Templar's Destiny (9780545415095)
Read Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) Online
Authors: Kat Black
The storms chased our passage across the endless sea, churning great ocean swells that made much of the trip perilous. Night after night, wind and rain lashed the deck and all of the crew who maintained our course. Aine, Bertrand, and I hunkered down for much of the journey in the dark of the hold with the smell of vomit and the reek of the unwashed.
I had made this trip twice already. More than many people ever made in a lifetime and I had grown weary, both of the sea and the adventure I had so desperately sought before all this began.
In the rare moments when the wind was still and the water calm, I could, mayhap, recall how I felt on the first legs of this long trek, when I was newly freed from life in the small sea village of my home, when the Templar and I had spent days at lessons and swordplay and nights charting and mapping the stars. Those were times when the worst of my concern lay in proving that the Templar had not been wrong in taking me away with him, or in besting Seamus, his arrogant nephew. My turmoil then was small and innocent compared with the burdens that now plagued my every thought. The ancient and powerful carving entrusted to my protection was gone. My brother had been captured by those hunting me, taken in my stead.
In the days that followed my recovery from the damage done in wielding the Holy Vessel, I was filled with hope and determination. Everything that had seemed a mistake was within my ability to remedy. Yet as the time aboard this ship crept ever onward, both of those feelings flagged in me. I prayed now, relentlessly pleading with God to move us closer and keep us safe so that we would arrive on French soil in time to make things right.
Torquil had allowed himself to be captured. He, who for more years than I could count had tormented me for being different, was in fact, gifted as I was in the ability to use the powers of Heaven and earth. I would not have believed it had I not witnessed it in a vision. Torquil had called the power and whispered a push that convinced those who hunted me that he was the prey they sought.
I closed my eyes and felt the cold mist on my face. Why couldn't he have gone about his business and lived out his life in peace?
I felt the presence of Aine before she stepped onto the decking, before her small hands and thin arms banded my chest from behind. “We're nearly there,” she said, laying her cheek against my back, pressing close.
I nodded. To speak seemed a chore I could scarce manage. As always, Aine's touch brought calmness. She blunted the raw pathways that remained from my contact with the power. It was a kind of healing, Bertrand had explained. I was healer as well, but in a far more physical sense. I could heal injuries. Aine could heal unrest.
She had other abilities as well, as all of the gifted did. Even those abilities were like and yet unlike my own. She saw things and people who had come recently to a place. She could divine their echo, the memory of their presence, as if she had once stood beside them. I saw bits and pieces of past, present, and future. We were the same and yet different. We had been through much together, and there was no telling what more fate had in store.
Getting to France was the first of our difficulties. What we would encounter once we stepped onto French soil, none of us knew. There were warrants out for our arrest. Dead or alive, they had said. But those had been posted before Torquil was taken, so perhaps the vigilance of the seekers would be less.
The wind rose and beat strong about us, and I could not still the shiver that ran through my body. Aine squeezed a bit tighter and I patted her arms. I could not reassure her that it would be all right â I didn't have it in me to lie. Truly things might never be the same again.
“Have ye had no contact a' all, then?” she asked.
“Nothing.” The bleak weight of my fears was suffocating.
“Ye know that both live. That is what matters most.”
Torquil
was
alive in the vision Aine and I had shared, and we had seen the Templar, Alexander, tracking those who had taken him away. But that was a long time ago, and I hadn't been able to contact the Templar since. It had been a shock to discover that he had not died in the caves as I had thought, but the longer we were out of touch the harder it was to believe in the vision or remember that we had ever been in mental contact.
“Have ye eaten anything?” she asked.
“No' yet.” I brushed a hand over my face, wiping away the damp, and stepped away toward the fishing nets. A flicker of confusion washed from her to me, followed by understanding when she heard someone approach.
