A Templar's Apprentice (22 page)

Higher. Higher. Then just a bit more. At last, I felt the metal of the bottom rung beneath my legs. With near disbelief and a last burst of energy I leaned back and hoisted myself once more to safety.

The wind dropped off as suddenly as it had risen. Gulls swooped in arcs above. I shook so badly that I dared not move. When the first of the sailors reached my perch, it took me a moment to realize he was there.

“Boy. Give me your hand,” he said. His eyes were blue, deep as the sky, and kind. It's strange that I should notice such things when I had very nearly dropped to my death, but there it is. I took his hand in mine and let him pull me upright.

“Good. Just come toward me and I'll see you down.” He had me scoot back from the hole and turn so that my body faced the pole and my feet were squarely on the rungs. He was at my back with his legs spread wide to a second set of holds. “Now, easy as a babe's first steps, we'll just go down this together.”

And we did. In no time at all I was once again on deck. My body was a mass of aches. The Templar was waiting.

“Is there ever a time when I'll not have to worry over
ye, Tormod?” His anger was justified but I had no mind for it.

“They're coming,” I said. “We have to get off the ship.”

His head jerked toward shore. “Quickly, go below. Get our things. We must be off before they sail.”

I scrambled to do as he bid. We didn't have much. I took the staff, and the water skins, the bags of oats, my plaid, and the bundle of tied-up supplies that was his. The horses had already been boarded, and we could not wait to have them brought up; they would have to stay.

I met him on deck bare moments later, where he paid for a coracle that would take us ashore. We boarded as fast as we could. As the Templar rowed, the dread in my chest grew. We didn't wait until it was fully beached before we were out and running. We left the coracle bobbing in the wash.

The sand gave way beneath my feet. The loss of toes made my gait less smooth. We made it to the trees, breathing hard. I felt them. The carving was afire. They were close.

J
ust as I thought that maybe we were mistaken, I saw them. With banner unfurled, the first of the men broke through the far clump of trees. Following in his wake were the rest: a group of eight men, armed, and in full fighting force. They wheeled up on the shore watching the ship leave.

I held my breath as they regrouped and spoke to one another. Then, as one, they turned back the way they'd come. My heart beat a frantic tattoo.

“Come, before they realize we are not aboard,” he said. “Hurry, Tormod, an' don't speak.”

We moved, into and out of the shadows, silent and wary. There was no place safe. I knew it for truth.

Skirting the wood's edge, we paced the shore. The heat was high and the midges were thick. We followed no path but stepped over rocks and downed trees, making our way ever north. We came often to a place that was impassable and, when this happened, backtracked until we were clear.

I felt like my bones were strung on a harp. I imagined
the hunters around every bush and tree, and their eyes on me at each turn.

The Templar had sunk into himself, leaving me with only my terrified thoughts for company.

It was late in the night when we came to the wood's end, several leagues up the coast. I assumed that we would continue on across the road and into the field ahead, and so I nearly shrieked when the Templar put out his hand to stop my progress.

“Go softly here,” he said quietly. “Just ahead is a safe house, a kirk where we will be among friends. Speak nothing o' our business, even if it appears all right to do so.”

I nodded.

The kirk was a small stone hut set amid a tumble of bushes and trees. It didn't look at all like a kirk to me. It had no cross, no sacred well, nothing that marked it as a place of worship. Only the barest of paths led to it. I could see no light inside, not from beneath or around the door frame.

“I don't think anyone is a' home,” I whispered.

“Hush,” he said. “Not another word until I tell ye 'tis safe.” The Templar was more wary than I'd ever seen him. He scanned the area and seemed to hesitate, something he had never in all our travels done. I would have spoken to him about it, but his hushed warning, and the
fact that I always seemed to do the wrong thing in these situations, stilled my tongue.

On his signal, we set out across the clearing, crouching low and making little noise. He stood outside — stock-still, listening. It was then I thought of the carving. I had turned my sporran to the back, and it was buried beneath my plaid.

The Templar was still waiting to make up his mind, and I shifted the plaid and made to turn the whole thing around just as he knocked on the door. I could not see it, but suddenly I could feel its heat flaring.

T
he door of the kirk opened inward. It was difficult to see inside. Only the sullen glow of a small fire lit the gloom. As we passed beyond the frame, I kept close to the Templar, nearly treading on his heels.

I knew even before the door shut behind us that we had made a grave error in coming here. The carving at my back was burning. The Templar realized his mistake at the same time, for he shoved me back that he might draw his sword. A scratch of flint, then flare of light
filled the dark before us as a rush torch suddenly flickered to life.

My heart dropped, and I drew a ragged breath. We were surrounded. Six or seven soldiers in the colors of blue and gold crowded the room, their swords drawn. There was nowhere to turn.

One of the soldiers dragged a man forward. His clothes were in tatters, his face badly bruised and swollen. He was barely able to stand. “Is this the man?” demanded the soldier, giving his ward a shake that made the man's hood slide back from his head.

I sucked in a breath, sick in my heart and soul.
No! It cannot be.

“Is it? Answer me or you will not live to see the morning,” he shouted, prodding the man with the hilt of his sword.

Seamus's head rolled back. I could see the spittle slide down his chin. “Aye,” he whispered. “God save him, it is.”

Betrayal.

I was mortified, but that was nothing compared to the emotion ripping through the Templar. I sensed the jump in tension and grabbed his sword arm, holding on tight.

