by Peter Dawes
I smirked as I saw the box Paolo had broken into. Beside it lay a quill and vat of ink, which I gave only a cursory glance in the effort to hurry myself along. None of the books captured my attention and nothing else on the walls carried even a hint of intrigue to it, bringing my gaze back to the writing desk. As I paced closer to it, something caught my eye, forcing me to pause.
Briefly, I was fourteen years old again, in the tavern while watching an armed man strangle Old John without so much as laying a finger on him. A shaky breath passed through my lips while my heart raced, the sting of tears fresh in my eyes as I picked up a wax stamp and turned it over. It hadn’t been the first time in nine years I’d seen the symbol, but I would have known it had I been blind and forced to trace the impression with my fingertips. As I admired the circle and flame, I wondered if enough years would ever pass for the pain to dull. Something told me if it had not in nearly a decade, it never would at all.
Using the candle, I stole a blank piece of parchment and poured wax from the candle onto it. As it cooled, I pressed the stamp into the congealing puddle, lifting the paper once I was finished to ensure I had made enough of a mark for comparison’s sake. “Just to verify, Lord Bertrand,” I muttered to nobody but myself. “Perhaps I might be back to pay you a visit.”
“Christian!” Paolo shouted, from outside the house.
“Coming!” I called back, hastily folding the parchment and stuffing it in my pocket. Taking the candle downstairs, I extinguished the oil lamps, but protected the flame long enough to emerge from inside the manor.
I freed a hand to pull my hood back over my head. The sound of horses whinnying prompted me toward where Paolo stood, holding their reins while regarding a mound of bodies and brush dry enough to catch fire. When I reached it, I knelt before the makeshift pyre and lowered the candle’s flame to light some of the kindling.
It went up quickly, flourishing without any wind to stop it from igniting. Once I was certain it had caught, I blew out the candle and licked my fingers to snuff out the wick. Paolo remained silent, only casting occasional glances at me, a small head shake indicating he saw when I slipped the candle into the satchel which hung from my mare, Tempest’s, saddle. “I thought I was the thief,” he finally said.
“Can’t let you have all the fun,” I quipped back. We exchanged a glance before both of us regarded the burgeoning conflagration before us, quickly becoming transfixed. Its warmth cut through the chill in the air, and not for the first time I mused on how accustomed I had become to the smell of burning flesh. The notion quickly left my thoughts, given over to the sight of the flames.
Paolo cleared his throat. “Did you find anything?” he asked, handing me the lead for my horse
I took it in hand. “He had a wax stamp with the symbol,” I said. “A friend of theirs at the very least if not a full ally.”
“Does this mean you’re going to see your brother?”
“I’m going off to think. Seeing my brother is an unfortunate necessity.”
Paolo and I glanced at each other at the same time. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “What do you want me to tell Roland?”
I shrugged. “That Christian was being Christian. He knows better than most what that means.”
“He also threatens to give your money to the village whores when you do this.”
“Oh good. That means I’ll be paid up with them.”
Paolo succumbed to a laugh and walked to his horse’s side, sliding his foot into the stirrup and mounting the beast’s saddle with one fluid motion. I settled myself onto mine, only with less finesse, provoking her to rear back a half pace before a tug on the reins settled her again. “I will ride with you to the normal place then?” Paolo asked.
“Grazie, amico mio,” I said, in a much less authentic accent. Extending a hand toward him, I motioned toward his back. “Hand me the letters. I’ll check them while we have a little light.”
He nodded and tossed them to me once he had freed them. I gave their contents a casual glance before handing them back, certain our work here had been completed. The night bore enough quiet to it that our exodus from Lord Bertrand’s manor bore all the leisure of being unencumbered. We made it to the crossroads several kilometers out well before the rays of dawn threatened to crest over the horizon.
