Sanctuary (Dominion) (20 page)

I think I heard women screaming, shrieking in terror, but I’m not sure if it was because of my beating, or any of the other terrible things happening in that church. But that’s not what I end up remembering from that day. What stays with me is the mocking sound of laughter from the Danes as I lay there, alone, hoping for someone to save me, but eventually realizing no one would. The Danes took our city, and our dignity, and no one ever came to stop them.

Chapter 16

"I don't know what came over you," Oslac said as he set a bowl of soup down on the table next to my bed. He leaned over and helped me to a sitting position while I groaned in pain. Most of my wounds were superficial, bruises and cuts, a swollen knee, and I had trouble straightening my left arm. The only lasting damage was a missing tooth, which came loose after a kick to my head, and what was likely a broken rib on the right side of my chest, just under the arm. That one hurt, a lot, but all in all, I looked much worse than I felt. “That scrawny little body o’ yours is either full of courage or full of piss. I’m having trouble figuring out which.”

Pepin, who lounged in a chair in the corner, covered up a laugh. He'd returned to the church yesterday evening, after the fighting died out, and apologized profusely for not returning with me. I’d forgiven him, but he'd stayed nearby ever since, barely saying a word.

"The church is God's home,” I mumbled. “It should be protected, especially against those heathens.” Even though I spoke the words, they were empty to me. Over a thousand Vikings tore through the city yesterday morning, clutching everything of value they could hold in their blood-stained hands. They ransacked the church, kidnapped scores of women, and killed hundreds of the city’s defenders, including Bardic. Eoferwic never stood a chance, and now it belonged to men whose language we couldn't even understand. And the one man who could have stopped the slaughter, the one man I prayed to God for, never even showed his face.

"You think these Danes care? All they ever do is pillage churches. They love 'em. Lindisfarne was one of the greatest monasteries in the world and they destroyed it. Sold half the monks there into slavery and sent other half to the bottom of the river," Oslac muttered. "Vikings don't care one whit about the sanctity of our churches. To them, it’s just a building full of unguarded plunder."

It shouldn’t have been unguarded, was my first thought. But I lacked the resolve to even feel angry at this point. I stared at my soup, a weak-smelling broth with no meat, and I decided I wasn’t hungry. Food wouldn’t fix what ailed me.

“My mouth hurts.” I rubbed my cheek, and my tongue instinctively felt the gap on the bottom left side where the Dane had knocked my tooth loose. Oslac had yanked it out shortly after, to my horror, and my jaw still hurt, almost more than the rest of my body. I’d always been proud that my teeth were straight and somewhat presentable compared to most people, and I’d only lost one, in back, prior to this. But this tooth was closer to the front, and if I smiled too wide the gap would be noticeable. Another casualty of my foolishness.

“I didn’t know you were still sucking on your ma’s teet,” he said with a glare, and I decided not to sulk in front of him anymore. I gingerly reached for my cup from the table and took a gulp. Oslac had found it in my room and he’d poured a bit of ale in it from a bottle he’d managed to keep hidden from the Danes, though it didn’t seem to be helping the pain like he said it would. He watched as I drank, then grabbed the cup and gave it to Pepin. “Check the loose board under my bed and find something stronger." Pepin jumped out of his chair, took the cup, and hurried off. After he’d left the room, Oslac frowned at me. "If I’d been standing next to you when it happened I’d have set you straight, that’s for sure. Damn fool.”

He sat back down on a stool near the small window here in the Archbishop's room, which is where Eadwyn and Oslac brought me after the attack. The window overlooked the pens and the stable behind the church, but if you peered a bit to the side you could see through an iron gate that led out into the street. I’m sure that’s what he was watching, waiting for signs of Danes. The mood here was sour, hopeless. The church floor was still being cleaned of blood. The storerooms were in shambles, and everything of value, including food, had been taken. Worst of all, Deaga was missing. She’d been with a small group of women hiding in the annex, but none of them could be found after the attack. Even though we’d asked about her to the Danes keeping watch over us, we received no reply. We could only assume the worst.

The rest of us could be considered lucky, though. The Danes apparently thought enough of me standing up to them that they let me live, along with the others. It didn’t keep them from ransacking the church, but at least most of us were alive, and so far we’d been left to our routines for the last two days, such as they were.

Most Vikings raided towns, took their spoils, and then left, but these were different. These weren’t packing up to head back home. They were settling in for the winter, at least. The Danes controlled the city, but after some concerted looting, they'd left roughly half of it, mostly the parts surrounding the church, to the city’s residents, though they’d forced most of the nobles out of their homes. Starting last night, displaced families began showing up here at the church, looking for solace, or hope, or just a roof over their head, and now the entire building housed almost a hundred people. Eadwyn and Agnes spent most of their time either trying to find extra food or ministering to anyone who’d suffered some terrible trauma or who thought the world was ending. Oslac, however, was the only one to voice the greater concern. He didn’t think these Vikings were staying for the winter. He thought they were staying permanently.

“These Danes are a plague,” he said, unprompted. “One that will send us back into the abyss.”

“What I did was rash,” I explained, jumping back to his prior criticism, “but it had to be done. They had to be warned.”

“Warned of what, boy? Yer’ tantrums? Yer’ mule-headedness? I already lost your ma on my watch. Not losing you both.”

Oslac shifted uncomfortably on his stool, and his gaze fell low. I began to wonder just how well he knew my mother, and I nearly cursed myself then for not even thinking to ask him, or any of the others, about her once I’d returned. I probably would have when I was younger, but it seemed as if once she died, no one wanted to speak of her any longer. I’d picked up on that very quickly as a boy, and never really thought twice about it until now.

