My apologies...

for the delay in getting something new posted. The holidays have been hectic. Keep the faith!

Thirty-seven

“No, I should help,” Selden told him, but the man simply repeated, “Check on the boy, Pater.”

“Yes, and there’s Geoffrey, too, with his head smashed. Thank you. I’ll leave you then.”

“Blessings, Pater.”

“Blessings.”

Selden entered the home where they had carried Rian, shouting his entrance and touching the lintel.

Rian was placed on the family’s table, a sturdy enough thing to hold the boy. He was naked and still being cleaned. Granny fussed about more hot water. She demanded more cloth. The matron of the house held the apron to Rian’s side. Wilfred sat in a corner on the one chair, looking alarmed and frightened and wanting to help, Selden knew.

Wilfred stood when the priest entered the room, but Selden motioned for him to sit. It was best that he stay out of the way. Even Selden himself might be a hindrance, but he wanted to see that the healall was sound in what she practiced. And Geoffrey could wait. He had the young woman to look after him.

Rian was man enough, but pale as death. His limbs still had the lanky look of a boy. Rian hadn’t grown into them yet. He hadn’t even the hint of a beard.

Selden felt Rian’s confusion. His eyes were open to the thatch above him and he heard the impossibly quiet movements of a family of mice who lived in the roof. He winced with any movement, and Granny wasn’t gentle as much as swift. The matron pushed tight against his side and murmured a charm, time after time. Rian heard her singsong, heard the sweep of a mouse’s tail.

Next excerpt...

will be tomorrow. God willing.

I apologize for the delay, but I've been baking Christmas cookies.

Thirty-six

Selden was grateful that one of the villagers came to him and told him, “Pater, I’ll see this.”

“What will you do?”

“Keep him away from flame. Can you smell the drink on him?”

“It was the end of him.”

“All the same.”

Perhaps Selden misunderstood, but he didn’t want to argue about the First Nation people.

“What should we do with the sword, do you think?” Selden asked.

“The lordling will want it. May have need of it, too.”

“Will you... Will you draw it out, please?”

The man pulled and, smiling, told the priest, “Just like Arthur.”

Selden didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t admit that he had thought the same. Instead, he took the sword and thanked the man, who grabbed the dead man by the ankles and was set to drag him away.

“Here now, let me help lift him,” Selden told him, but the man would have nothing of it.

“Check on the boy, Pater. I’ll not go far." As he dragged the body, he assured the priest, "He won’t feel a thing.”

Thirty-five

“Good,” the old woman said. “Now stand back, Pater. I’ll have a look. You, Wilfred, pull that cloth away. Just enough for me to see.”

She tucked at the tunic as gently as she could. The blood was slick, but clotting, she saw.

Selden felt her attention sharpen, her bated breath.

Granny had bent down, despite her aching, and she saw the scalloped wound. The gash started just below Rian’s waist and seemed to slice safely enough upward, past the lowest rib. She breathed and Selden could breathe again too.

Wilfred held his tongue.

“Who would scar such an innocent?” the healall asked.

“Hatti saw it all, Granny,” one of the children told her and Granny looked up and found the circle of eyes towering over her and the blood.

Rian grimaced. He tried to speak.

“Little one,” Granny told him. “Little one, grown so tall. Quiet. Hush now. Don’t go counting stars. You’ll live.”

“Press that cloth, Wilfred. Tight, but don’t move it side to side. There’s a flap of flesh there we’ll sew.” She looked as gently as she could into the man’s eyes. “He’ll live, Wilfred.” All business again, she demanded, “Stop that shaking. This minute, you hear? You’ll scare the boy with that palsy. And, you, Pater, say a prayer. We’ll move the boy as fast as you can thank the Mother.”

“God, our Mother, bless you for your mercy. Watch over us now and forever.”

Selden stood. “Let’s get the boy warm. Where do we take him?”

A village woman offered that her family had their table still made in the back room of their shop. “But we’ll need wood. Husband’s hunting. He’s not at timber.”

Wilfred regained his strength and nerve and gave commands. He was a respected elder, though not really so old, but strong and reliable. The villagers did as he told.

Rian was lifted on a blanket and taken away, through a nearby doorway, and all the youngsters ran for firewood they’d find in the Smithy. Granny called for a leather satchel that she had just inside her door. A fifteen-year-old was sent for it with the command to “Run!” Selden turned to Geoffrey and found his head laying in the lap of a village girl, a girl whose eyes still streamed with tears.