I winked at Paolo and he loosely saluted me before directing his horse toward town. As his figure faded in the distance, I stole a deep breath and glanced heavenward. A symphony of stars played across the obsidian sky above me, disrupted by the occasional barrage of clouds. Tempest began a slow trot down a path I first traversed long ago and had been on ever since.
Jeffrey’s farm would be half a day’s journey, but I knew for a fact I would not feel a second of it.
Chapter Two
The tree remained standing after all these years, guarded by some force of nature that demanded my sole place of sanctuary in this world remained intact. While Paolo knew of its purpose, there was only one other person who knew of its existence. As it rested on his landowner’s property, I could hardly prevent him from making the discovery. I crested the hill leading up to the forest’s edge, spying my brother standing near the place I had called home for two short years.
Whether or not Jeffrey anticipated my arrival, he had placed himself in a prime location to witness it.
I rode to the base of the tree and alighted from my mount. Picking up one of the apples that had fallen from the branches, I pocketed it for my horse and waited, brushing her mane with my hand and positioning myself so that my back would be to Jeffrey when he approached. Within moments, I heard the familiar footfalls stride up to me and pause. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth when his shadow eclipsed me. “I thought for once I might escape one of our little visits,” I said.
Jeffrey remained silent until I turned to face him. Slightly taller than me, he wore our lankiness in a less emaciated manner, his cheekbones sharp, but his arms much stronger. Eyes the same color blue as mine regarded me with what I could only interpret as solemnness. “I'd be offended if I didn't know better,” he said. “You always complain at me, but then you get chatty after being a brat.” Jeffrey cocked a thumb toward the house. “Why don't we skip the formalities and go back to the house? Anne baked bread before heading to the market and the girls have been asking after you.”
“Someday, I am going to tell them how ill-mannered it is that they make me less vexed with you.”
“I’m sure they’ll listen with rapt attention.”
Shooting him a look of annoyance, I tugged on Tempest’s reins and pulled her along. The sooner we could get this visit out of the way, I told myself, the sooner I could return to my affairs. We walked in silence, toward a small peasant’s residence tucked away near one of the barns, pausing briefly so I might secure my horse inside first. I freed Tempest of her bit and bridle and finally fed her the apple I had pocketed for her, garnering a snort from the animal before she accepted it.
“She’s just as temperamental as her owner,” Jeffrey remarked.
“Or just as ill at ease around you,” I said. Turning to face my brother, I took a deep breath to settle my nerves into a more amiable disposition. Jeffrey granted me the mercy of holding his tongue in favor of leading me back outside. The sound of laughter resonated out from the open doorway as we approached his home. Two small girls emerged from inside, making a mad dash for where I stood.
I succumbed to a smile despite myself. Five and three years old respectively, Ivette and Ida wore simple dresses and had flowers in their hair they'd undoubtedly picked from the fields. In unison, both called out, one more articulate than the other, “Uncle Chris! Uncle Chris!”
Crouching down, I scooped them both into my arms and hefted them up in unison. They erupted into squeals of mirth, kissing my cheeks and causing me to laugh. “Now, if you maul your Uncle Christian, there won't be anything left of him afterward,” I said.
Ivette shook her head at me. “Silly Uncle C
hris, we aren't wolves,” she said.
“Ah, but you look ferocious like one.” My face scrunched when she touched noses with me. “Let me hear you growl.”
She pulled away, raising both hands to simulate claws. Her sister watched, mimicking the action, including when she attempted to snarl at me. My eyes widened, the grin barely suppressed as they giggled once more. “My word. That is a scary growl,” I said.
“Scarier than a wolf!” Ida exclaimed.
“Much more so.” Ignoring the way my brother smiled in the periphery, I set them both down, tousling their hair as I straightened to a stand. “Down with you beasts. Uncle Christian has been riding all night and needs something to eat.”
“Okay! Okay!” They each took one of my hands and tugged me along. Jeffrey chuckled, following close behind and shutting the door once we were all inside. The windows were open and the scent of fresh bread still lingered in the air, reminding me of the gnawing that had started in my stomach hours ago. Both girls released their hold on me when I approached a bench, allowing me to settle into place with a relieved sigh.
