Blood and memory, p.9
Blood and Memory, page 9
Pil was one of a big family who hailed from the northwest. His father was a fisherman, as were his brothers, while his sisters and mother prepared and sold the catch. Everyone in their village was involved in the sea and its bounty, but Pil was the only member of his family who felt no calling for it. In fact, he would be the first to admit that he suffered the ocean sickness and hated anything to do with boats and fish. Saying such things was sacrilege in his village, so he suffered in silence, but despite trying so hard did a terrible job of mending nets. His father finally gave up on him and on one particular evening of high frustration asked a traveling monk whether he would take his youngest, good-for-nothing son with him and teach him the ways of Shar. “Perhaps he’ll be some use to us then and can pray for our safety and prosperity,” Pil had haltingly repeated to Ylena one day. The monk had agreed, and after traveling with the man for several months, Pil had discovered that he was good at his letters, but was also interested in doing Shar’s work. The kindly guardian had contacted his old friend Jakub at Rittylworth, and by year’s end, young Pil had found himself a new home and a new family, who welcomed him with love and patience. He had fit in easily and being the youngest had been spoiled with care and affection from the Brothers. Ylena could see that the love they had given him had manifested itself in Pil’s ebullience and his desire to do his god’s work with enthusiasm. She thanked her lucky stars that Pil had been so dreadful at fishing and had told him this not long ago, amusedly watching him blush and stammer.
And then there was Brother Jakub: calm, elderly, patient Jakub, with his searching eyes that seemed to see into the depths of her heart.
It was obvious he knew something of what had happened to her, and by whose hand, but he had never asked anything directly of her dark experiences. Perhaps Romen had given him information, but she suspected not. Her time with Romen told her that Koreldy was an intensely private man with secrets of his own, and one used to keeping them, be they his or someone else’s. There were moments on their journey from Pearlis when Romen reminded her of Wyl. Just now and then there were phrases he used or a way he might hold his head or comfort her when she could almost believe Wyl was still near her. Romen had explained that he had given his word to her brother, before he died, to save her from the dungeon. But she suspected he had not shared any of their dark background with anyone else. There was no need for the kind Brother Jakub and his fellow holy men to suffer her torments. That they offered sanctuary was more than enough.
Today felt no different from the others that had gone before. Despite the bright day, winter’s bite was still nipping at everyone’s heels, although the buds on the fruit trees and the promise of blossom suggested that spring was not far away. Ylena pulled her soft shawl more tightly around her. The mornings were still bitterly cold this far north and even the steaming creamed oats and oozing chunk of honeycomb she had swallowed gratefully earlier had not warmed her sufficiently. She shivered, relishing the thought of her daily soak in the soothing waters in the grotto.
Crossing the main courtyard, she smiled at two Brothers who dipped their heads toward her but did not break the morning silence, held until third bell, due any moment. She wondered where Pil was. He was normally skipping around her by this time, making her laugh with his tall stories.
Truly, it felt as though she had lived here among the Brothers for an age when in fact it was barely weeks.
Her boots clicked on the flagstones of the great arched cloisters. She turned her head, knowing Brother Tomas would be in the tiny courtyard to her left, where he lovingly tended the citrus bushes. The peel of the Akin fruit had healing properties, he had explained to her, and it was curiously at its most powerful in the morning. And so each day he was here at the same time, touching the fruit, testing it for readiness. She waved and he nodded back to her, holding up one of the bluish-green spheres, grinning. It was a good one obviously. Tomas had mentioned that he was fortunate if he could coax one fruit per week from the trees in season. They were one of nature’s more stubborn follies and one needed extraordinary patience to tend and harvest them. It was easy to be patient at the monastery, she thought, considering the sleepy, tranquil nature of the hamlet surrounding it.
Skipping down the few stairs from the cloisters and into a larger courtyard, Ylena realized she felt the brightest she had in a long time. “Happy” was not the word she would choose, but she felt she was almost ready to consider a life beyond Rittylworth and getting herself to Alyd’s people. The powerful Duke of Felrawthy would know what to do and after learning the fate of his son would surely help her to bring down Celimus…she was sure of it. If she could raise her own men from Argorn on the strength of the Thirsk name, then perhaps that would be all it would take. Ylena was convinced the Legion would not take up arms against them when it learned the truth behind the deaths of its general and its popular captain.
Third bell sounded and Ylena smiled; the silence for the day was over. Soon the Brothers would pour out of prayer and commence their day’s work. It occurred to her that she had meant to call in on Brother Farley and get a gargle for a gritty throat she had developed the previous night. Torn between wanting to step into the warm waters of the spring and not wanting to risk falling ill now that she felt so much better, Ylena hurriedly veered toward the old physic’s rooms and ran straight into Brother Jakub.
“Ah, my girl. You are a sight to gladden the heart of an old man.”
She hugged him. “Good morning, Brother Jakub. You’re not at morning prayers; are you ailing?”