“Are you Hatti, child?”

She nodded yes.

Geoffrey opened his eyes and struggled to focus them. He felt as though he were floating out at sea.

“Child, what happened? Why are they fallen?” He was gentle, soft-spoken.

“The lordling defended me ... from him.” She pointed, not looking at the dead man, the sword driven deep into the man. “Rian stepped between them when the man drew a knife.”

“I see.” He paused for the girl to explain about Geoffrey. She only whispered to the lordling.

“And my student? He fell from whose blow?”

Geoffrey spoke, “Another.”

“There was another, Pater,” Hatti agreed. “He ran, as I did. I brought Master Smith. He had a stick.”

“The other?” Selden asked.

“Yes, the stranger. Master Smith had his hammer.”

Geoffrey winced as he rose, or tried. He managed only to sit up.

“Where is Rian?” Geoffrey asked, remembering it all now. He reached his fingers into the new mud.

Selden told him, “We think he’ll live. You saved him.”

“He saved me, master. It was a blow meant for me, one I couldn't have parried.”

“We are all indebted. Warf and weft. You too, Miss, are in the weave. I thank you. Now wipe away your tears. Bring the lordling inside. And calm Rian’s mother. Tell them what you saw. I’ll see to this last one.”

Thirty-four

“Oh, God!

Rian vomited.

“Oh, God!” Wilfred repeated. “Lord have–!”

“Turn his head!” Selden told him. “Don’t let him choke.”

Selden cleaned the boy’s mouth with his fingers and wiped away as much of the vomit as he could. He looked up for the healall, feeling almost desperate. Wilfred’s tearful anxiety, as much as he tried to control himself, made Selden feel helpless and afraid.

Granny was still in the distance, struggling against her aching legs. Selden would have liked to have lifted her up in his arms and bring her to the boy.

A gourd of water arrived. Selden took it and splashed all its contents on Geoffrey, who sputtered and came nearly awake. He rolled his head and moaned.

“Where are the blankets?” Selden demanded.

“There are just two.”

“Then cover this one,” he pointed. “We’ll need the second to carry Rian. And find something to cover that one, will you? And send for the sheriff. He should know.”

“Sister, where shall we take him?” Selden called. If she heard, she gave no recognition.

“Gad! Is she deaf and lame?” he asked.

Wilfred wouldn’t hear him.

The old woman grew close and, muttering as if to herself, she said, “Such an innocent. Stabbed dead, they say. Maybe. Maybe not. No. Never. He will be healed. Oh, yes.”

“Sister, where shall we take him?” Selden again asked. The healall saw him then and asked, “And what have you done, Pater?”

“I’ve calmed him. There is a lot of blood, but I’ve not looked closely.”

She came close and looked at the boy’s pale skin.

“Have you called him?” she asked the priest.

“I’ve called. He hears.”

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.”

Next post will be over the weekend. My apologies!

Thirty-two

Gereon came to his senses, pulling himself with such difficulty from his dreams and their whispers. Death was the little sleep, not vice versa, but he’d be unable to help the boy from the other world in which he’d soon find himself. He pulled himself up with an effort and saw the rook, its wings flapping wildly, the black sheen of its head pulled from side to side.

“Nurse!” he cried, and matron came running. She had already heard the mad bird and came with a broom.

“Find Rian!” he commanded, as the bird took to wing and disappeared into the low sun.

“No, send the priest! Send Selden! Find the boy!” he corrected.

“Pater?”

“Go, I tell you!” and she saw the bishop’s fevered brow and the wild eyes that darted beneath it. She ran down the lane to the church shouting, “Help!”

The village girl had done the same, but toward the smithy's shop, running with her tears streaming and her wild shouts reaching Rian’s father’s ears. He heard his son’s name in the wailing and knew it couldn’t bode well. He reached his doorway, armed with the heavy hammer that he knew so well, so well balanced it was and how it would sing on the anvil as sparks flew off the hot iron. He ran towards the girl, her frantic pointing leading him to the bloodshed.

Selden was sunning himself, thinking of very little, wondering even less until the rook came swooping from behind him and with its frightful grace alighting on the muddy turf. It lifted its wings and cawed, its shining obsidian eye staring hard at the priest.

