Page 5 of Thomas


  She quickened her step as she scanned the street ahead. A cold gust sent a chill down her neck, and she drew her collar closer. As she walked, she kept her eyes moving, watching the alleyways as she passed. A woman alone could not afford carelessness; watching Franz die had taught her that.

  A dark lump in the alley to her left caught her attention. She kept walking even as her mind sorted over what she had seen. Was that a dog on the ground? A person? It was too small to be an adult, a child perhaps? Commonsense bade her to keep moving regardless. That had to be a child. She stopped. The harsh realities of life had taught her to avoid getting involved in things that didn’t concern her, but inside she was still a compassionate woman. Damn it!

  Turning she returned to the alley way, cautiously approaching the odd bundle. A lock of blond hair spilled out onto the ground at one end. Before her hand reached the rough blanket, she knew it was a child. Tugging the edge of the blanket she saw the face of a small boy. Blue lips made his plight clear, the child was freezing to death. It’s a miracle he’s still breathing now. She knew there was very little time. Carefully, she lifted the child from the ground, cradling his head. He weighed surprisingly little, and could not have been more than three or four years of age.

  Holding the child firmly she broke into a careful jog. Fortunately, she’d always been athletic, and her strong legs carried her quickly down the road. The shops on either side of the narrow street were already closed, but ahead she could see a church. She recognized the familiar design, her family venerated Badon, and all of his buildings shared a similar form. With renewed vigor, she hurried to the main gate.

  Of course, it was locked as well, but she knew someone had to be on duty within. After pounding on the door for several minutes a small window in the door opened. “Stop your pounding! What do you want?” The voice that issued forth sounded annoyed.

  “I need your help, I have a small child, he's freezing. Please let me in...,” she tried to keep her voice calm, but the urgency was clear.

  “Go home, the temple is closed for the night.”

  “I am from another town, please you have to help me, I found this child in the street.”

  “Do you have payment?” She could see an old man's face peering at her.

  “What? No! I just got here, this isn't even my child! Are you going to help him or not?” she asked.

  The small window closed with a snap. For a moment Islana stared at it in shock, until finally a red rage grew inside her. All the injustice she had witnessed, at home and on the road, built within her, until the storm within seemed greater than the one brewing in the skies above.

  A small cough broke her from her violent reverie. The sound was weak, almost pathetic, not the cough of a child struggling to recover. The sound was more reminiscent of someone's dying gasp. He's going to die! Right here in my arms, just feet from help. The child's hands were icy in her grip and a sense of hopelessness swept over her.

  “It’s ok little one, it’s ok..,” she spoke softly, as if talking to an infant, as much to reassure herself as the child. Reaching down she pulled out her long knife, the only weapon she had on her. Trying not to think of what she was doing to her only clothes, she cut a ragged gash in her tunic and undershirt, from neck to waist. The wind was quick to take advantage, causing her to gasp for a moment as the cold air hit her bare skin. Working as quickly as she could, she unbundled the small boy and carefully put him against her chest. It was like placing a cold stone there. Wrapping his blanket around her mid-section she tied him in place there against her belly, hoping it would be enough to warm him.

  The next hour was a cold misery. As if to further her torment the sky opened up and began to rain. The cold water slowly seeped through her cloak, leaving her wet and shivering before long. She went from door to door, trying each one. None were open, few bothered even to answer her pleas, but she refused to give up.

  At last she came to a large wooden door, carved with symbols of the Morningflower. Not daring to hope, she began ringing the bell that hung next to the door. Moments later, she heard a deep voice from the other side. “Aye, I hear ye, hold yer horses!” A face appeared in the door's small window. Coarse features and a very hairy face looked through the window. Whoever it was seemed to be stretching to reach the window, his lower face and chin were completely hidden.

