Thirty-three

Rian’s father arrived first, the village girl not far behind. Rian’s father saw his son, and the others. One stranger lay flat on his back, a sword pointing to the sky, plunged deep into the man’s chest. The priest’s companion lay face down across his son’s legs. And his son, he lay on one side, as still as death. When he arrived at Rian's side, he saw a hint of blood. He called the boy’s name and he saw a grimace. The boy was alive!

“Rian!” he called and the boy tried to turn toward the distant voice.

“Father,” he whispered.

And the man saw the blood that stained the boy’s tunic and all that pooled beneath him.

“My God,” the man cried, falling to his knees and praying that his son might live.

Selden arrived, breathing heavily and not quickly understanding what he saw before him. He knelt and placed a hand of Geoffrey, felt the life in him. He lifted the young man as best as he could, turning his face to the sky and calling for water and two blankets–no, three–and asking for the healall.

“Is she here, in the village?”

A small crowd had gathered and one of the children answered, “Granny’s coming. We called.”

“She’s old, and slow,” another said.

“Wilfred, step away, please, and let me see your son. Just a short way. Let me judge the wound.”

Selden saw that the tunic was torn low, almost at the boy’s hip.

“Where is the knife?”

“Here, Pater.” A man showed the blade. “It’s clean enough. And sharp.”

“Show it to the healall when she comes.”

“Can you do nothing?” Wilfred asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“There is no gout of blood.” He had placed his hand on the boy’s side and felt the greasy blood. It almost made him swoon. “I’m too old for this, too sheltered,” he thought.

“There is no gout of blood, but there’s a lot.” He told this to Rain’s father.

“Someone give me their apron. You, Matron, please.”

She untied the strings and handed the garment over. “It’s not clean, Pater,” she cautioned.

“We’ll use the best side.” And he told Wilfred to place the apron on his son’s side. “Hold it tight against him.”

“Yes. I know.” Tears fell.

“I can slow the heart, so it doesn’t push with such force.”

“Yes, I understand,” Wilfred told him.

And Selden moved close to the boy’s ear until his lips touched the flesh. He cupped one hand over his speaking and he called the boy by his True Name.

Eyes closed, Selden saw mountains, with snowfall, centuries of ice. Rian was in the distance, his clothing too light for the cold. Selden saw that he shivered. The priest did, too, so much so that he could keep his teeth from chattering only with the strongest willpower.

“Will you come?” Rian asked.

“Is it time?”

“That’s not for me to guess. I’m just a boy.”

“So Gereon tells me.”

“How is he? He’s very sick.”

“He knows you’ve been hurt, I think. He sent the bird to me, your familiar.”

“I have no familiar.”

“Yet the bird watches.”

“He has a name.”

“You seem to know everyone’s name.”

“There are so many.”

“As many as the stars.”

“Do you know their number?”

“Only God himself is infinite.”

“Yes,” and the boy fell silent.

Selden took his hand. He had arrived to the boy’s side in less than an instant.

“Come back. Slow your heart. Forget the pain.”

The boy stared.

“Will you?”

“I think I’m going to vomit. I’ve already soiled myself.”

“We’ll take care of everything. Come out of the cold.”