He was startled by the bird’s cries and stood, stepping back once from the rush of the fearful mania. He lifted his right hand to cast a spell, but as he reached out above his head he heard Matron’s cries.

She shouted, “Pater! Come! It’s Rian! It’s Rian!” and the priest understood.

The rook turned silent, its eye a dark heart that beat with a light as brilliant as a diamond.

Selden spoke to it, “Familiar,” and again it took to wing.

Selden went running after, with the Lord’s name on his lips.

Interlude

Long ago, the young man was absorbed in his work, selecting only the best of the lilac blossoms. They would be placed on the Ladies’ Altar and Pater insisted that all be in full flower. The scent would fill the small chapel, the boy knew. It was a sweet smell. When confined in so small a space, the overpowering perfume would trouble him.

He preferred the asphodels that grew in the bogs, but he was rarely given permission to travel that far. The boys in their first two years, before they were professed, they were hardly given permission for anything but prayer and farm work.

Anyway, Brother Herbal needed no help. He was young yet, with long legs that took him to fields and woods throughout the parish. He knew all the nooks and crannies that flowered into every color.

The brothers and priest talked about him, he could tell. He received the sense of things, even when he wasn’t trying to read the men who directed him, encouraged him, disciplined him, who asked that he flower, too.

They suggested him as apprentice to the herbalist. He’d have to be professed, though, before they would spend any real time on him. But he knew his flowers. The bog asphodel was called bonebreaker, he shared. Brother Herbal asked, “Is it the poison then?” “No, Brother, the flower grows on poor soil. Cattle that graze on it alone have weak bones.” “Yes,” Brother agreed. “Yes, yes, yes...” he repeated as he walked away, already lost in his own thoughts of shadowed pine cathedrals and sunny courtyards of blooms.

The boy’s attention wandered. In the open air, the lilacs' perfume hinted of Elise, the girl he left behind. He held the rusty sheers to one side and gave himself over to her memory. She lived not so far from where he stood, here at the farthest reach of the Paters’ Garden where, he was assured, the lilac grew best, a creamy white, not the lavender everyone expected.

Elise, he remembered, and her memory came alive for him. Her dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes. Her funny way of inclining her head when she thought hard. Like a puppy, he told her. She was secretly flattered. He noticed her!

She pretended to be offended. “So I remind you of a dog?” she huffed. But of course he saw through her bluster. “You’d prefer to be considered catty? Let me see your claws!” and he took her by the hands and would have kissed her if she'd just urged him the once.

“You,” she whispered. And he basked in the memory and felt the full force of her love, her gentleness tugging at him.

So I turned and found her there.

“Elise! You... I... How...”

“I climbed over the wall!” She was proud of her adventure. “Come, let’s hide in the bushes. I have something important to tell you.”

“Sit here, in the sunlight. Let me see you.”

“That’s just it! Won’t they see us? Won’t you be in trouble?”

I smiled. “There are no secrets here. Anyway, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble if your father finds out you’ve climbed a stone wall to visit me.”

“He thinks I’ve gone to the ladies’ chapel.”

“I’m going there! With these blossoms.”

“I told Father that I’d see you here.” Elise gave a curious look over me and my work. “Father said, ‘No, he’ll be at hard labor.’”

“I usually am, I swear it! Look at my hands!”

She felt his palms and fingertips. “Oh, you’re all callused. Is it awful?”

“No,” I replied. “I like it here.”

“Good. That’s good. Isn’t it?”

I stood to clip more of the blossoms. “Now,” my back turned to hide my face. “What is it you want to tell me?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Marcus has asked me to marry.”

Silence, for just a beat. “I like Marcus.”

“Come look at me.”

And I turned. “I’m happy for you.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“No?”

“I’m yours. You know that.”

I ached with the choosing, though I had chosen already, I knew, in my heart and this was best–that Elise would have Marcus, a good man.

I told her, “It’s you who should choose, Elise.”

Did her countenance darken? “We don’t chose.” She shook her head. “We are chosen."

Gereon looked up from his sick bed. “My death bed,” he told the shadow. It loomed above him, its wings stretched as far as east and west, its call a trumpet.

“Cark!” it cried. “Cark!”

“Are you the Angel of Death?” Gereon asked. “Tell me, is it time?”