  “Hmph! Are ye daft lassie? It’s pouring down tonight!” Granite eyes swept over her, capturing the scene. Suddenly he was gone, and she heard the bolt draw back. The door opened and standing there was the shortest, broadest man she had ever seen. Clad in a leather hauberk, his beard was impressive beyond belief. “Get inside! You'll freeze yer tits off girl!” His gruff voice brought her back to the present. Too tired to be angry at his rough remark she moved into the warm foyer. After the biting wind outside it felt like a furnace, albeit a welcome one.

  “I found this child, he's half frozen, I fear he will...,” she began.

  He cut her off, “Hang on, let me get someone.” As he spoke, an elderly man walked in.

  “What's all the fuss?” The man's bushy eyebrows went up as he noticed Islana. “Over here girl, let’s get you warmed up, and let me see the boy.” Ushering her into another room he helped her onto a soft pallet. Most likely a sleeping place for the door guard.

  Islana removed her cloak, grateful to be rid of its sodden weight. Unwrapping the blanket, she drew the boy out and laid him near the fire. His breathing seemed unsteady, but he was noticeably warmer after his time bundled against her. A weak cough rose from his thin blue lips.

  “We've got to get him undressed, those wet clothes are only making things worse.” The old man began removing the boy's coarse tunic and rubbing his hands to help warm them. At this point Islana became aware of another presence in the room. The dwarf was talking to a young man. He was dressed in a simple brown robe, but something about him drew her eyes. Her stare caught his attention, and he met her gaze with warm brown eyes. A second later he ducked out of the room.

  Turning back to the child, she was relieved to see that he was still breathing. The old man had wrapped him in a warm blanket and was now looking over at her. “Will he be all right?” she asked.

  “I'm not sure, the Abbot is out at the moment, and none of our better healers are here at present. We'll do the best we can and trust the goddess.” The old man's eyes drifted downward. Something was odd about his expression. What is he looking at? She thought to herself.

  Glancing down, she knew immediately. Her chest was bare and exposed, her breasts responding to the cold air in the normal fashion. A lesser woman would have panicked with embarrassment, but Islana came from a long line of noble blood. She would not be debased, despite her nudity. Straightening up gracefully, she ignored his stare and turned away modestly. A few choice words came to mind, but she decided to be polite instead, “Sir, if you would be so kind as to find a shirt or robe for me?”

  “Miss, I think this will help.” She had been looking over her shoulder at the old man when she stood up. This voice came from the other direction. In front of her stood the young man in the brown robe again, he held a large blanket toward her. His eyes were firmly fixed on her own and there was no hint of mockery in his face, just honest reassurance. He lifted the blanket to cover her nakedness. For a moment, she held his eyes, yet he never looked down. Oddly enough this made her more embarrassed than the old man's ogling. Breaking away from his gaze, she took the blanket, her cheeks flushing.

  “Thomas, this child has the plague!” The old man was still examining the boy.

  “What?” Islana’s voice sounded too high in her own ears.

  “We need Father Whitmire,” said the young man. He seemed to be talking to himself.

  “He's not here!” The old man seemed quite alarmed. “We've got to do something quick, or this will be all over the temple!”

  “Calm down, let me fetch Sir Brevis, I'm sure he can heal this. If not, we'll find another way.” Thomas looked at Islana, “Please
rest, I'll be back shortly.” So saying, he left the room.

  After he had gone, the dwarf spoke up, “Want some food? Ye must be starved.”

  As a matter of fact, she was hungrier than she could ever remember being, “Yes, thank you, I appreciate the kindness.”

  The compliment had the desired effect, and Grom blushed slightly, “I'll get ye a bowl of stew.”

  In due course Thomas returned, followed by an older man. The man behind him was also dressed in a plain robe, although this one was white with red piping at the hem and sleeves. Despite his simple garb, he moved with a deadly grace. There was something about him that reminded her of a coiled spring. When he reached over to examine the boy, she noticed several fine scars crossing his forearm, and his hands were large and callused.