Aine was dressed as a lad, with shorn hair, breeks, and tunic. Though I would never mistake her as one, the whole purpose of her ruse was to trick others. It would not be prudent, or comfortable, to let one of the crew see a lad wrapped around me. I reached for the closest fishing net and winced as the fraying fibers bit at my cold fingers.
It was Bertrand who had come up on deck from below, the third of our party, a Templar Knight healer whom we had tracked across Scotia to save me from the breakdown of mind and body caused by the Holy Vessel.
“We will make the mouth o' the river by dark,” he said, adding a hand to my own at the nets as we heaved the squirming, wet bundle up from the sea.
A flutter of nervousness gripped me at his words. It had been so long a journey. I wanted to arrive and yet was frightened by the prospect. We would soon be in plain sight under the very watchful eye of the King's guard. There would be little room for mistakes.
At the back of my mind, I felt the vibration of Aine's hum. My gaze slid toward hers.
What is it?
I asked, directing my query into her head, working to control the strength of it. I had overwhelmed her in the past when I hadn't been careful.
I can sense your worry.
She was not as adept at the speech yet, but we had been working on it, along with a number of other variations on power use during the voyage. Our main task was to make ourselves invisible to any who might have the gift. Gaylen had done it, and we were determined to master the skill. It had much to do with strengthening our shielding.
The pathways inside me that had been seared by the power were now, for the most part, healed. I still felt the burn as if a scar remained, but the strength of my gift was flourishing. I was far more powerful than I had ever been before, and my link to the Holy Vessel was strong. It had chosen me and retained our bond even though we were separated. I felt its presence sharply in this part of the world. It was there in the land ahead, and I was as drawn to find it as I was bound to rescue my brother. How I would juggle both was a mystery I had yet to discover.
The fishing net was heavy. As the bulk came closer, my arms stretched tight beneath the load. I felt Aine's gaze as she watched from the rail. Then without warning, images flit before my mind's eye. Her arms wrapped around me. Her lips pressed to mine.
My fingers slipped from the net in surprise and it sagged, the weight dragging it back toward the sea, but Bertrand moved fast when he felt the pull, and snaked a hand inside to seize a large herring before the net splashed down.
Aine had forgotten to break the mind link between us, and her thoughts were not on the fish. I saw her memories in that flash, and it was as if moments, not weeks had passed since we were last truly alone together. She stumbled away, her face aflame. I shored up my shielding and severed our connection swiftly. Bertrand moved toward the fire pit unaware that anything had passed.
“I'll tend the fire,” Aine mumbled. “There is a pot o' parritch warming. Needs a bit o' water to loosen up, but it should still be edible.” I could tell she was shaken. I found it difficult as well, for when we shared memories, they included all of the senses. I could still feel the imprint of her body in my arms and the press of her lips.
Each night we slept near one another, brushing arms or legs in the tight space as if by accident. And though when in the rare moment we were alone, Aine leaned into me and my arms encircled her, nothing more could come of this. Memories were all that remained of the encounters we had shared on the road. I wandered to the fire pit and watched her beneath lowered lids.
A smoldering, black curl of smoke wavered beneath the iron hood a seaman had rigged to keep out the rain. Bertrand's knife glinted wet with the blood of the fish he gutted and cleaned with easy skill. I watched him idly but my mind was not on the task.
“Bide ye now, laddie. Ye'll do him no good worryin' yerself into a dither.”
My thoughts, which had for a moment rested with Aine, skipped back to Torquil, and everything within me tightened.
“There are things that are out o' yer hands, an' others ye have a bit o' sway over. 'Tis a wise man who can ferret the difference,” Bertrand said as he finished. I took the fish from him and laid it in the tin salver Aine had set over the heat. A blackened onion rolled from beneath the tin, crackling, and I aimlessly poked it back toward the flame. Our arrival in France could not come soon enough. I was not a wise man. I didn't know what was within my control. But as we were not accomplishing anything on the ship, leaving it would have to be an improvement.