Thirty-one

“Pater is sending me back to our school today.”

“Our school?” Rian asked.

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

Rian was dismayed. “Now? With you?”

“No, no,” Geoffrey assured him, “Not until things are ... complete.”

“Complete,” the boy said, his voice dull, his eyes lost for a moment their luster.

“I’m sorry for you. You must know that.”

“Yes ... thank you.”

The boys were quiet for a time. Geoffrey looked up into the brightening sky.

“Bright enough for collecting firewood, I guess.”

“Yes,” Rian agreed. “Let’s get started. We’ve two priests to gather for.”

And then they heard the complaints of the village girl who couldn’t be far away at all.

“Take your hands off me!” she shouted.

The boys turned to each other, and then ran to the corner of a cottage where they saw the girl pushing away from a man in rags. He grasped her arm and held her tight. She fought back with her other fist.

The man grumbled, “Vixen, I’ll teach you to ignore me.” And he pulled her close, “Give a kiss, whore!”

Geoffrey yelled, “Unhand her!” and he closed in, too, Rian at his heels.

“Leave be, boy!” the man told him. “One kiss and I’ll be home.” His free hand rubbed across the girl in a sickening way.

For her part, the girl stayed calm. She aimed to strike the drunk–his sour breath and the dirt of him repelled her–but he had her fast in a wide grip now. Instead, she stamped hard on his foot and he let her go in surprise.

“Bitch!” and he made to grab her again, but Geoffrey pushed him away and the drunk nearly tumbled.

“Bitterfolk!” Geoffrey mouthed with disgust. Another man appeared, armed with a club.

“Turn away now, I tell you, or you’ll regret your filthy words and pawing.”

Rian raised his own voice, “Geoffrey, calm yourself. We want no fight with our brother.”

But the drunk would have none of the boy’s appeasement. “You’re not my brother.” The hatred boiled off of him.

“Friend then,” Rian offered, but the man only cursed them. And he stepped toward the girl.

Geoffrey moved to push him away again, but the man pulled a knife and aimed wildly for the young man’s side.

In a flash, Rian leapt in between them and took the blade. He was undone by it. No pain, but the warm blood began to fill his tunic with its stain. “Heaven,” he whispered as Geoffrey pulled his short sword.

The drunken man’s eyes widened and then he fell, too. Geoffrey had turned his blade so that he’d strike cleanly through the ribs and the man was dead in an instant.

The village girl screamed. She was terrified for Rian and ran for the boy’s father.

The other man nearly panicked when he saw the blood, but he managed a blow with his club. It landed squarely on Geoffrey skull. He ran away after.

From above, the rook saw Rian fall with his prayer. It took to wing, just as Geoffrey fell with all his dead weight.

Thirty

Who can tell what a bird might know?

How did this one on the rooftop get singled out when the rookery was abandoned? Was it told to remain? Or can a bird have a destiny? Did this rook, its claws gripping the sharp angle on top of a gabled window, know what would unfold after its clamor flew away?

Or does it just watch, feeding during the quiet hours, sometimes flying in slow circles above the village to exercise its wings?

This morning, the rook watched as Geoffrey approached. He met a young woman along the way, a girl who smiled and greeted the student, “I know you, isn’t that so, Lordling?”

“Well enough to know my heritage, I see, not that I share it so liberally.”

“Rian told me so.”

“I misremember telling him.”

“Oh, Rian knows things, he does,” she said. “And your signet ring tells its own tale.”

“I would fain to misremember you, but I still have the bruises.”

The girl laughed, flashed her bright teeth and filled Geoffrey with something like love. “You aren’t cross with me, are you, Lordling?”

“How can I be cross ... even as you continue to bowl me over?"

“He said you had a sweet tongue.”

“Who is that?”

“Rian, of course.”

“I misremember giving him even the hope.”

“Oh, that’s wicked of you. Really,” she frowned. “It drips of venom instead, I see.” And she huffed off, despite Geoffrey’s loud protestations.

She would not hear him.

His heart sank, but Rian came to his rescue.

“She flirts with you!” Rian whispered as he came close.

Geoffrey was startled, Rian approached so silently.

“She turns her back to me,” Geoffrey announced.

“And isn’t that a kind of flirting?”

Geoffrey watched the girl's backside and thought, "Yes, it may be."

