The Exiled Monk

by James T Wood

  Peek recalled the overwhelming grace and beauty of forgiveness and the awe struck wonder he felt at the songs of the world flowing through him. How was it possible for the monk’s laws to bring him so much pain while The Melody described by their scriptures offered so much hope? Peek found his feet moving toward the scriptorium to ask Locambius about it, but then realized that he had no words left to share. Peek’s next inclination was to find Duhlga, even though she never gave him straight answers, her questions always seemed to realign his thoughts. But the memory of Duhlga in life brought Peek back around to her meaningless death and the circle began again.

  From time to time Dray would approach and walk with Peek. Sometimes they held hands, at other times they just walked side by side. A few, brief attempts at comforting words left Peek raw and Dray frustrated. She finally stopped speaking and just walked with Peek. He loved her for it. With everyone else he needed to defend himself or justify his thoughts, but with Dray he could simply hurt and know that she was there beside him. It was the best comfort he received, but still his heart bled for the loss of Duhlga.

  Late in the morning Bracius tried to stop Peek and get him to eat. He just stepped around the monk and continued pacing, staring death at the bound raiders. After a few fruitless attempts, Bracius left and returned with Rudi. Peek couldn’t easily step around that much girth and was forced to stop and look at the monks.

  “You need to eat, young sir,” Rudi said with a half-smile. “It won’t do you any good to starve. Is that what Duhlga would want?”

  Peek remembered Duhlga bringing him food what seemed like years ago. Even just a few short weeks had changed Peek’s world completely. Duhlga had been no small part of that change with her insight and kindness. Peek felt his rage subsiding and in its wake was nothing. Not just a lack of emotion, but a gaping emptiness that threatened to consume him. He teetered on the edge of falling in and never getting back out.

  Rudi reached out to steady him and led him over to where Bracius had prepared some bread, fruit, and cheese. Rudi lowered Peek to the ground and Bracius put food in his hands. Together they helped Peek to eat as he stared a thousand yards away without seeing anything at all. He chewed tasteless food, his body moved but his mind drifted away, hoping for something else.

  “What are we going to do?” Rudi asked.

  “I don’t know. Locambius is… grieving,” Bracius rubbed his bald scalp nervously, “We can’t hope to defeat that many raiders. Plus they still hold Adrocus.”

  “This monastery is defensible. If we don’t open the gates we should be able to stay here for quite some time,” Rudi mused.

  “And what does that get us?” Bracius pointed at him, “Who will come to rescue us? We will be running low on food while the Markay can just take over the village and live contently.”

  “We can’t fight and we can’t not fight,” Rudi summed up the smaller man’s rumbling appraisal.

  “Exactly,” Bracius shook his head.

  “What if we run?” Peek looked up at the two monks standing over him.

  “What?” Rudi asked.

  “If we run away, get back into the forests and mountains where the raider’s ships won’t take them, we can survive,” Peek recalled the plan that he and Locambius had hatched earlier.

  “But what about the village? What about the monastery?” Bracius questioned.

  “It’s the monastery or our lives,” Peek felt restored by the food and rose to his feet.

  The two monks looked at each other for a long moment before looking back at Peek.

  “I will get Darella and… attempt to get Locambius. We must hold counsel,” Bracius hurried away leaving Peek and Rudi on the sun warmed grass of the monastery yard.

  “You run?” Svag sneered.

  Peek ignored him and continued chewing out of habit and necessity.

  Svag snarled words in the Markay tongue and his translator gave them voice, “If you flee, you will lose all of your scriptures.”

  “What?” Rudi spun around.

  “Your scriptures are on our ship.”

  “Who are you?” Peek found a spark of curiosity amid his grief.

  “He is Svag, brother-prince to the king of the Markay.”

  Twenty-Three

  Together they sat under the tree learning the reed pipes. Darrah was the first to connect The Melody with the pipes. She played a small fragment of one of the songs she heard and the pool before her erupted with bubbles. Startled, she took the pipes from her lips and the bubbles ceased. Talib stopped and came over to her.

  “What did you do?”

  “I…I don’t know exactly.”

  “What did you play?”

  “I played a portion of The Melody, just a bit of the song that I was hearing.”

  Talib cocked his head to the side and then raised his own set of pipes and played. The gentle breeze stiffened into a wind and then became a gale with the notes of Talib. As soon as he stopped the wind returned to normal.

  “Pain reveals your true self; avoiding pain masks it.” Wicus of Amhran Domhan

  W

  hen they gathered at the table Locambius looked worse than Peek had ever seen him. His hair hung in gray, stringy tangles from his head and beard, half hanging over his face rather than being held back in a neat braid. His robe was wrinkled and askew with food-spots down the front. He slumped on the stone bench around the table rather than sitting upright and attentive. The transformation was a wound to Peek and the other monks. They all touched Locambius gingerly as if probing a cut to determine its severity.

