A Templar's Apprentice (18 page)

I wriggled my remaining toes and tested my weight on the foot. It felt so good in comparison that I did a bit of a reel. He watched with a smile.

“I do miss the shores o' home, though. I miss my ocean, my family. I hope to return someday.” It was a melancholy thought, and I could relate to it well.

“I miss home as well,” I said quietly. My eyes met his, and again I was surprised to see that his gaze had drifted wide. “Ye have much ahead o' ye, Tormod
MacLeod. If ye should find yourself in need, come to me, laddie. I will help in any way I can.”

I didn't know what to say. It didn't matter, for just then a runner from the Grand Master arrived. “You're to come with me,” said the boy. He wore the black tunic of a trainee.

T
he room I was shown to was simple. It held but two beds, a stool, and a small writing table. Quills, parchment, and an ink bottle lay on the table, and a thick candle sputtered, giving light to the room. I was beyond tired, but when I finally lay down, I could not sleep. I had much to think on.

I knew that the writing supplies had not been laid out for me, but I moved toward them nonetheless, as if drawn. In truth I missed my shipboard studies. I dropped onto the stool and carefully began to form my letters. At first they were random, a set of practice exercises, but then, as I warmed to it, my thoughts began to slowly appear on the page. If I could not speak it aloud to any, I could at least put down on the parchment what I had
seen in the vision. It was all very rough. I'd never attempted something like this.

The candle had burned down a long way when the Templar at last arrived. He moved to my side and looked over my shoulder to see what I was about. “Once stirred, the need to express yerself is a difficult thing to deny, eh?” His voice trailed off as he realized what I'd written.

“This is a part of the vision ye have already seen?” he asked.

“Aye. It begins the same, but things add to it and it becomes stronger the more I have it.”

“Ye're sure it was the Grand Master?” His eyes were dark with worry.

I nodded, going back over my words, in my mind and with my eyes. I could read and write. It was such an oddity, but more it was a way to make it all real, to give credence to what was happening, and to what I'd seen.

He took the parchment and read it once more, then held it up to the flame of the candle. I watched in fascination as the flame caught and curled a bright orange. “Have a care about what ye write, Tormod, at least until this is over. I'll have to speak to him at once, but how do ye tell a man there is a possibility that he will burn alive?” He shivered.

He made to leave but I stopped him. “Ye said it could be changed,” I said.

“Let us hope so, Tormod.”

“Templar Alexander, carrying the carving is taking a toll on ye, is it not?”

He stood by the door, his body hunched with the knowledge of what he had to tell the Grand Master. “Aye, ye know it rightly. 'Twas not so in the beginning, but as the visions continued, and we moved across the land, 'twas as if 'tis a full-time trial.”

“I felt that way on the ship when I used it to
see.
But, as I've not held it directly for a bit, I'm stronger. How would ye feel were I to carry it a bit o' the way for ye?” I didn't want to seem impertinent. It was truly a powerful talisman, and it was his to carry, and yet he was so very tired.

He ran his hand over his face and stretched. At my words he looked over at me, considering. “Aye. I think that I'll take ye up on the offer. The carving is not something that would ever harm us. I feel that strongly. But sometimes the visions it shows, and the strength it takes to see them, are a bit overwhelming. We'll leave it be for tonight, for here. With what I've just heard from the Grand Master, I'd like to see if aught comes o' my dreams. More is happening than we knew.”

His words didn't bode well for us. “What?”

“Pope Clement has of late been in conference with King Philippe. They were friends as boys. There are rumors that the Papacy is moving from Rome to France.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “That is just …”

His gaze was far away. “Disturbing.”

“What do we now?”

“We follow the map and find out what lies a' its end.” He stretched and yawned. “How is the wound?” he asked. “Are ye fit to travel?”

It hit me then, that I had not told my other news. “I am healed,” I said proudly, and with an awe that had not diminished. “Did ye know that some o' the gifted have the talent and are able to do that?”

I took off my boot and he came over to examine my foot. The toes were still missing, but the site of the incision was completely healed, as if years had passed, not weeks.

“I had heard tales but never witnessed it firsthand. That is truly wondrous. Ye're blessed, Tormod, to have been touched by the miracle.”

“Aye. And what's stranger still is that I have the possibility to heal within.” I said this last, expecting disbelief. After all, I really didn't credit it myself.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Aye? What a boon that would be. We cannot stay and look into yer training, but when we return, we shall see to it.”

A cold shadow drifted across my mind. A strange part of me felt that he should have said
if
we return, but I left that unsaid.

We knelt for the Compline, and though I was still very angry with the Lord, I took comfort in it. Way in the back of my mind I asked Him to make it so, to let us return, together to live out this tale. I wasn't sure I believed that He was listening, but it was important to ask.