Twenty-nine

Selden rose in the middle of the night to recite Vigils. He let Geoffrey sleep, a kindness he offered only so that the young man would be well rested come dawn. Perhaps with a little more sleep Geoffrey would argue less about his being sent back to the school. Selden had already made plans for the young man to accompany a merchant who was on his way to the Cities.

He lit a torch in the church. The candles, he was saving for the funeral rites. The beeswax burned slowly, but there was only the one full candle left. It would do for the altar–vigil and funeral, and some days of the octave.

“Funny how the details of living already confound the grieving,” Selden thought, for he had come to like the bishop quite a lot. “But we’ll live these days well, or try. The man’s not yet dead.”

Selden prayed until dawn. Geoffrey came into the church then and they took up Matins together, reciting the psalms of the day responsively, sharing the last when the verses were odd-numbered.

When they were finished, Geoffrey told the master, “The villagers are bringing food and wood to the bishop.”

“They’re generous people.”

“We’ll make do on our own, then?”

“They’re poor people, too.”

“Rian’s told me that his mother will cook for us,” Geoffrey shared.

“She’ll just cook for one,” Selden told him, which drew a hard look from the student.

“You can’t send me away.”

Selden chuckled, “I can command you if you like.”

“I’m needed here.” He was sincere, always puzzled that the master would not carry even a dagger.

“I would rather not argue, Geoffrey. I know you mean well, and I don’t discount the help you are to me, but someone needs to tell Primus that I’m to be here for more days.”

“Through the octave?”

“Yes. What’s a few more days?”

“That’s how I feel.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“You won’t even carry a blade. How could you ever defend yourself here?”

Selden’s ire was being stoked. “I won’t argue... And you will obey.”

These were direct words and Geoffrey was galled by them. He raised his voice, “Don’t you feel the tension here? The resentment the First People hold toward us?”

“Quiet! I told you–”

“I will not be quiet,” though he did lower his voice. “I’m entitled to my argument.”

“I’m entitled to your obedience.” Selden stared.

“I’ll cut us firewood with Rian. He’s offered. He’s the obedient one, I can tell. The good one who’ll– ”

“Geoffrey, listen, please.”

The young man was already standing, waiting for leave, breathing deeply, simmering, waiting for the boil.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn't so hard to be kind, Selden thought.

The young man's stance softened. “I can’t change your mind?”

“No... The firewood will be most appreciated. And then we can discuss our plans.”

“Yes, master.” And the young man received Selden’s blessing and headed to the village square to seek out Rian at his father’s smithy.

Selden thought, “A fierce lad. Loyal and good-hearted. As stubborn as I was, and maybe more.”

My schedule.

I've become a bit erratic in my posting, I'm afraid. I hope no one minds. As long as I post at least one good passage a week, I'm pleased, but I like this story and where it's heading and when I have a free moment I like to get further along.

Twenty-eight

Selden marveled, “Everything has come naturally to Rian.”

“Sit with him, and you’ll see there’s no guile or invention in the boy.”

“I have. I sense it.”

“Yes, of course... Maybe I’m growing tired.”

“Primus, I’ll return in the morning. Or call for me if you need anything.”

“Rian stays with me. And Nurse hovers close. As does the bird.”

“This bird, Primus...”

“You’ll see.”

Selden turned to face the night and he felt the faintest presence. That was true.

“Good night, Gereon.”

And the bishop slept.

Twenty-seven

“So the boy asked me to see the woman,” Gereon recounted, now speaking aloud. He paused. And the sky took on the colors of dusk in the early spring. The blue shadows had grown long and the bud break seemed encased still in ice.

Selden listened closely as the bishop told the tale, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly impatient hearing a story so dated and unimportant. Every boy comes of age.

But the bishop spoke up and said, “And I told him, 'no.'”

Selden hid his surprise.

“I was disgusted by what I had heard about the woman. Disgusted by what she had been reduced to, and disgusted that she reveled in the scandal of it. I made excuses to Rian. The healall will know what’s best... The trip would be a long way for me... He saw through it all, of course. He stood up and asked, ‘You won’t help her?’ and I said, ‘No.’"

“'I will,' he told me.”

“I warned him of the village talk, his parents’ disappointment.”

