Sanctuary (Dominion) (5 page)

Sitting in the corner of the room, between the two beds that lined the walls, was the small wooden chest that had held Humbert's journal only moments ago. The chest was as wide as my forearm, and decorated with intricate carvings of old Roman gods all about the sides. Inside lay two leather-bound books, one a Bible I'd transcribed myself, written in Latin during my studies, the other a journal of blank pages I'd intended to use to write it again in English. I'd decided on my way here that those blank pages would have a different purpose now, perhaps a better one. I grabbed them both, and stuffed them in the satchel.

I took one last look around the ransacked house that had been my home for most of a year, and that’s when the impact of my decision finally began to overwhelm me. I sat down on the chair and tried to summon my courage. My cheeks were warm, despite the cold weather, what little strength I could normally claim to have fled from my limbs, and my stomach churned uncomfortably. Compared to the intensity of feeling your life balance on the edge of a knife’s blade, these were minor impediments, but that didn't keep them from piling on to every other horrible sensation that had coursed through my body this morning. If I was a weaker man, I’d have just given up and passed out. The notion almost seemed inviting, because then I wouldn’t have to face the fact that the people of Rogwallow, who I’d come to love and care for, might see this as more than just abandonment. They might see it as betrayal.

I flinched at the sound of voices passing by the door, two women speaking in hushed, compassionate tones, and I feared what they would say if they walked in and saw me packing to leave. They’d scold me, spit on me, hit me, and all of it would be deserved. Abandoning my adopted village during their greatest need was a cowardly, despicable act. But it was necessary. I kept telling myself that. Arkael’s arrival was a sign. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to discover the truth about everything I’d been taught my entire life. I couldn't ignore it and spend the rest of my life wondering what I’d witnessed today.

I stood up and slung the strap of my satchel over my shoulder, then peeked out the front door like a rodent sniffing the air for cats. I saw no one, but I could hear the voices behind the house now, moving north. I followed them, and sure enough I recognized the two older women, Brita and Gertrude, and a young boy, Edgar, who had tears streaming down his cheeks. Brita tried to comfort the boy, and even though he’d stopped crying, he looked as if he might start again at any moment. Gertrude hurried alongside them, holding up the sides of her dress to give her legs space to move. I stayed far behind, letting them reach the church well ahead of me. I didn’t want them to wait for me at the door, because if they did, I’d have to go inside. And once inside it would be near impossible to get back out carrying my satchel, not without enduring curious looks, or answering questions with lies.

I stopped near the edge of the village and pretended to watch the sea, waiting until I heard the church door open and then close. When I turned around, Brita, Gertrude and Edgar were gone. I moved along the path myself now, glancing about for anyone else making their way to the church, but I was alone. Just before reaching the door, I took one last look around, seeing the empty houses, the bodies lying near the shore, the survivors far to the other side who still searched for anyone they could help. I saw all of this, and then I forced it out of my mind. I walked along the west side of the building, which would keep me out of view of anyone approaching. When I reached the goat pen in the back, I ignored the sound of crying that wafted through the wooden slats of the back door, a sound that wrenched my soul, and I veered west, over the low hill, and away from Rogwallow.

“Daniel?” The unexpected voice startled me, and I spun around in surprise. Pepin stood at the far end of the goat pen, on the opposite side, which is why I hadn’t seen him. “What are you doing?”

I panicked, and grasped for anything to say that would cover my intentions. “Pepin. I’m uh,” I pointed north, “that man. Arkael. He’s the one who saved us from the raiders. I’m going to bring him back, and convince him to stay with us for a while longer. To keep us safe.”

Pepin looked at me thoughtfully. “Carrying that?”

The satchel slipped off my shoulder and I glared at it, cursing it for giving me away. “Oh. I was just… bringing some things to the church when I saw him-”

“Daniel,” he held up his hand, “I understand.”

“What?”

“You are leaving.” He looked to the shore and then back at me. “Let me come with.”

“No. You can’t leave. Not now.”

“No? You aren’t staying, why should I? Not that I blame you.” He shrugged. “This village, it’s become dangerous, no?”

“Pepin…”

“Pere,” he pleaded, using the Frankish word for father, which he called anyone with a robe and a cross. “It is not safe, traveling alone.”

“No. You came here to see Humbert, you should stay with him. He needs your help more than I do.”

“Daniel, if I want to leave, I leave. I owe no allegiance to anyone here. I am sworn to no lord.”

I groaned. I had no way to keep him here if he didn’t want to stay, but I couldn’t take him with me, either. I couldn’t leave Humbert alone.

“You’re right. You can leave. But where are your things? Do you have food?”

His face brightened. “I can get everything I need. I can come with you?” I nodded, reluctantly. “You will wait here? For me?” I nodded again. “Good. I will be back.” Pepin ran off, back to the village. I sighed, not at all happy with what I was about to do. But I couldn’t drag even more people away when this village needed every able-bodied hand it could find. So I left. Quickly. Pepin was a good man. He would understand. And he would stay.

Once I reached the low ground on the opposite side of the hill, I veered north, using the landscape to keep anyone in the village from seeing me. Then, when I felt safe enough to go east again, I did, moving perpendicularly to the northern path. When I finally reached it, I hurried along until I finally saw Arkael on the horizon. I picked up my pace considerably to catch up with him. He heard me approaching, and the frown on his face when he saw me struggling to catch up told me how welcome I would be. When I finally caught up to him, I walked alongside, then fell a step back because I had trouble keeping up with his pace.

"Sire, I've decided to join you on your journey," I said, then waited for a response. I got none. "I hope that's okay. I thought maybe I could write about you and what you’ve done today. Document it, for historical purposes."

"Go home."