  Kneeling, Sir Brevis bowed his head, as if in prayer. Then he brought his hands up and laid them upon the child's small form. Islana felt something, there was nothing visible, but she could feel a certain warmth suffusing the room. It was a feeling reminiscent of a mother's embrace. After a moment, he rose, and stepped back. The child's breathing was easier now, his lips a more normal pink; he appeared to be sleeping.

  Sir Brevis turned, and she felt his discerning eyes watching her. “What is your name child?”

  Islana felt unsure, she knew this man was of noble birth, his speech and bearing had already given that away. His tone made her feel small for a moment, as if she were in her father's house, though he had none of her father's condescension about him. “Islana, and I've already reached my majority.” The words held a double meaning, first that she was no longer a child, second that she wouldn't accept being treated as one.

  Brevis reached out, grasping her arm, lifting it he squeezed slightly, then moved her sleeve up to check her upper arm. She felt for all the world like a prize mare being valued for sale. “I'll not be handled like some prize!” She jerked her arm back.

  “You have spirit too.” Sir Brevis smiled, amused, but she mistook his meaning. Her arm came up of its own accord. Striking like a snake as she slapped Sir Brevis, or rather she would have, but his hand caught her own.

  Her strength surprised him, though he wouldn't admit as much. His hand was stinging where it had caught hers. Then surprise lit his face, and a small grunt escaped his lips. Her other hand, now a fist, had struck him squarely in the midsection.

  Islana's hand hurt. The man's stomach felt as though it were made of iron. Glaring at him she considered her next attack, but he released her other hand and stepped back. “Peace lady, peace, I mean you no ill will.” He was laughing now. Why is he laughing?

  She had dropped the blanket.

  Snatching it up from the ground she backed away. She was properly furious now.

  Sir Brevis spoke again, “I know your father.” Those words brought her to a halt, and she felt a cold chill run down her spine. “Surely you heard me, Islana Eisler,” he added, emphasizing the words, making sure she heard him clearly.

  “How did you?” Shut up! You're making it worse, she inwardly berated herself. “I will take my leave now and leave the child in your care.” Backing up, she retrieved her wet cloak from the floor, and her long-knife along with it. She gauged the distance to the door in case they tried to prevent her exit.

  “I know much that you would do well to learn, Lady Eisler,” said Brevis, stressing the last word. “I know that you have been traveling alone for over a month; a noblewoman on the road without an escort. Yet you seem whole and unharmed, no small feat.

  “I know that you are exceedingly strong for a woman, and your bones tell a tale of greater strength to come. I know that you took a small child from the street, and in the cold rain, you cut your fine garments up to share your warmth.

  “What you need to know is this: You have come to the right house. This is a house of mercy and kindness. I do not serve your father, nor would I, were I free to do so. I serve a power far greater than any earthly lord.

  “Stay here and I offer you sanctuary. Live here and you will learn what it is you seek. Your father's will has no power in this place,” finished at last, Sir Brevis waited.

  Islana felt foolish, she had misjudged his intentions. Worse, she had no money, no place to stay, and she had destroyed her only clothes. She'd spent the last hours in the cold, trying to save a dying child. Now she had attacked the first man to help. Her frustration was so great that it nearly brought her to tears, but her pride would not accept such weakness. “I think I've made a mistake here,” she admitted.

  Looking down for a moment, she thought over her options, “I accept your offer, and I'd like to apologize for my own rudeness.” The words were not easy to say, but she would not owe a man anything, not even an apology.

  Chapter 6

  Humility

  Thomas’ training had changed over the last year. Gone were the math and reading exercises, replaced with more specific instruction relating to the practices of Delwyn’s faith. Many of the boys he had come to know were gone now, off to learn their trades or enter the military. The only ones left near his age were the other novitiates, those who had chosen to enter the priesthood.

  The rituals and practices were interesting to Thomas, but he found that he enjoyed the meditative training more. At those times, he could almost feel Sarah’s presence; it helped him to reconcile his past, with the knowledge of her true identity. He was careful to call her Delwyn during training, but inwardly, she remained Sarah to him. If she wanted me to call her ‘Delwyn’ she should have introduced herself that way. The very thought was blasphemous probably, but unlike most, he knew the goddess had a sense of humor.