“Alexander Sinclair, you are under arrest for the crimes of heresy and treason. As mandated by King Philippe of France, you are to lay down your sword.”

I could almost see his mind calculating the odds of taking on every man in the room. In the end it was Seamus who decided him.

“Stop it, Alex. They will kill us all.” His words were a whisper filled with the fear of knowledge. He knew what they were capable of; he had been in their hands for a long while.

With great effort, the Templar lowered his sword.

What filled me most with fear was the possible discovery of the carving. All I could think of was his vision, of the broken carving and the world falling into ruin. I tried not to draw attention to myself.

One of the soldiers looked my way nonetheless.
He is o' no consequence.
The Templar's push was as light as air.
Just an underling. Not worth yer notice.
The man's eyes moved on, dismissing me. I took a quick breath, shaken.

The Templar submitted without argument. I did the same.

Rough hands turned us about and quickly we were bound. The sharp cut of the frayed rope chafed my skin. I tried to make a fist with one hand so that later I might be able to slip the bonds, but the large hairy soldier who tied me thought my efforts a joke. He yanked the ropes even tighter, and I cried out. I could not feel my hands and my wrists burned like fire.

My captor jerked me forward by my ropes, and I
bit the inside of my cheek to keep back the scream. They dragged us outside. Though we didn't struggle, they seemed pleased to do whatever harm they might. I supposed that they must have been hunting us long.

Horses were brought from behind a hut across the field. They had taken no chances. The Templar spoke not at all, but when his eyes met mine, his impressions seemed to echo inside my head.
Safeguard it.

W
hat I recall of the road was a long and grueling trek with none of the pleasantry that I'd shared with the Templar. The soldiers treated us as the criminals we were branded. Food came in the form of a hunk of moldy bread that I had to pick the weevils out of with my teeth. Drink was the last dregs of a watered wine that tasted sour and made my stomach heave. And yet it came infrequently, so I took and ate every bit that was offered. We stopped only twice during the days, when the soldiers needed to void. We were allowed to go at the same time, but it was difficult in that our hands were still bound before us. And they stood watch all the while.

They didn't pay me as much heed as they did the Templar. I was of no concern. I was just a boy. They had not searched my body and found the carving. His whisper had worked. For once being considered nothing played out in my favor. I listened to their words at night; I knew that they were frightened of him. A caged and cornered Templar was something to fear. We all knew the stories telling of the oath that in battle a Templar would never give up; he would fight unto death. Watching him, from my place, tied to the tree opposite, I knew that he was working it in his mind, looking for the opportunity, seeking the moment they would make a mistake.

We were a week into the travel, moving north and west by my calculation of the sun and the stars. The roads were harsh and untraveled, and my mind remained frozen and filled with fear. Seamus was tied to the horse that held the supplies. He was in rough shape. I could see the welts on his back, for the blood had seeped through his tunic.

I had branded him traitor, and yet what information they took from him was at a cost that, in all truth, I didn't think I, in his place, would not too have paid. He swayed in the saddle, and several times he fainted away completely. The soldiers treated him roughly when he slipped, twice, sideways. That was when they had tied
him, with his face to the horse's mane, spread-eagle, his arms and legs tied round the animal's neck and girth.

The Templar watched him with worried eyes. I did as well. I didn't like Seamus, especially in light of my injury and the fact that he had led these men to us, but I didn't think either act was something he should die for.

Thoughts of the carving kept me on edge. At all costs it had to remain hidden, but this was proving difficult. The blaze of its heat flared beneath my plaid in the sporran at the base of my spine. What was it trying to tell me? The danger was already upon us. My thoughts drifted. I was hot and tired. My bonds were too tight. The skin beneath was raw and bleeding.

We were not allowed to speak to each other, but they could not in truth quiet us from saying our prayers unless they gagged us. It was not above them, but they didn't do it. And so each time I heard his soft murmur, as I did now, I added my voice just as quietly. This time the feel of a rise in the power floating on the air while we prayed surprised me.

I tried to look, without seeming to, over at the Templar. His eyes were turned in my direction, and yet even from where I sat I could tell he was in the trancelike state of the vision sense. I heard him then.

His voice was soft, playing at the very edges of my hearing. Though his prayers continued, and all there
could hear him plainly, I could hear something else as well. I could hear him speak only to me.

Remember the ledge. Seek the life. Rope once a plant.

I thought to answer him, but he knew and forestalled me.
Don't speak.

It was difficult to keep silent, but I held my tongue and concentrated on fraying the rope. The challenge was unique, different than feeling the sap running through the trees. The rope was something long dead. I had to reach far, and think on the hemp that was, to find even a whisper of its former life. But when I did, it was so clear that I wanted to shout for joy. I very nearly lost my place in the prayer but caught myself in time.

I could see and feel the inner life of the ropes, and I knew that I was doing just as the Templar asked.
Hold now,
he whispered.

As the prayer ended, I let the link I felt with the rope seep into the earth's memory, back from where it had come. The Templar's head rested on his chest. I had no doubt that holding the link with me while he worked on his ropes had been draining.

I was frightened. I didn't want to look at any of the guards, but I could not help myself. The closest one met my eyes, and I felt a hard slap from his hand. My head snapped back. I flinched with the shock of the pain. And
yet, I would rather that reaction than the one he would have shown if he had noticed anything had transpired.

Night. I didn't know whether I wished it would arrive sooner or later.