Jeffrey nodded at them. “Run along, you two,” he said. “Uncle Chris and I have things we want to talk about.”
The girls looked crestfallen at the thought of having to leave us alone. I bent enough to look Ivette in the eyes as she summoned a pout. “Talk with your sister about what games you'd like to play with me later,” I said, punctuating the comment by touching the tip of her nose with my finger.
She giggled, scrunching her nose and nodding. Placated enough for the time being, the girls bounded off, disappearing out the front door and undoubtedly into the fields. I sat back as the door slammed shut once more, tempted to frown when I caught Jeffrey glancing at the embroidered emblem on my chest. Out of implied duty, I removed my cloak and placed it beside me.
Still, the way he held himself even once he looked away caused me a moment's hesitation. I raised an eyebrow, clearing my throat as he produced a knife and cut into one of the loaves of bread. “You know, I allow the girls to call me Uncle Chris, but I really wish you wouldn't validate that,” I said, knowing how petulant I sounded and not apt to care.
Jeffrey huffed. “Are we going into this again?” he asked.
“My name is Christian. I'd think you'd be more mindful of that given the fact that mother named me.”
A derisive laugh sauntered past Jeffrey's lips. He fished in a cupboard for a plate and produced what looked to be dried bits of beef. “You hold onto that excuse as though you even remember her.” Two pieces of bread made their way onto the plate, with a sizable portion of meat. “Tell me, Christian, what have you done for the Lord lately?”
“Given him many a soul to judge.” When Jeffrey set the plate onto the table in front of me, our gazes met with equal amounts of frustration evident in the exchange. I frowned, picking up a piece of the bread and tearing at the crust. “I know my profession leaves a poor taste in your mouth.”
“That's one way of putting it.” He mirrored my frown as he sat across from me, watching me begin to eat. “I know neither mother, nor father, would've wanted you to exist like this.”
I shrugged, chewing first and swallowing before speaking. “Both of them are dead, Jeffrey.”
“It doesn’t change that they wanted what was best for you.” He rested an elbow on the table, pointing in the direction the girls had disappeared. “Every time I see you with those girls, it breaks my heart. You should have a family. You would make a good father, but not with this life you live.”
“Ah, the well-worn paths we tread when we speak.”
“Ones we will continue treading until you learn better. You lived a different life under this roof. I like to try to remind you of that.”
“And it suited me poorly.” I popped a piece of beef into my mouth and scowled at my brother. “Shall I counter as I normally do? You don't know anything about the life Father and I lived after you ran off?”
He laughed, glancing heavenward with the action. “Oh, right, the waking up in a different town every few days and never having any comfort or stability. Is that why you live the life of a rogue, Christian? Is it the part of you that resented the universe for taking Father away from us, or is it the part of you that resented me for trying to teach you something different?”
“Both. Naturally.” I flashed the most sarcastic grin I could fashion, finishing the bite in my mouth. “Are we finished with this part of the discussion now? If so, I would like to finish my meal in peace.”
“By all means.” Jeffrey extended a hand out toward me, prompting me onward. With a nod, I continued to eat despite how uncomfortable the room had become. We settled into this posture for what felt like hours, even after I finished off my food and Jeffrey rose to take the plate away. He leaned against the wall, watching me produce my dagger and start to pick at my nails. Finally, he broke the quiet. “So, out with it,” he said. “You were headed to the tree again. What brought you home this time?”
I fought the urge to tell him I hardly considered his place home. “Do you really want anything to do with this?” I asked, my gaze flicking up to meet his.
He rolled his eyes. “You end up telling me something anyway. I'm learning not to fight it.”
“Fair enough.” Stealing a glance into the other room, I ensured we were alone before reaching into my pocket with my free hand and producing the parchment I had taken from Lord Bertrand’s house. I held it up so Jeffrey could see the wax seal on the front. “Recognize the emblem?”
