A Templar's Gifts (18 page)

W
ave after wave of power blasted through my shielding as if it were naught. The ground rose up to meet me and the carving tumbled from my grasp as I landed.

The carving! Gaylen!
I shouted in my mind.

Forget him. Ye must take our strength, Tormod.
The Templar's voice was close, but nothing I could do would break the flow of the power searing my mind and body. Aine's hum played at the edge of my senses. Words accompanied the music and I clearly heard her prayer,
Hail Mary, full o' grace … Please, Lady, spare him. I beg o' ye.

We are nearly there, Tormod,
said Bertrand as my mind spun in endless circles of pain.
Hold on. Just a bit longer.
I felt Aine whisper the power, but my mind would
not settle. It battered against my skull like a trapped bird seeking freedom. It continued to grow, and I felt my grasp of the here and now fade. The pain was too intense. I could stand it no longer. It had to end, the faster the better. And with a final apology to the Lord, Aine, and the Templar, I gave myself over to the torment, pulling the power to me, willing it to build and grow.
Let it come,
I thought. End my torment.

No, Tormod. Ye're calling it to ye. Press it away!
Aine's voice was hardly a flicker of sound in my ears. There was peace offered in the flow of the power that washed through me. I could lose myself. I could let it all go.

The door burst wide and cold air I could hardly feel rushed into the room. Darkness was fast approaching. I willed it to come.

But then, I felt Aine's hands on me and the smallest bit of chaos and insanity dropped away. “Tormod! Don't ye do it. Don't ye dare leave me,” Aine sobbed.

I could not see her. I could barely feel her. Then another set of hands pressed to the sides of my head. “Use the power, Tormod.” I could hear Bertrand's voice both in my head and in the hut. “Let it go, Tormod. Let the power flow through yer connection to the carving.” Bertrand was strong, his healing gift directing me in a way that I could understand. Like a never-ending wave, I
felt the surge of power move through me and into the carving, and when it flowed back to me along our bond, it was not the raw danger that it had been. Now it was a healing river of light.

A
s my burned, damaged insides began to repair themselves, visions chased my dreams.

The Templar carried from the cave by Ahram. A land of sand and strange dwellings where he recovered. A ship at sea. Alexander at the helm, his broadsword gleaming.

I resurfaced as if I were struggling from the depths of the ocean. “He's alive, Aine.” My voice was raw and I fought to be heard. “Alexander lives.”

“Right now, I have to say I am more pleased that ye are alive.” Her face was smudged with tears and a feeling that I could not put words to pulsed between us.

“Gaylen?” I whispered, knowing the answer even before I asked.

“He was gone before we arrived,” said Aine.

I buried my head in my arms. “He's taken the carving. I've failed in my duties.”

I felt her empathy. “But ye kept him from taking the bowl. I could see ye in the tunnels, but to contact ye was not easy.”

I nodded. “I thought it would be safer. I'd like to think that the King will never have the whole, but already I've placed one piece into his hands.”

“Ye did all ye could. Ye nearly died.” She shivered.

“I'm glad ye're all right.” I slid my hand up and cupped her head, probing the site of the injury. Her ringlets of short red curls filled my fingers. “I'm so sorry.”

She leaned into my hand, rubbing her head against it as if she were a cat. “Bertrand healed me. There's no trace o' injury to be found,” she said in wonder.

I smiled.

“An' ye? Are ye well?” she asked.

I didn't answer, just drew her head down until our lips met gently. I kissed her then, and it was even better than before.

B
ertrand and I returned to the preceptory early the next day, while Aine and my mam got acquainted. It was strange to suddenly reappear at the gates, especially knowing that the Templars had more than likely been searching for me all of the eve, but Bertrand was a strong ally.

Within a candle mark, I was in the infirmary surrounded by a team of high healers who were most intrigued to investigate the solid link that now pulsed healthily inside me. I was poked and prodded and my inners probed until I was ready to scream with frustration.

Gaylen was getting away and I was trapped on a pallet and treated like a bairn, but Bertrand had insisted. Light was waning now in the empty infirmary, and I tossed and turned, trying to find a spot that was less uncomfortable than any other and not succeeding very well. I closed my eyes and reached for the one person who would understand, perhaps the only one feeling more confined than me.

Aine?

It took no more than a moment for her to respond.
I'm outside the gate with a spare set of clothes. Hie yer tail out o' there. We need to leave afore yer mam knows I've gone.

My laugh was loud in the quiet of the room and I quickly stuffed it back from where it had come. Quietly, I slid from the pallet and began gathering power to whisper the guards. As I stepped from the room, I nearly bumped into the dark silhouette standing against the wall outside the room. Though I hadn't expected him, I was not surprised to see him there. I felt his whisper join my own, and silently Bertrand and I quit the preceptory.

Aine's eyes grew wide when she realized that I was not alone. “Well, what are we going to do?” she asked.

“Hunt down Gaylen, steal back the carving, find the Templar, an' rescue my brother,” I said.

She snorted. “Oh, if that's all, then I guess we'd best be off to it then.”

Bertrand and I laughed and it felt good. There was much to do, and I still knew I had botched a good deal badly already, but with God's blessing I had faith that once again, perhaps very soon, I would be a Templar's apprentice.

Everyone should have a guardian angel. I have many. Thank you, one and all. Beth, Gil, Dan, Grace, the men of Station I, especially Lieutenant Austin and Firefighter Jellison, and all the cardiac and intensive care doctors and nurses at Salem Hospital and Mass General. And I cannot discount my dad and brother.

I hope you enjoyed the second tale in this series. I am having an amazing time combining fiction and history and working the threads of the many underlying strands together. Please excuse any liberties I have taken, particularly the parts with Robert the Bruce. I do not, and never would impugn his honor, I promise.

Thanks of course go out to my editors, Andrea Davis Pinkney and Cassandra Pelham, without whom I would not have come to this fabulous place of plot and intrigue, and to Kim Biggs, who is always there to point me in the right direction. To Amanda, who got shorted in the
promise of a dedication by my cardiac arrest, I must once again promise, your day is coming. Aine is you, babe, strong and stubborn. To my men, as always, I love you with all of my heart.

Before turning her talents to writing, Kat Black was a designer and the creative force behind Walter Lorraine Books. To achieve the historical and cultural accuracy for The Book of Tormod trilogy, she traveled through Scotland in search of Templar lore. She lives with her family in Lynn, Massachusetts.

Text copyright © 2011 by Kat Black
Cover © 2011 by Scott M. Fischer
Jacket design by Christopher Stengel

All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. scholastic, scholastic press, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Black, Kat.

A Templar's gifts/Kat Black. — 1st ed.

p. cm. — (The book of Tormod)

Summary: As the Chosen, Tormod knows he will have all the Gifts heaven and earth can bestow, but he still struggles to gain control of his visions and powers as men of the French King seek the relics he is bound to protect.

ISBN-13: 978-0-545-05675-5

1. Templars — History — Juvenile fiction. [1. Templars — Fiction. 2. Knights and knighthood — Fiction. 3. Middle Ages — Fiction. 4. Clairvoyance — Fiction. 5. Apprentices — Fiction. 6. Adventure and adventurers — Fiction. 7. Christian life — Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B52896Tg 2011

[Fic] — dc22

2010016913

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1        11  12  13  14  15

First edition, April 2011

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

E-ISBN 978-0-545-33259-0