“I…” I struggled for something to say, something that might convince him that this was necessary. "I know, you said I should stay at the village. But isn't this far more important? I've seen what you can do. You’re doing God’s work. If I can write it down then we can get the word out to everyone. People have to know about you, and about the miracle that happened today."

"Start by telling the people of your village," he said, not at all cordially. "I’m sure they’re wondering where you are."

His words stung, but I refused to let them hinder me.

"Sire, I don't know anything about you other than your name and the fact that you fight as if the will of God flows through your limbs.” I pulled even with him again. “What you did back there was a sign from the heavens! Surely people should know! We can tell them they're safe now. They don’t have to be afraid of raiders or Vikings or bandits. You told me the church was protected. You called it our sanctuary. Let everyone in Britain know that, and far less people will die unnecessarily."

He scowled at the road ahead, but said nothing, which rankled me.

"Did God send you to us?" I asked, feeling the need to jump ahead in the discussion. That finally made him stop. He turned to me and I recoiled, expecting him to swipe at me again.

"I can't keep you from walking in the same direction as I,” he said, his brown eyes unflinching, “but we are not traveling companions. You are not my chronicler, nor my friend. Your life was spared only because you were lucky enough to be in the church when I arrived. Nothing more. Do not think that you need to thank me, or pay me back, or keep me company. Do not think that you will learn anything useful by following me. If you feel the need to show me some kind of favor for what I've done, then you can do so by turning around and going home."

Arkael winced, and he took a step back, keeping me at arm’s length while holding his head. Before I could offer to help, though, he opened his eyes and blinked at me, as if remembering where he was. He frowned, and an instant later he was moving north again, leaving me standing there, speechless, and wondering why I’d been dressed down for trying to help his cause.

"No," I called after him. Arkael glanced back but he didn't stop. I could heed his words and go home. I still had time to get back without anyone knowing I'd tried to leave. But then what? I couldn't go back to that life, spending my days wondering what I'd seen today. And what would that say about me? To witness a miracle and then pretend it never happened seemed sacrilegious. "I've made up my mind,” I said, stalking off after him, determined to keep up, “and I will not be swayed. If you're going north, then that's where I'm going, too."

Of course, that proved more difficult than I predicted. His gait was longer than mine, and he made no effort to slow down so I could keep up. I did my best, walking faster than I normally do, but I exhausted myself just to keep from losing ground. I waited for him to rest, so I could do the same, but he never did. He kept on with an energy and stamina that I clearly lacked. Finally, I stopped and put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and rest my legs, which burned.

"Can you wait a moment?" I called out. "I need to stop. Just a moment."

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down.

"Please?" I said, louder this time. "I can't keep up with you. And it's not safe to wander out here alone."

"Go home, priest," he called back, not even bothering to turn his head.

Chapter 5

I didn't turn back.

I rested a moment, leaning against a tree on the side of the path, and then resumed my journey, albeit at a slower pace. I managed to keep Arkael in sight for some time. He hovered at the edge of my vision, disappearing every so often over a hill and then reappearing a little later once I crested it myself. I reluctantly sped up, trying not to lose him, but eventually I reached the top of a hill and saw him no longer.

My shoulders slumped and my hopes fell. I knew I couldn’t catch up to him unless he let me, and he wasn't eager to do that. Nothing he did made any sense to me, though. Why would he save me at the church only to leave me behind to fend for myself? What did that accomplish? How was I to learn what God wanted from me if His messenger couldn’t be bothered to stick around?

I sat on the ground, too tired to chase, but too stubborn to give up. I would rest my legs, just for a little while, and then keep moving north for as long as it took. He would have to stop eventually, and I could make up the time if I walked through part of the night. That would get me back to him.  Unless... A terrifying thought flittered through my mind. What if Arkael wasn't a man? What if he was an angel, or some heavenly messenger? That would explain how he showed up when he did, and how he could move so fast. But if that was true, would he need to stop and rest? Maybe he could walk forever, without sleep, or food, or shelter. In fact, I couldn’t remember seeing any supplies on him except for that little pack he carried. He didn't even have a coat.

"Dear God," I said, rubbing my temples, "why have you brought me out here? I'm chasing a ghost." I sighed. He'd probably already disappeared into the fog, never to return. And here I was, a crazy fool with no idea where I was going or what I’d find when I got there. I'd followed him without any real notion of what I was chasing after and now my lack of foresight had left me stranded in the wilderness just ahead of a winter storm. Arkael was right, I should go home.

But I couldn’t. This was a test. A test of faith, which was not something I could claim to be steadfast in. God had shown me a sign, but now I had to show Him that I was willing to follow it. Despite my lack of preparation, I'd come out here for a reason, and I couldn't let myself be deterred by something as trivial as Arkael's obstinate indifference. I took a deep breath, and dragged myself off the ground. I stretched my legs, patted the dirt off my backside, and continued north, toward my fate, whatever that may be. I would walk, as fast as I could manage, until I either found Arkael, or a comfortable place to stay for the night. Hopefully, I would find both.

Likely, I would find neither.

"So be it," I told myself. "If this is my path, then I will chase the ghost."

*****

A few hours later my determined pace had turned into a resentful plodding, and I had to keep my cloak pulled tight around my neck to fight off the chilled air. I’d barely noticed the weather until the sun began its eventual approach toward the horizon. The tumult at the village followed by constant movement had kept me warm enough for a while. But as midday turned into afternoon, the weather started to bite and cold seeped into my limbs, forcing me to rub my hands together and occasionally pinch my nose and ears. The threatening dark clouds that hung over the sea this morning were almost on top of me, and an icy wind whipped through the greenish-brown hills. Thankfully, I'd brought an extra robe with me, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold out without stopping to make a fire.