Iamerge found his way back to the warmth of the fire and the attentions of the monks.  Hebrews saw him first and quickly saw to his cut.  Iamerge was relieved there were no questions, but Hebrews’ curious glances built a need in him to confess.

When he could stand it no more he blurted out, “I couldn’t bear to see Conal die right there beside me, I don’t know why.  I ran off and got tangled in the brush.”  The heat on his neck wasn’t from the fire.

Hebrews’ brow furrowed in thought, “Is that the fellow who had his legs crushed by the ox cart?  I think he is well as can be expected.”

“Surely not, he was all blood and bandages and slipping off to sleep, I thought forever.”

“Not so.  God is good.  He slept for a bit, but he woke as we sang office and I brought him some strong birch tea.”

Perhaps a god who would let a man so mauled live was not so kind as all that, Iamerge thought to himself but said, “That is good news.”

“Perhaps you can see him, if you like.  He asked after you.” Hebrews’ smile was guileless and without reproach, but Iamerge wondered if he in fact intended to heap coals of guilt on his head for abandoning the man.  Whether he meant it or not the effect was the same, Iamerge was guilty.

“I will,” Iamerge allowed.  He began to rise and Hebrews was standing beside to help him up.  “Thanks.” Iamerge turned away as he spoke so he wouldn’t have to see Hebrews or be seen by the man.  His face was hot with embarrassment.

Fortunately, the blue light of Spark hid the color on his face.  Gospels caught him to hand him two bowls of gruel and asked after the bandage on his head.  He had to admit to his cowardice again.  Gospels seemed unfazed and directed him to take the other bowl to Conal as if the monk hadn’t heard him say that he’d run off into the night to avoid the man.

The blue light made Conal look ghastly.  His eyes closed, Iamerge couldn’t believe that the mangled man wasn’t dead, but after a pause to stare, Iamerge saw that Conal’s chest was rising and falling with quick shallow breath.

“Is that breakfast I smell?” said Conal in a weak voice.

Iamerge was pretty certain he jumped, but Conal’s eyes were closed and he rallied well enough, “Yes, I think Gospels made it for us both with his own hands.”

“Truly?” murmured Conal, blood shot eyes opening and a smile spreading across his haggard face, “Did Gospels really do that?  That’s nice.  Thanks for bring’n it Iamerge.”

Iamerge wasn’t sure what to do.  He had never been a nurturer, not naturally.  He sat down awkwardly near enough to feed the other man, he assumed he would have to and fretted about how one should do so.  Before he could set his own bowl aside and take up the spoon, Conal reached for the nearest bowl and balanced it on his chest with practiced ease.

Conal winked, “I lost my other arm years ago.  I’ve got pretty good with the one.” With not another word the one armed man began to eat eagerly.

“What is it Abbo… err, brother Gospels.” said the young brother.  Iamerge noticed it was Hebrews as he gave Iamerge a shy smile and nod.

“Iamerge believes there has been another trade caravan attacked.” said Gospels.  “It has been some time since the rescue party or perhaps relief has gone out.  There may be dead and likely injured from one party or the other.”

“Dire news.” Hebrews gasped, though it seemed to Iamerge that there was more of excitement than horror in it, “Shall I gather some brothers and. . .” Hebrews looked puzzled, “which way should we go?”

“Go first to the Abbott, I do not command any but myself.  Say only that Gospels recommends that the guest house be prepared to receive wounded.  Then if he thinks it wise and at his command come after we two who will go on down the South road to see what we may see of this disaster.”

“Could I not come with. . .”

“No Hebrews, the brothers must hear of this first, and the Abbott must make what provision he sees fit.  Just tell him that we go down the South Road after Ui Birlinn and several mounted men and that we know nothing more of what may have happened.  Your speed will be a greater blessing to bring the word and likely you will catch up to us even with carts and stretchers and all manner of healing herbs in tow.”

“Yes Abbo. . .  I mean brother.”

“Off with you,” said Gospels, but Hebrews was already running toward the monastery with his habit hiked up to free his legs for maximum speed. “The righteous will live by faith, and there are few more faithful than that boy.” Gospels glanced at Iamerge, “I hope that I didn’t speak out of turn when I said we would go ahead.”

“I will go with no complaints.  I should like to know what all the fuss is about.  Then too, getting it straight at the source will give me some news to bargain with the mayor of rat town.” quipped Iamerge as he readied himself for the walk.

“Indeed, Mr. Cooper will want to know all about it, I’ve no doubt.” And off Gospels walked at a goodly clip.  Iamerge followed.

Gospels lead straight down the hill and onto the road.  When they settled on a comfortable pace Iamerge asked, “This is not the first attack I gathered.  Do you know who is doing it or why?”

Gospels frowned, “Sadly no, if it were bandits there would be less of value left behind.  Sometimes bandits take hostages and make demands.  But this is just slaughter.”

“And they take nothing of value?”

“I didn’t say that, much is left, but not weapons nor things that can easily be made into weapons.  Sometimes they leave their own weapons behind, heavy stone axes, brutal spears, clubs, that sort of thing.  They take food and sometimes they kill horses, but they don’t seem to take them.”