  Peek looked around to see who would lead. Rudi and Bracius were obvious choices. They had the wisdom and skill to set a true course, but they also seemed happy enough to remain as lieutenants rather than assume the weight of command. Darella was strong and capable, yet she contradicted Locambius as often as she agreed with him. She could lead, but would it be in the right direction? Peek then looked at himself. After the proclamations of both Cor and Locambius, he thought about what it would mean for him to lead. He didn’t have the strength of Darella, or the experience of Bracius, or the wisdom of Rudi, but Peek judged himself to be a potential leader — at some point in the future. For now he had to share what Svag had said.

  “They have the scriptures on their ship,” Peek said.

  Locambius looked up from his daze and breathed rather than said, “What?”

  “Svag told me that if we didn’t negotiate they would leave and we would never have a chance to see the scriptures again,” Peek addressed the words to Locambius but pitched them to be heard by all.

  “Well,” Bracius rubbed the stubble forming on his bald head, “I guess we can’t flee now.”

  “Certainly not,” Locambius said, with a cracking voice.

  “Nor can we withstand a full assault,” Darella objected.

  “We are trapped again,” Rudi said.

  “The raiders need your scriptures, right?” Peek started, “And they need a monk to translate them? So if we sent a boat out there they wouldn’t immediately sink it. That would give us a chance to steal back the scriptures.”

  “If we can’t withstand a full assault, how would we be able to escape from the clutches of the Markay fleet?” Darella looked at Peek with challenge, but also with respect.

  “We would have to disable them; keep them from fighting back. Could we destroy their horns?”

  “Maybe,” Bracius mused, “we might be able to melt them down or even just fill them up with mud and then dry it.”

  “Could you do that silently? Without anyone noticing?” Peek put his hands on the table and leaned forward.

  “Quietly, yes,” Bracius grew animated with the plans of war, “I would need someone to cover my playing—”

  “I can do that,” Rudi cut him off, “none can resist my regaling.”

  They all laughed at the truth of Rudi’s words.

  “I would also need to know where the horns are kept,” Bracius finished with a good-spirited reb
uking look for Rudi.

  “I can find them,” Peek said.

  “No,” Locambius and Darella spoke in unison.

  “What?” Peek stared at them.

  “You are not going. You are not a monk yet,” Locambius said.

  “But I am powerful in the magic. I can help. I came up with this—”

  “Enough!” Locambius slapped the table with his hands and his voice regained its tone of command.

  Peek sank back to his seat.

  “I cannot allow you to risk yourself,” Locambius’ voice dropped into a tone of care, “If you are to lead the monks after I’m gone, you must survive. We cannot risk both our scriptures and our future leadership at once.”

  “Don’t load all your treasures into the same cart, as they say,” Rudi added.

  Peek swallowed hard and looked at his hands on the table. The conversation went on around him as bees around a hive. At first Peek felt a wash of relief, but in its wake came the realization that he was simply running away again. No more. No more! “No more.”

  “What?” Darella turned to Peek who hadn’t realized that the words were spoken aloud.

  He looked at her first, and then around the table at the other monks. Rudi’s red cheeks shone over his voluminous beard and, despite the danger, his eyes sparkled with mischief. Bracius had taken to rubbing his head almost constantly as he worked through the plan. Locambius stared at Peek with an unreadable expression. His eyes were narrowed and brow furrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward as if a smile fought for freedom. Peek rolled his shoulders back and sat up straight on the bench before speaking in a clear voice, “I won’t run anymore. Locambius, if you want me to lead, I must lead, not hide.”

  Locambius cleared his throat but didn’t speak. Peek expected a rebuke but when the battle of emotions finally left the face of the monastic leader, he looked at Peek as if there were no one else around the table, “Young sir, you heard me speak of Fericus, but you haven’t heard why. He was my brother monk long ago, he and Plafius. We grew up in the same village. We were called by the same monk and trained in the same monastery. But when the raiders came it was Fericus that died. An arrow took him in the throat.” For a moment he stopped and looked at the stone of the table. Peek shifted his weight on the bench. Bracius cleared his throat. Locambius continued, “I lost Fericus to the raiders and, in a way, Plafius too. You don’t want to run anymore, young sir, as I did not, but today I can choose a different path. Stay with your young lady. Stay with the rest of the monks. Stay with the villagers. Stay and live. Stay and lead,” tears rose up in his eyes as he said the last words, “Stay for Duhlga.”

  Peek hated Locambius in that moment. A flash of anger pulsed through him and then evaporated. He was right. Peek could not leave Dray. And though he had power, he lacked skill and subtlety with the magic. His brute force might push back the Markay as they stormed through a breach, but he might also pass out when he forgot to breathe again. Peek nodded his surrender, not trusting himself to speak in that moment.

  “It’s decided then,” Darella said, “We will begin at sundown. Prepare yourselves brothers. This is for the survival of our order.”

  Peek watched as they removed Svag from the collection of raiders. They told him they were ready to talk — which Peek considered close to lying, but they seemed to think was permissible. Peek followed them down to the beach where they climbed aboard the raider’s longboat, which had been righted and transported to the beach by a few monks and villagers. Svag questioned how they would travel before Bracius pulled out a whistle and began to play wind. It pushed them off the coarse sand and out toward the flotilla of ships at the mouth of the cove.