“I’ve been missing her lately,” I said. “I thought of her as soon as I walked through those gates a few days ago. I remembered the Bishop sitting me down in his office and telling me what happened. The funny thing is, I can remember exactly how terrible that moment was for me. But I can’t remember if I even cried. If you asked me to bet on it, I’d wager I didn’t.”

“You did,” he said, not looking at me. “Just not in front of the other whelps. I saw you sneak off out behind the stables that night, and you cried for a good long time back there.”

“Did I?” I said, my eyes welling. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“I do,” he said, with a look that suggested that night hit him hard, too.

“I remember wanting to see her. I think I didn’t believe him at first, and I wanted to find her, just to prove him wrong. It wasn’t until I saw everyone looking so distraught that I started to realize it might be true.”

“The Bishop was right not to let you see her,” Oslac said, staring back out the window, lost in his own thoughts. “No one should see a woman in that condition, especially her own boy.”

“What do you mean?”

Oslac turned to me and I could swear his eyes widened in surprise before becoming guarded. “About what?”

“Did the illness do something to her? What condition are you talking about?”

“Dead,” he said brusquely, and stood up. “That’s what condition.”

I would have pushed the point, but Ewen’s sizable frame filled the door, drawing a stare from both of us. His eyes flitted around nervously, as if he intended to bolt, but he mustered up enough composure to stand his ground.

“Is he,” Ewen paused, “better?”

“He’s whining. So, yes.” Oslac motioned Ewen inside, and the giant stepped in slowly while Oslac moved into the hallway. “Now that you’re back, you can keep an eye on him for a while,” he told Ewen. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid.”

Ewen nodded and Oslac left. He stayed near the door, unsure what to do with himself.

“You’re back,” I said.

“Yes.”

“I saw you yesterday, outside the church. When the Danes attacked.”

He looked away. “I… found a place to hide.”

“At least you’re safe.”

"What you did was brave. I heard some people in the church talking about it."

"Maybe. I don’t really know what came over me."

Neither of us spoke for a long, uncomfortable moment. Ewen stood next to the window and glanced outside before finally breaking the silence.

“You asked the names of my nephews the other day.” I nodded. “Elric and Edgar, and a niece named Ethelind. Edgar is the oldest. He’s a fierce little boy. He picks on the other two a lot, but he always protects them when they get in fights. Sort of like what you did.”

“Sounds like a good brother.”

“He is. Most times. I’d have told you their names earlier, but,” Ewen looked back at the window, his eyes watery, “I couldn’t remember them.”

“Why not?”

Ewen wiped a tear from his cheek. “I came back to say thank you. Before you helped me, everything in my mind was dim, like being stuck in a fog. I’d forgotten basic pieces of my own life. But now, it’s all back. And even better, I don’t hear his voice anymore.”

“Ewen,” I sat up, ignoring the discomfort, and leaned forward, “what happened that night?

He smiled. “You healed me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Ewen opened his arms in a grand gesture. “When you touched me, everything in my mind that came from him,” Ewen lowered his voice, “from the demon, it just went away. It’s all gone.”

“That was real? Everything that happened that night, when I woke up with you in my room, and afterward, outside the stables… that was all real?”

Ewen hesitated, which nearly caused my blood to boil in impatience, but then he nodded, and a surge of relief flew through my veins instead. My mind was still my own. I wasn’t going mad, and I hadn’t imagined any of it.

“My mind is clear, Father, and I have you to thank for that. I’m here to tell you how grateful I am, and that I owe you a debt I fear I will never be able to repay.”

But if it wasn’t dream, what happened? Standing before me was a changed man, but how was that possible? How could I be responsible for healing someone when I didn’t even understand what I’d done?

It wasn’t me that did it.

Something in my muddled, disoriented mind grabbed hold of that thought, and refused to let go. I’d been looking for a reason for all of this, some purpose to this aimless journey, and perhaps I’d just seen it. God healed him, through me. I was part of this war. I was His vessel. I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of uncertainty and fear lift from my shoulders, only to be replaced by duty. This was what I wanted all along. A sense of purpose.

“Father, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I smiled. “You took me back to my room, didn’t you? Why did you leave afterward?”

“I did. And I left, because after everything that happened, I was so ashamed at myself for what I’d done that I couldn’t face you again. I was going back to Mercia, to my home, to find my family, but,” he shook his head, “I realized I couldn’t leave without thanking you. I had to let you know that you’d saved me.”

“I’m very happy for you, Ewen. And I’m glad you came back to tell me. I have to admit, I woke up that morning wondering if the demon had somehow invaded my own mind.”

“You weren’t hurt? You passed out, but you didn’t seem to be injured.”

“My throat was dry,” I shrugged, “but that’s it.”

Ewen laughed, and a content silence filled the room before a serious look returned to his face. He held out his hand. I took it, and we shook, cementing our new understanding of each other. He turned, as if about to leave.

“I’m not staying long. I’m going back to Mercia as soon as they let us leave the city. I may be here a day or two, but that’s all.” I nodded, and Ewen smiled, then headed for the door.

“Wait,” I said. Ewen stopped. "Who is this woman you spoke of?"

Ewen's expression became guarded. "The woman?"

"Yes. When you were... not yourself, you told me I couldn’t have her. No one could have her. What does that mean?"

Ewen took a deep breath. "She's the one who made me sick."

"Who is she?"

"I don't know. Some woman in a village in Ynys Mon."

"Ynys Mon? The druid island?"

"Yes."

"Would you be able to find her again?"

Ewen’s eyes narrowed. "Why would I want to? She nearly turned me into a murderer."

"I need to find her, Ewen. She will have answers.”

Ewen shook his head. "You can't. It's too dangerous. The island is overrun with Irish."

"I'm willing to take the risks. You're already leaving, right? All I need is for you to take me there first, show me where she is, then you can go home.”