“Who are they?” ask Iamerge.

“That no one knows.”

They walked on in silence for awhile.  Matching each other, they strode down the road.  After awhile, Iamerge noticed that Gospels was glancing over at him from time to time.  He wondered if perhaps the pace was growing too much so he eased off.  Gospels continued to glance over as they walked a little slower.

“Iamerge,” Gospels said finally.

“Yes?” he answered.

“I hope I didn’t press you into something you wouldn’t otherwise have done.”  Gospels laughed, “It is like me to charge off on this sort of venture, but I’m getting older if not wiser at the same pace.”

Iamerge smiled, “No no, I’m glad to go.  I should have thought to bring word to all of you.  Just, in town it seemed of no consequence to any but Ui Birlinn and his party so I guess I thought it must have been a thing very far away.”

“True, it might be.” Gospels began, “But Rhuary is cautious where his father was, well, impetuous like me,” he laughed again. “If he rode hard out of the town then I think it likely that it was no farther than horses might run safely.  Horses are not easy to come by here abouts.” Gospels looked sidelong at Iamerge.

“Did I mention that Ui Birlinn was the one with whom I had business?

“I’m not positive, but I inferred it.”

“So it seems my business lies this way also.”

“Indeed, I should confess that I believe you are a survivor.  I would charge ahead when wisdom, and survival, might bid me wait.  So, I hoped to bring you for some degree of protection, if not from villains then certainly from myself.”

It was Iamerge’s turn to chuckle, “Well then, if I get that feeling, I’ll bid us both stop and if need be reverse and run us back to Hebrews.”

“That is wisdom,” said Gospels, “I expect that young man soon enough.”

“Ah, then I’m warned,” Iamerge laughed, “I’ll keep an eye on our tail lest young Hebrews runs us down in his haste to get to the adventure.”

“I would scold you for wronging my dear brother, but I suspect you may be right.”  Smiling they both walked toward the crest of the hill

Gospels grew serious, cleared his throat he said. “I pray God this isn’t what I fear, but I pray without much hope.  These attacks have become more frequent and this, well, this is too near for my peace of mind.”

They crested the hill and began to descend into another valley.  Almost immediately they saw below them a chaos of broken carts and broken men.  There was little enough movement, but there were clearly men moving through the wreckage.  Then off to their right, on a turning they saw a caravan making its way up toward them.

This begins Chapter 4, if you have navigated here other than by the Novel Progress Page you may want to have a look at it.  If this is the first part of the story you’ve seen you might want to begin HERE.

CHAPTER  4

The fresh sea breeze cooled his face, warm with the effort of rowing.  It was a beautiful day.  The sea was kind and the breeze was perfect for a sail.  They had no such though, so it was work on the oar and only glances at the shore as they passed the headland and moved into the bay.

Gospels sat the bench in front of Smoke.  Beside his friend, an ancient but still fit fellow named Ezekiel toiled.  Beside Smoke, now known to these men as Iamerge, was a talkative fellow named Hebrews and in the stern manning the tiller a gaunt, even among his fellow monks, man named Kings.  He spoke little, but seemed to eye Smoke with suspicion.

“So, Iamerge,” ventured Hebrews, “Where do you hail from?”

“The South,” Smoke said, focusing all his attention on his oar and volunteering nothing more.

“Don’t pester our guest Hebrews,” Gospels said. “There will be time enough to learn about Iamerge when we get to shore.”

“Pardon Abbott”

To port and starboard now there was land, draped in dark conifers, clinging to dark stone. It occurred to Smoke that everything seemed brighter in the South.  Greyer usually, and yet brighter.  Smoke had seen needle covered trees in his travels, they had a pleasant astringent smell, but most often these sorts of trees lived high in the mountains, in his experience.

They came along a boat not much bigger than theirs, two men hailed the monks.  They almost immediately turned back to their nets, drawing from the deep what it might give up.  Another boat came into view, this one piloted by one man with oars.  He pulled a cage from the water and set it on the gunnels, it appeared full of crab, and then waved, his boat hailed him in return save for the dower Kings in the stern.

Smoke glanced at the man who seemed intent on his tiller to the exclusion of all else, and then, as if triggered by Smokes gaze he put he tiller hard over and the skiff lurched to port.  It was a matter of moments to gather himself for another stroke, he glanced over the side and noticed that the stony bottom was very close.  Perhaps brother Kings had his reasons, there was even a few pillars that protruded out of the bay. 

The monks rowed with more determination now.  Smoke hoped the journey was nearing its end.  He was tiring, but it seemed that Gospels and the older monk, Ezekiel, were struggling even more.  He tried to keep his strokes even with the eager young Hebrews, but feared he could not hold out long.

They were embraced by a little cove.  Kings had steered them true and the rocky shore came up around close on both sides.  “Here we are!” exclaimed Hebrews.

“At last,” panted Ezekiel. “Praise God you and your friend were there to help us home, Gospels.”