  As his training progressed he found himself with more free time, but Father Whitmire had planned for that fact and soon filled his spare hours with secretarial work. This provided him with a better understanding of the day to day affairs of the temple, which might have been Whitmire’s intention from the beginning. Thomas had learned not to underestimate the older man.

  Sitting at a wooden desk in the Abbot’s office, Thomas glanced out the window. In the yard he could see the guard and paladin candidates performing their morning exercise routine. Two figures drew his attention, as usual, that of a heavyset dwarf, and Islana’s. Sir Brevis had sponsored her for training as a paladin, and after it had been established that she already possessed a solid classical education her training had moved up to martial skills and spiritual exercises.

  From the occasional reports crossing Father Whitmire’s desk, Thomas knew that she had already impressed her instructors. He found himself watching her run in the yard, her long black hair bound in a thick braid. She was a natural athlete, which served to reinforce her femininity rather than the opposite. Her hips moved with a sort of sinuous cadence as her legs drove her forward. In his mind’s eye, Thomas merged the naked form he had glimpsed that night, with that of the woman now running below his window. He had worked hard to avoid embarrassing her, but he had seen much more than he intended, and the image kept cropping up unbidden in his mind. What am I doing!?

  His mind snapped back into focus, and he felt a sense of guilt. What would Sarah think of me now? Even that thought was unfair, she was a goddess, and her priests were not forbidden to marry. Still, it felt wrong to think about other women quite that way. Does that mean it’s right to think of Sarah in that way? Of course not! The thought had never occurred to him before, but it made him very uncomfortable, so he quickly suppressed it. He glanced at the sun, wondering if he would ever be worthy of her trust.

  ***

  Islana was sweating. The morning warm-ups were followed by weapons training. Being one of only two women in the group, she felt decidedly conspicuous. It didn’t help that the other girl, Kate, wasn’t exactly attractive. Kate made up for her plain features with an exuberant personality, but personality didn’t draw stares the way Islana’s ample endowments did. To make matters worse, the excessive attention she received seemed to have created a barrier between herself and her only possible femal
e ally.

  She channeled her frustration at the situation into her reactions to the boys brave enough to approach her. Today was no exception as she stood over her fallen opponent. Walter had asked her if she would accompany him on a trip into town over the weekend. Her response had been different than usual; she’d been in a perverse mood that day, “Spar with me tomorrow, if you get the best two out of three, I’ll consider it.”

  It didn’t appear as if Walter was going to be getting up from the first bout of three. He tried to stand, but the strength had gone out of his legs. Falling over, he promptly threw up his breakfast.

  “Merciful Goddess! What have you done?” Sir Brevis was shouting as he ran over. Uttering a brief prayer, he touched Walter’s brow, and the boy’s retching and heaving stopped.

  “Islana! Did I fail to explain to you exactly what the meaning of the word sparring is?” He seemed completely out of sorts this morning.

  “No sir,” Islana stared back at him without the least bit of contrition.

  “Then why are you trying to kill or maim my students?” A blood vessel on the knight’s temple was pulsing as he growled the words out.

  “If I was trying to kill him, he’d be dead by now,” she said, arching her eyebrow without smiling. A smile would definitely have sent Sir Brevis over the edge of reason. “It isn’t as though you cannot mend any hurt I give them.”

  “You should be aware that a blow to back of the head, such as you just delivered, can kill near instantly.”

  “It is also the quickest way to render someone unconscious. I was careful not to strike him that hard,” she answered confidently.

  The challenge in her voice was too much for Sir Brevis, “That’s it! Get your gear, I’m suspending you for the rest of the week. Report to the Abbott; tell him that I want you in nothing but meditation training for the next seven days. Make sure he knows the focus should be on humility.”