“And he told me–I still hear the rebuke. He said, ‘Every one has proved faithless; all alike are turned bad; there is none who does good; no, not one.’ And he turned and strode away, each footstep wounding me. Past the churchyard he went, and then I called him before he passed through the hedge. I called with the Gift.”

“Yes, I see. And he heard you,” Selden said.

But Gereon talked over Selden’s murmuring, “He turned and stared back at me. Not defiant, but unbending and, truthfully, ashamed for me.”

“I told him, ‘I’ll go,’ and the rustle of the beech trees shimmered and I seemed delivered to the boy. He wasn’t ashamed as much as grieved, and now he shone with certainty. ‘Wait for me,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ll lead you,’ he told me, and I followed up the creek where Ava was as sour as vinegar and Rian was the sweet balm."

Twenty-six

“Just help me up,” Ava said.

“You need more help than I can give,” Rian told her. “You’re badly hurt.”

“Goddamn him,” and she sighed so deeply. Rian felt her spirit nearly broken, but the anger burned.

“I would give thanks that you’re alive.”

“Would you?”

Rian ignored the sarcasm, but he was chastised, too. “I mean ... Will he come back?”

“No.”

It was true. He could have killed the woman. Instead ...

“Likely he’ll run,” Rian agreed.

“Run? From what? From justice?”

Rian leaned forward just a bit and told Ava, “From you.”

Ava couldn’t help but laugh, but the laughter made her ribs ache and sharpened her temper.

“I’ll cut his balls off,” she said. “I will!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Don’t,” and she fumed.

“Let’s get you cleaned up ... and then I’ll look for help.”

“No, no! Get along. I’ll want another woman to help me.”

Rian was quiet, glancing nervously around the hut, not wanting to say what had to be said.

“Get along then,” she repeated.

So Rian told her, “The women won’t come.”

“No?” She closed her eyes. “No ... they won’t. You’re right.”

“My mother will come ... if I ask–”

“No, don’t be foolish.”

Rian was grateful, but his head began to spin again. He forced himself to breathe deeply. “What have I done coming here?” he asked himself. “I’ve embarrassed everyone.”

But we do what we must, Rian knew. He knew what would come next and said aloud, “The healall’s gone up the lake. I saw her go. She’ll be back tomorrow. Late, she said.”

“Yes.”

“So I’ll bring Pater.”

“A priest?!”

“He’s the one to mend you.”

“Bugger a priest.”

“Please, don't--"

“Please? That bastard will be the last to come!”

“He’ll come. He’ll come. He’s a good man–”

“A good man! A eunuch more like, full of words and empty of sense ... or pity.”

“He’ll come.”

Twenty-five

Rian approached the door to the hut with apprehension. He stood some feet away and felt like a fool when he clapped his hands together. It was how one called on a neighbor, but it was ridiculous to wait outdoors for a welcome while someone moaned inside. He steeled himself and walked in, forthright as if the hut were his own home. He called out to the dark corner and the woman called Ava demanded, “Step out of the doorway. Let me see who you are.”

“I’m Rian.” And he stepped forward and smelled blood and sweat and worse. What little the hut held was broken or tumbled.

“You’re late to join in the fun, young one.”

Rian felt the bitterness and rage the woman contained.

“Are you badly hurt?”

“And what is it to you? You’re here to help? Or is that disappointment on your face?”

“I ... would like to help, if I can.”

“You can, if you will.” And the woman’s rage softened ever so slightly. “Come look at me, child. Come look what he’s done to me.”

“I don’t know if I shall withstand it.”

“God,” she moaned. “If I can stand it, then so can you.” She demanded again, “Come close.”

Rian pushed aside some broken glass with his shoe and came to the side of the bed where Ava lay in a bloody cloth. She was beaten, he saw. Her eye was blackened and swollen. Rian could hardly breathe. He whispered, “He burned you, too.”

“How would you know?” She became enraged again, nearly spitting, “Did he send you? Did that fucker send you to stare at what he’s done? Goddamn right, he burned me! He...”

“Please!” and Rian knelt beside her and he took her hand. “Please, calm yourself.”

“Who are you that you leer at me? Goddamn you, too!” And she turned her body away from him. Rian felt the wincing pain.

“What do they call you?”

“They call me whore. What else would bring you here?”

“I came with a copper, that’s true. It shames me now.”