The boat glided up into a landing, there was some fumbling as four unpracticed oarsmen shipped their oars and Hebrews blundered about trying to get on the quay to make them fast.  When they realized his plan they made way and balanced his efforts.  Soon enough, they were moored, “By God’s grace,” an exhausted Ezekiel said as he was helped ashore.

White Hands was a very thin man, he looked the sort that would be nervous in Smoke’s experience, but this man didn’t seem to be.  His eyes were serious, but he did not look embittered or even impoverished by his condition.  Smoke tore his eyes away from White Hand’s gaze and focused his attention on the meager meal.  “What do you mean?” Smoke ventured.

“Well, I confess, I was a bit discouraged.  I was unsure of what the Lord had intended by stranding me here.  Now I wonder, after a string of somewhat improbable failures to leave, if the reason I am here is you.”

There was little enough of the dried fish and greens but hunger made it delicious, “Good fortune for me.” he said around a mouthful.

“Most uncommon luck.  More likely God’s providence.”

Smoke didn’t know what to make of the suggestion and the personal implications.  He decided to take the focus off of himself, “Tell me, this Lord, this God of whom you speak.  I have some knowledge of religion.  I have lived among the Mohammedans and too I learned to read the Hebrew scripture.  Is it one of these that you invoke?”

“Are you Jewish?”

“No.  Or rather I do not believe so.  I never knew my parents.” Smoke brushed aside the question about his person.  “I just noticed that the prayers you chant, the songs, they seem to me to be much like the Psalms of the Hebrew king David, but you sing them in the language of the traders, the navigators.”

“Umircen.  I am of that folk, originally.  But now I serve the Lord God of Israel.  Some call him Jehovah, though it is thought by scholars that His name is in truth Yahweh.  I understand that the Hebrews do not say it lest they take that holy name in vain.”

“So you are of a sect of Judaism?”

“Devoted to the true King of Israel, the Christ, so we call ourselves Christian.  But the sect, as you say, the brotherhood, is the Community of the Word.  Jesus Christ is named also the Word, and the Light of the World, and many other names.  Allah, though, is not among them.”

“Among the Mohammedans there is a Jesus who is honored as a prophet, I have not heard of him from the Jews. . .”

“He is prophet, priest, and He is King, not just of the Jews, but of this world and all others.”

“Hmmm, King of all.  If you say, though it would seem that he does not pay his servants that well.”

White Hands laughed.  Smoke was shocked by the reaction.  The laughter was sincere as was the smile that White Hands shared with him.  In truth, he had only meant to sting the fellow a little and break him out of his religious lecture, but the good will flowing from this fellow was at odds with what he had experienced from Muhammadan Imams and Jewish Rabbis alike.  “I should ask Him about that.  The Word says that He sends rain on the just and the unjust.  Perhaps I could do with less of that one and more of another.”  White Hands laughed at his own joke. “Do you read Umircen, the trader’s tongue, young man?”

“I do a little,” Smoke answered.

“Then perhaps I do have wealth to share, though not much food.”

“or wine. . .”

“In truth no, none at all for either of us, but we do have water.”

                                          *     *     *

Smoke struggled against the weight upon him as he had the weight of the heavy sea.  But this was not the sea, it held him against hard rock unlike the wash of the sea that he had been unable to press against, then too, he was warm.  He ached all over from the beating against the rocks, but even pain meant nothing now that he was warm.  No need to fight, Smoke slept.

Where?  That question came to him from his fevered dreams or memories.  He had been thrown against the rocks enough times for him to have given up on land as salvation and come to terms with his death.  That he remembered.

He  had a vague memory of a calling for salvation from God, but that didn’t fit with his remembered resignation.  He remembered white hands, no, before that he remembered calling on God and then being hauled from the sea by one foot.  He remembered seeing the angry sea above him, falling toward him, but that was his perspective.  Then he was lifted by the sea. . .   

. . . and then white hands.

There was no light where he lay.  His bed was hard.  His battered body ached beneath some covering, heavy, warm.  There was music, or at least a voice in the dark that chanted words he could not quite catch.  Here and there in the chant, words came clear on the wind, praises to God, thanksgivings, strange as the sea falling from the sky, he thought, he was hearing the Psalms of the Hebrews in the trader’s tongue.

The cadence changed, the words became indestinguishable to Smoke in the night with wind and the distant roar of the sea and then only that.  Whorls and patterning burst on his retina, but there was nothing real to see in the night, nothing but the night to hear.

Then, as suddenly as silence, there was a presence.  Smoke heard a whisper of feet on stone, a sigh.  “Hello?” His voice sounded like the croak of a scavenger bird, meaningless except that he knew what he had meant to say.

“Oh, you are awake.”  There was shuffling, a trickling of water, and he could feel the radiant warmth of the figure near him.  ”You must be parched.”

“Yes. . .” he attempted an answer, but it was just crow talk again.

He felt fingers lightly brush his face, a thin arm lifted his head, and then cool sweet water filled his mouth and he swallowed.  A few more sips and he was laid back. 

The warmth moved away and he waited for more conversation that never came.  “How odd,” he thought or said but weariness carried him back to slumber.