His face crinkled into the warmth of his gentle smile. “No, child. There are some sick children in the village and I want to speak with Brother Farley before he gets too engrossed in his day’s toil. I’d like him to look in on them this morning.” She nodded with understanding. “And you?”
She touched her neck. “Sore throat.”
“Well, my dear mother used to say if you gad about with wet hair on cold days you’re bound to catch a chill,” he said, wagging a finger in what was clearly a fair imitation of an old woman. She laughed at his impression and he squeezed her hand, delighting in her joy. “How good it is to hear you laugh.”
Ylena gave a rueful expression. “There are moments when I can hardly believe how fine it is to be alive. I catch myself smiling and I feel almost guilty.”
“You mustn’t,” Jakub counseled. “This is the human spirit restoring itself, child. It is how we heal. Let your spirits soar when they’re of a mind to, Ylena…trust them, for it means they have found hope again. Hope is a powerful weapon.”
She nodded, feeling tears welling at this man’s goodness and generosity.
He sensed her emotion and, not wishing to upset her bright mood, changed the subject. “Is Pil attending you well, Ylena?”
“Too well, Brother Jakub!” she replied with mock despair.
“Ah, he’s a good boy and takes his role of protector very seriously.”
“I know. He’s been most kind…all of you have. But I must think of leaving.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” he said softly. “Take your time. Be well.”
She took her chance. “I shouldn’t hold you up, Brother Jakub,” and he shook his head slightly to show it was of no consequence, “but I wonder if I can ask you whether you’ve heard from Romen?”
“I’ve received no word,” he replied, guiding her into the warmth of the physic’s chamber. The other man was busy measuring out powders and breaking chunks of dried herbs into smaller pieces. He muttered to himself, hardly noticing them.
“Then may I impose on you further by asking about that important item he left with you for safekeeping.” Jakub’s expression grew grave. “It’s all right,” she said. “I can talk about it now. I’m much stronger.”
“I know you are, child. You are a marvel and it’s not difficult to see that you have been grown from strong stock.”
“Did you know my father?” she asked, surprised.
Jakub nodded toward his fellow brother to give them a moment. “Of him, of course. I regret I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting your fine father, or brother, in person. They were good men, as I hear it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Where is the head?”
He hugged her. “It’s safe. In the grotto.”
Ylena flinched at the realization that she had been sharing these weeks with Alyd. “Where?” she asked.
“There’s a false back to the cupboard where we keep the candles. I hid it there. It should be well preserved as Romen requested.”
She was going to say more, but the words were choked off by the sounds of men yelling. Frowning, Brother Jakub told her to remain where she was as he hurried outside the chamber to see what was happening. A few moments later he ran back in, face ashen.
He grabbed her hand. “Ylena, hide behind this counter.”
“Whatever’s going on?”
“Riders. King’s men!” It was Pil bursting into the room, a look of terror on his face. “They’re hurting the Brothers.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief and rising panic gripped at the throat whose soreness she had forgotten in an instant. “What—”
“Do as I say,” Jakub ordered, his voice hard now. “Hide, both of you, and as soon as you can climb out of the window here, make for the grotto. Your passage will be hidden. You know what to do, child,” he said somberly to Ylena before glancing toward Pil and saying to him: “Now is when you prove your worth, lad. Keep her safe. Get her away from here as soon as you can.”
“Jakub!” she began, voice trembling. “It’s me they’ve come for, isn’t it?”
“But they’ll never find you, my girl. Not so long as I draw breath.” He nodded at his colleague. “Come, Farley. Be brave now. We have nothing to share with these men.” Jakub gave Ylena a searching look, kissed her briefly and whispered for her to be brave, and then he took the dismayed Farley’s hand and together the two old men walked out into the bright day.
Ylena was too stunned to move until she heard the gruff sound of strangers’ voices.
“Come on!” Pil hissed, dragging her around the counter.
They ducked behind Farley’s weighing bench and climbed beneath his shelves. Ylena held her breath as she heard boots clatter into the room. Pil put his finger to his lips, more out of a need to comfort himself, she was sure, for his eyes were tightly shut.
She heard Jakub’s voice. It was gentle, filled with the contrived confusion of an old man. “There’s no woman in our monastery, son,” he offered innocently, presumably to a soldier. “But by all means you’re welcome to search…” His voice trailed off as they all left the chamber again. Mercifully the men had done only an initial cursory search of rooms.
“They’ll be back,” Pil whispered.
“I want to see what they’re doing,” she mouthed back.
He shook his head vehemently. “I promised Jakub.”
Ylena knew he was right, just as she knew that these intruders had come for her and if they found her she might not live to enjoy her revenge. “I know you did, but if this is about me I need to know what’s happening.”
Pil bowed his head, beaten. “Perhaps we can see from the small tower,” he suggested.
The small tower was a disused area of the monastery that had once been a special place of prayer for Brothers choosing to live for a while in Solitary. Part of the floor had collapsed a few years back and Jakub had declared it too dangerous and the tower had been closed. The lack of Brothers looking to spend time in Solitary meant that its repair had still not been attempted.
