread to the reins even. Marc will look as though he has no tack.”

  “Damn!”

  A man stopped to glare. “You are before the templum, young man!”

  “My apologies,” I called with a nod.

  Lady Annabelle turned to me. “Could you put down a coat?”

  “Do you have a coat?” I hissed at her. “Do I? Does anyone? It’s mid-summer. You’ll have to sit in my lap.”

  “Well, you don’t need to be rude about it, and I will not sit in your lap.”

  Stepping back, I glanced to the rear of her dress. “There’s enough material there to separate us. You can’t sit sideways on the saddle, I barely trust you to stand there without falling. Sit on my lap and hold onto me, but be sure not to touch me with your skin.”

  “You are—”

  I leaned in. “I am desperate for a solution. Look behind you. Lady Annabelle. The monk is standing right there likely looking down on us. This is no time to be prudish. I swear I will touch you as little as possible. I am no letch, as you seem to think.”

  Her gaze flicked over my shoulder. Once more, something real and true fell across her features—fear. “Oh, dear gods, you’re right. I forgot—everything for a moment there. How could I have forgotten everything? My cousin comes this way, too,” she muttered. “He looks miserable.” Her brow furrowed and sadness filled her mismatched eyes.

  I glanced to the templum but only saw that same group of three lords sending the commoners rushing out of their way. “We should go. I’ll climb up first and then lift you onto the seat. We need to somewhat hide the motion.”

  Marc pulled the reins taut, arching his body toward Annabelle until she closed the distance. Close to his head, she stroked his nose with the hand not hidden behind her back.

  After untying the reins, I threw them over Marc’s neck. “Come around to this side, lady, then turn around and get close,” I said while climbing into the saddle.

  After a second’s hesitation, she followed my instructions and stood beside Marc on the side hidden from the templum.

  Leaning down as quickly as possible, I grabbed Annabelle around her waist and pulled her into my lap. Her weight settled awkwardly onto my legs as she attempted to position herself.

  My arms went to either side of her. She looked so ethereal, but felt whole, warm, and solid in my arms. I’d had more than one girl sit on my lap before. However, in those circumstances, my lips were playing over theirs. My work-roughened hands would weave through those girls’ calloused fingers. Holding a noblewoman like this felt odd and too intimate—like I was breaking a law of nature.

  Leaning in a little, I whispered, “I can’t hold onto you, so you’ll have to hold onto me.”

  “This isn’t going to work.” She rocked unsteadily. Her bare elbows were tucked close to her body in an awkward pose. First, she tried to find her seat leaning forward. When that didn’t work, she turned toward me. “I’m sorry, I’ll need to…” She leaned her shoulder into my chest but arched her head away. “I apologize if this hurts you.”

  “It doesn’t,” I whispered, trying to move my lips as little as possible. “Do you feel stable enough to ride?”

  “I think so—and if I fall, I think I will fall into your arm.” She nodded, slightly. “And, I’m sorry again—I don’t think you’re a letch. I apologize if I gave you that impression with my words. That’s not what I meant by them.”

  “We can talk about that when we’re safe.” Clearing my throat, I added, “If you’ve found your balance, let’s be off.” Clicking at Marc, I found my own balance on the saddle. Sitting like this would work for a short distance, but as soon as we were out of Hopesworth, we would need to resituate.

  As Marc turned, I glanced to the portal. The monk stood by the front doors. His hood shifted back and forth like a pendulum as he examined the crowd.

  “Let’s go.” Sweat trickled down my forehead. Turning to the road, I inhaled a deep breath of stuffy, hot air. A million mingled scents filled my senses, chief among them road dust and horse dung. It was over. I’d return Lady Annabelle to her wing and convince her not to do anything stupid again, like leave her wing while hundreds of monks hunted her.

  Marc had almost maneuvered and turned from the other horses, when someone yelled. “Hey! That’s my horse!”

  Both Lady Annabelle and I turned back.

  One of the lords looke
d directly at us, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. He looked familiar, though I couldn’t quite place him.

  “Oh, no.” Lady Annabelle grimaced. “That’s my cousin.”

  7

  Pilgrimage’s End

  Tony

  “Hey, you there! You are in possession of my horse!” I yelled as I stomped down the stairs of the Templum of Weire. My heels hit hard on the stone, sending spasms shooting up my already-sore muscles. After days of riding and few stops, my body was little more than aches and pains. At this moment, though, I couldn’t care less. The closer I was, the more certain I grew. That horse was my horse.

  It had been the insignia on the saddle that tipped me off, but now I recognized the horse itself. Its distinctive white mark between its eyes was plain as anything I’d ever seen.

  A memory echoed through my mind. A girl’s voice called through a laugh, “Don’t you dare buy me another horse, you insufferable snob. Marc could beat Goliath, or any horse for that matter, any day of the week.”

  The headache struck. I shook my head as her laughter echoed through my mind. Damned mad thoughts, I would conquer them. Although, some of that was right. The horse’s name was Marc, I remembered now. I didn’t remember riding the beast per se, but the horse had been along on many of my excursions around Hope Manor for some reason or other.

  “Stop!” I yelled. Perhaps confused, the servants and lordlings in my company all halted and blocked my path.

  The peasant boy and the horse had stopped, too. The boy jolted a little in the saddle and spun to look at me.

  The horse’s feet danced as it turned. It blew out a gust of air. Both horse and rider moved in a way that indicated they might bolt at any moment.

  “Move out of my way!” I snapped at my idiot servants before I pushed past them. I pointed at the boy. “Halt right there! That is my horse! You stay where you are!”

  The boy’s eyes fixed on me before his face contorted. His mouth moved, and I thought I read his lips saying, “No, we should go.” Though, I could not hear his words.