Twenty-four

Three years before Rian was named, just as he felt the first stirring of manhood, the older boys in the village goaded him to visit a woman who might teach him how things would be with him and his wife. “Sometimes a man needs lessons away from books,” they told him. They even gave him the copper that the woman would demand.

“Up this stream,” they pointed. “She’s easy enough to look at, but don’t expect a princess and fairy tales.”

“How far does she live?” Rian asked.

“It’s a hike. The village woman folk won’t have her too near.”

“But some men like a good walk,” one of the boys chimed and they laughed and guffawed and slapped Rian and each other on the back.

So Rian hiked upstream.

One boy asked, after Rian had disappeared into the brush and up into the wood, “Will he even kiss her, you suppose?”

“I never did,” one admitted.

Another looked up the ridge and declared, “He never will.”

“He’ll not have her, you mean? And what of our copper then?”

“Charity, that’s where our copper will go,” another said, and shook his head.

“Give him some months, he’ll find his own copper. The itch devils a man ... or is he to be professed?

“I could never give it up.”

“Nor I.”

“I gave it up for two days,” the oldest said and then he laughed and told them, “God but I had to leave off. I had rubbed mine raw!”

Along side the creek bed, Rian whistled as he hiked. He loved the woods and assessed the trees he passed. Some would make nice timber, others were hollowed by time and misfortune, but these last were the trees that made homes for owls and squirrels.

The dappled light of the woods cheered the boy, almost enough to settle the upset he felt in his stomach and the ragged excitement he felt even deeper.

“What will Pater think?” he asked himself, but he pushed the nagging thought away.

It was the tail end of summer and the creek had nearly run dry. There might be a pitiful spring at its head. Is that how the woman drank? How can she live alone this way?

Rian had hiked long enough so that his neck was sweaty and his shirt clung to his back. And he stood still, not to rest, but because he heard a moaning. Not heard, he realized, but he felt it somehow. And a scalding feeling along side his hip that felt like it would spread to fever.

“What now?” he asked the sun, the trees above him seemingly spinning. He reached for a trunk and eased himself against it. He looked down into the leaf litter and breathed.

“She’s hurt.” He looked up just another forty yards or so and saw that the trees thinned there, above a clearing where a ramshackle hut stood and, inside, a woman in tears, with a tangle of blond hair going gray. Her sobbing was broken only by nearly inaudible cries for help.

Twenty-three

The bishop was sitting up when Selden visited that evening. Propped up, really, but he was awake and peaceful, though anxious to hear what the master saw in Rian.

“Good evening, Primus.”

“Come sit down,” the bishop told him. “Come sit close. I don’t think my voice will stay strong for very long.”

“We need not speak aloud. Why strain yourself, Excellency?”

“But I like talking.”

“Yes.”

“And call me Gereon, if you will, Pater.”

“You honor me, Gereon. My name is Selden.”

“I remember. You teach numbers. And now you are Rian’s defender.”

“Defender?”

“His gift is a danger... To himself, to others. He will need friends. And you have come.”

“I was sent.”

“And you arrived to greet the boy. And did you not invite him to know you?”

Selden nodded. “He and I are bound. But bound against my will.”

The bishop sighed. “Against your will.” It was almost a question.

“And bound with what, I can’t tell you. Truly. I almost struck him.”

“He’s a boy, Selden.”

“A boy such as this comes but once in a generation. Once in a lifetime.” Selden paused, but then spoke his mind, changing to Latin and speaking even more quietly at the side of this dying man. “If he is a boy.”

Gereon spoke slowly, weary with the strain, “He’s no demon... He has a pure heart... Test him... for he’ll test you... I assure you... Angelic, perhaps... but with no wings.” The bishop smiled. “He is just a boy.”

“You’re tiring.”

“Perhaps.”

“What can I do for you, Gereon?”

“Have you decided to bury me?”

“I have.” Selden took the bishop’s hand. “There is no rush. I can stay until I’m no longer needed.”

“But Rian will have need of you.”

“Then tell me more about the boy. Tell me without speech or you’ll exhaust yourself.”

“Our powers fail, Selden, though I’ve only lived up to my name in this last year.”

“God grant that we all grow as wise.”

“Not wise. Just old, though its weight is a good lesson. Gereon is a name for an old man, a name I will have forever.”

Selden was never slow, “So it shall be.” And he whispered, “I am Kinderring. Tell me about the boy.”