“We can get there easily enough,” he added cautiously, “and the grotto can be accessed through the cheese pantry if we have to.”
Pil climbed out from under the counter and motioned that the way was clear. They opened the small window—fortunately both were slight of frame—and wriggled out.
“I didn’t know you could get in from there,” she whispered, looking about her as they tiptoed across the small clearing toward the tower and closer to where they could now hear voices.
“Secret entrance,” Pil admitted, his face a mask of worry.
“Quick! Someone’s coming.”
The pair hurtled through the small tower’s doorway with barely a moment to spare. Leaning back against the stone wall, they breathed hard and silently, fearing the sound of boots crunching on the small pebbles. The boots stopped outside the door.
“Did you check in here?” a voice asked.
Ylena held her breath now, praying to Shar to keep them hidden.
“Yes. It’s a ruin anyway. No one there.”
“Right. Put a bar against the door so no one gets in…or out. Then all our boys know this one’s clear.”
“At once.”
Footsteps trailed off. Ylena looked toward the pale-faced Pil and appreciated for the first time how very young he was, at most fifteen. She would have to be strong now, just for him.
She took his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find a way out, Pil. Trust me,” she said with such confidence that she surprised herself. Wondering where all this new courage was coming from, she remembered Jakub’s words about the human spirit and hope. Not hope, she told herself, there was no hope with Alyd and Wyl dead. Just hate and revenge…and determination.
“Come on, lead the way,” she encouraged.
Pil gave a thin, nervous smile and, holding on to her hand, began to ascend the narrow, winding staircase. Slits in the wall gave air and Ylena felt a new fear claw at her heart.
“I smell smoke, Pil.”
He said nothing, just kept climbing. At the top he pointed to some of the rotten timbers.
“Be very careful,” he said softly.
“Are you all right?” she ventured.
“They were beating some of the Brothers,” he said, his eyes glazing with tears. “I’m not sure I want to see any more.”
Ylena swallowed hard. How could she have been so insensitive? The men could not be Legionnaires. She knew the soldiers too well; they would never perform this sort of atrocity.
“But you know they’re King’s men?”
“They have his banner,” the young man said.
“Then Celimus must have amassed a small army of paid mercenaries…no Legionnaire would participate in something as heinous as this,” she assured. “Wait here, I’ll look.”
Pil did not argue. He pointed out where she must tread and she crossed the small area of floor with ease. Only now did she allow her gaze to take in what was happening below.
At her first strangled sound, Pil slumped to the floor. He did not need to see it to know the world he knew and loved was being smashed. Ylena’s throat closed in terror and the wind blowing through the broken shutters of the tower confirmed that fires had been lit. The monastery was burning.
Men she recognized were lying in contorted positions in the gardens, their hoes and spades carelessly resting around them. They had died where they had been working; no warning, just a sword through the belly. Others, more bloodied, had tried to escape and been hacked down. Some had arrows protruding from their backs.
She covered her mouth with her hands when she recognized the slumped figure of Brother Farley. He was still alive, barely, but one of his hands was gone and he was looking at the bleeding stump, bewildered. How will he measure out his powders now? she thought idiotically, knowing he would die from shock within minutes. Others were still being interrogated and in the middle of them was the tiny figure of Brother Jakub, rallying their spirits and trying to keep his human flock—what was left of it—from fighting back or giving offense. She could see him pleading with the strangers, begging for mercy for his men of Shar.
It was when he was soon after singled out and nailed to a makeshift cross that Ylena knew if she did nothing else but kill Celimus, she would have achieved something worthwhile with her life. She choked back the scream that almost flew from her throat and watched the perpetrators throw something from a flask at Jakub. A lit torch was flung toward the frail figure and he ignited. Now she did let out a heartfelt sob.
“Jakub,” she whispered.
Pil was crying, his hands covering his ears, but she knew he had seen how her lips moved and that the anguish in her expression told him all he needed to know. She did not need to see any more carnage to know that these men had not come to find her. They had come to kill her. They knew she was at Rittylworth and so they were persecuting its community to get the truth of where she was being held safe.
They would not find her. If only to avenge the deaths of these beautiful, helpless men, she would get away. She would frustrate Celimus’s plans in every way she could before she worked out how to bring about his downfall.
She moved to where her young friend crouched. She pushed back her fears for his sake. He must not know how terrified she was or he would never have the courage to do what she needed of him now. Her voice was steady and deep with anger. “Come, Pil. We must go.”
“Where?” he sobbed.
“To the grotto first. I have something to fetch from it and we will also be safe there. We can make our plans.”
“Is everyone dead?” he mumbled.
“I don’t know.” It was a poor answer but was at the very least vaguely truthful. She knew it would not help their cause if she told him all that she had seen. “We must hurry.”
“We can’t get out,” he reminded her, trying to stop his tears.
“Yes we can. We’ll go out through this window behind you—they can’t see us.”
He looked at her as though she had lost her mind.
She stated the obvious. “We can’t stay here. They’ve barred us in and they might come back and look through all of these places again.”
“It’s too dangerous across the roof.”