His disposition sobered. Walking to close the distance between us, he snatched the page in hand and unfolded it. “The flame within the circle. Father’s killers.” He looked up at me. “Where did you find this?”
“Inside a noble’s house. It would probably be best if you didn't know whose.”
“It would've been better if you hadn't gone looking in the first place.” He flipped it around, glancing at the back before handing it to me once more. “If his family finds out you and your band of... hired hands... were in his manor, you’ll suffer the loss of your head.”
“I doubt he'll work out who slipped into his house anytime soon.”
“So, he wasn’t one of those souls you sent to be judged?” Jeffrey arched an eyebrow at me. “This does nothing to make me less concerned for your welfare.”
“You behave like this is the first time I have killed and stolen.” Sighing, I slipped my knife back into its sheath and secured it back into place before pocketing the parchment as well. “He’s away on house affairs, Jeffrey. He'll eventually hear his guards deserted their post. Perhaps even discover that some letters are missing, but what does that matter? You’re missing the relevant point.”
“And what would that be?”
“I found another man of power associated with these mercenaries.”
My brother narrowed his eyes, the weight of his stare unrelenting and forcing my gaze away. “You're playing a dangerous game,” he finally said. “And I don’t think it’s worth it. What will you do if you ever stare Father’s killer in the eyes? Drive a sword through him and be on your merry way?”
A huff passed through my lips as Jeffrey sat back down. My eyes met his briefly, a form of fatigue threatening to settle on me I had learned not to indulge. “You never take any of this seriously.”
“No, I don’t, and for good reason. We've been over this a hundred times. We even opened that scroll Father gave you and studied the parchment inside. It made no sense to me the first time you showed it to me and it hasn't made sense any other time since.”
“I think because you continue to doubt what made it important. I swear to you, there was witchcraft behind what happened to Father. I have told you as such countless times.”
“And you sound no less mad, Christian, than you had when you first presented this foolish idea to me.”
“It is not foolish!” I pounded my first on his table and quickly retracted my hand. My gaze shifted to him, then to the far wall, my f
rown deepening. “You know, for such a religious man, you are very quick to dismiss the supernatural.”
“I simply refuse the idea that Father was killed by a practitioner of the dark arts.” Jeffrey paused, the volume of his words turning softer, as though that would make them any more winsome. “I think he was killed because he upset the wrong man and it finally caught up to him. The same way it’ll catch up to you if you’re not careful.”
My voice, in turn, became fraught with agitation. “I don't know what to make of you sometimes. You pretend that you care, and prod me to share my thoughts, but then you mock them the moment I speak them.” Regarding my brother again, I felt tears escape my eyes, my spirit shaken by a profound amount of melancholy. “You really make me wonder if you ever cared about Father.”
Jeffrey sighed. He reached forward, a hand settling on my shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Christian, please...” His gaze turned genuinely contrite. “You have to understand there're certain things in this world that I believe and some things I think are foolish stories and myths.”
“Then tell me why he was killed. Why did those mercenaries come after him?”
“I don't know, brother. I really, honestly don't.”
With a nod, I felt more like brushing the matter aside than pursuing it any further. I took another piece of bread and left the room to engage my nieces in some light-hearted play, waiting until my back was to Jeffrey before wiping away the moisture on my face. When Jeffrey's wife returned home, she greeted me with the same look of displeasure she always did, which only underscored how I felt about being there. As it stood, I didn't have an actual home. I hadn't in years.
Jeffrey begged me to stay, but in the middle of the night, I snuck from his house with a lit candle and wandered to my tree again. Rolling up my sleeves, I placed the small source of light aside, hoping its glow would be enough to do what I normally did by day. The wind kicked the flame around, but it held steady. Once I was certain it would not extinguish, I bent low and felt under an adjacent bush for the hand shovel I kept hidden there. Pulling it out, I then drove it into the ground to displace the first spadesful of earth.