I didn't see the Templar for the remainder of the night. He left for another audience with the Grand Master, and I took to my pallet and didn't stir until morning.

Ahram and his men met us in the courtyard of the manor house. The Grand Master had arranged that we would have horses. I was glad of the fact that we would no longer be walking, but nervous, too, as I'd barely sat a horse a dozen or so times in my life. Still, I was given a good, sweet-natured mount, and we seemed to have an instant accord. I promised her quietly that if she would be good to me, I would surely be good to her.

The Grand Master met us in the courtyard before we took our leave of the preceptory. I was surprised when he came and stood directly before me. “We all must bear a cross, son. Let not what you have seen be yours. I have
been warned. It is all that you can do. I go willingly to do the duty of Our Lord. There is a great duty that is yours, a destiny to fulfill. God grant you success, Tormod MacLeod.” I trembled as he made the cross on my forehead, afraid to speak and yet … “It can be changed, My Lord. If only the right pebble is tossed into the stream.”

He smiled. “Then Godspeed your voyage, Tormod. I pray you make a splash like none has ever seen.”

We set out in better shape and spirit than in a long while. The Grand Master was aware of our goals and was sending an armed contingent of knights to parlay for Seamus's and Andrus's release.

I had taken the carving from the Templar with all due reverence, and it now sat hidden in the sporran at my waist. The sun was high and hot by the barest hours of morning, so we broke for a time beneath the trees and rested.

It was scorching, even in the shade, and so with little to do I roamed, looking for signs of life at the base of the trees and in the clumps of weeds in the roots.

“Hah, I've got ye,” I said, closing my hand around a brown and black gecko. He skittered and turned in my palm, looking for a way out. With none to be found, he settled into my hand. I sat beneath a tree watching his stillness. He was like stone in the way that he didn't
move for long stints of time. Even when I nudged him, he refused to play my game. His eyes were a deep, dark brown. I stared at them as I ran my fingers down his soft back, mesmerized as the hilt of an old knife appeared in my mind's eye, fingers curved tight, curls of wood drifting to the ground. The drape of a robe emerges from the pale block. A strong swirl of power surrounds the carver.

Heat at my middle drew me from the vision. My hands rested on the precious bulk of the carving. I returned the gecko to his freedom and rose to find the Templar.

He was sparring with Ahram, though it was hot as Hades. Sweat beaded on my neck and trickled down my back. I could scarcely credit that they had the stamina to take it on, but such was the regimen of the knights. The Templar would no more miss his practice than he would skip the prayers that he did so many times a day.

Ahram was stripped to the waist. His dark skin stretched tight over well-defined muscles. The Templar fought in breeks and tunic. I had forgotten the odd injunction that he was not allowed to bare his skin before others. Such an odd rule.

The Arab's ability impressed me. He fought with a long, thin, curved sword called a scimitar, and he was, I was surprised to see, a true match for the Templar. I held
my breath the whole time they sparred. The vision of the Templar being wounded was close and uncomfortable. Luckily nothing came to pass.

When they finally broke, I approached. “Templar Alexander, could I speak with ye for a moment?” I had grown a little more comfortable with Ahram as the morning and our travel progressed, but still was not sure how much I could safely share in his presence.

Ahram inclined his head, touched his forehead, then chest, as a salute, and went off in search of the stream.

I led the Templar away, off into the trees to tell of what had transpired.

“Truly interesting,” said the Templar. “Ye don't know who it was? Were there any other clues ye might find if ye think on it?”

“Not that I can recall,” I said. “But I will tell ye if I remember aught else. I have the image o' it, here,” I gestured to my head. He nodded, and we went back to eat with the others.

I stooped beside a pile of kindling the Arabs had gathered. The men who traveled with Ahram had names that were new to my tongue. Bakir was a tall, very dark-skinned Basque who said little. The other man, Fakih, was shorter, but wide and strongly built.

Bakir had just returned with a brace of hare he laid on a bed of leaves. He'd skinned them before returning to camp and was cleaning sticks to use as skewers.

“Can I help?” I asked using hand gestures as well as words. We spoke different languages, but we'd begun to improvise.

Bakir motioned to the stream at our back. Fakih watched me with intelligent eyes. I'd seen all three Arab men washing by the river's edge before eating a short time past. I plunged my hands into the water, deep into the sand of the riverbank. The fine grit swished beneath my fingers, and I washed as I'd seen them do.

The Arabs were fastidious people. They'd washed more today than I had in a month. They even went so far as cleaning their fingers before they ate. It made me think on my own appearance and scent.

Late in the afternoon we began again and, save a quick break for each of us to relieve ourselves, we rode straight through the evening. It became the norm after that first day. Though my legs and tailbone were sore from the exertion and I nearly slept astride, I became accustomed to the pace. We were crossing the countryside at a rate that could never be matched on foot. And I was getting fairly good at convincing my mount to listen.