  With no better vantage from which to watch them, Peek went to the listening place hoping for The Melody to bring the answer that he had yet to receive.

  “I thought you’d left,” Peek said as he approached.

  “Supposta’’ Plafius half-turned, sloshing ale from his loosely held tankard.

  Peek stopped cold. Every instinct told him to run away, but some logic in his brain reminded him that this was Plafius and not Vlek. Drunkenness did not affect everyone the same way.

  “Where’s Dray?” Plafius asked.

  “At the monastery with the monks and villagers,” Peek said.

  “’Sheesh good?” Plafius slurred.

  “Yes, she’s fine, but the rest… They went to get the scriptures back,” Peek didn’t even know if the old monk could understand, but he felt the need to tell him anyway, “Locambius, Rudi, Bracius, and Darella. They’re on the raiders’ ship now. They’re going to try to disable the horns and escape with the scriptures tonight.”

  “’Sa… gooplan; Ahhope they win.”

  “What’s so important about the scriptures?” Peek had never been able to get a satisfactory answer from Locambius, “Why would they risk their lives for some words?”

  Plafius sighed and blinked again before taking a long drink, “They’re everything.” Peek could tell he made an effort to speak clearly. “They tell what, ahmean, howta follow The Melody. It’s what alla monks learned. What the first ones knew.”

  “The first ones?”

  “Thaones that discovered The Melody. They started our order. Taught usta listen.”

  “So they were just people?” Peek sat next to Plafius on the bench, “The scriptures are just the writings of people?”

  “Ya, but good people.”

  “Locambius acts like The Melody wrote each scroll,” Peek shook his head trying to reconcile the two stories.

  “Iddid.”

  “What?” Peek stared agape at the sodden old apostate, “You just told me that people wrote your scriptures.”

  “Ya,” Plafius hiccuped and couldn’t stop. The conversation ceased for a time while he fought to control his diaphragm.

  Peek looked out at the ships. The longboat had arrived and the monks had climbed aboard. The sun was sinking below the waves in the west and the raiders began to light lanterns that shone out of the darkness like stars.

  “Where’sa good fishin’?” Plafius asked finally.

  Peek blinked a few times trying to strain meaning from the words, “What?”

  “Howda ya know whereta fish?”

  Perhaps playing along would reveal a point, or at least pass the time while the monks raided the raiders, “I learned the best places by trying them.”

  “You tryem all?”

  “Uh, no,” Peek turned back to the sea already dismissing the drunken ramblings.

  “Whynot?”

  “People told me where good fishing was,” Peek shrugged, “so I went there first.”

  Plafius swallowed and took a deep breath as if he were attempting to settle his stomach, “Were they always right?”

  Peek didn’t know where he was going with this and was starting to grow impatient with the slurred questions, “No, but most of the time they were.”

  “How’sat?”

  “Well I guess they learned from experience,” a glimmer of meaning started to show through the fog of ale.

  “Anyou coultell me whereta fish?”

  “Yes,” Peek finally saw where he was going with this, “I took what people told me and checked it out for myself. If it was wrong I ignored it; if it was right I used it.”

  “Ifya wrodit down, and lotsa people checkedit, it’d be mostly accurate, no?” Plafius elbowed him playfully and grinned.

  “I suppose so,” Peek had to shift his opinion of these scriptures. Locambius treated them like they were a cousin to The Melody itself, but if what Plafius said was true they might be almost that important.

  “Yup,” Plafius hiccuped again and then slouched down. After a few moments he started snoring.

  All things considered, Peek preferred a drunk Plafius to a drunk Vlek any day. He looked at the ships and couldn’t make anything out. They floated at anchor like drowned rats, black against the darkening blue of the water. When the first stars came out, Peek decided to try
the breathing exercise to help calm his mind while he waited. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

  The snoring of Plafius next to him at first interrupted his rhythm, but soon Peek found the pace and lined his breathing up with the old monk. The glove fit well and moved easily now. Peek slipped into meditation and found a core of peace in the chaos. The flurry of thoughts in his mind slowly spun away and evaporated. When a worry about Locambius or Dray or Plafius or the raiders or Vlek or potential leadership tried to land on him, he plucked it off and released it into the breeze. The music of the listening place soothed him and called out to him. It was a lullaby pulling him downward to join Plafius in sleep. At first Peek resisted, but The Melody enveloped him in calm. He slipped away.

  Locambius was on his knees with Svag standing over him. The old monk held his hands up toward the raider prince in a pleading gesture. Behind him were Rudi, Bracius, Darella and Adrocus.

  “No negotiate. No bring Karl.”

  “I did not know that Karl was your only translator. Please let us talk.”

  Svag reached out and gripped Locambius by the wrists. He lifted the smaller man into the air like one might lift a sack. Svag dropped Locambius so he landed on his feet and then turned to walk away. Throwing a few words over his shoulder, “Talk in cabin.”