Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (23 page)

Marik angled north again to avoid several auras in the
next alley.  Always north!  Were they being driven like cattle in a chute?

“Here!”  Kerwin whispered loudly.  Blessedly, an open
door!  The building was large, its function a mystery.  Marik did not care.

“Quick!  Go!”  They hurried in.  Kerwin, last, secured
the door.  He threw the interior bolt.  If the persistent bastards were
checking doors they might think this one had been locked all along.

They were inside a kitchen, Marik saw.  Dietrik
slumped into a chair at a wooden table covered with jars and pots.  A low fire
burned.  It cast a flickering light across the room.  Grain sacks were piled in
a heap in one corner and a large water barrel rested against the far wall.

Landon helped himself to a dipper from the barrel. 
Hilliard took it next, coaxing Dietrik to drink.  How would they explain themselves
if the owner happened in?  No sooner had the problem occurred to Marik when a
presence made him spin sharply, hand on hilt.

Clad in a brown robe falling to her ankles, a raven
haired woman watched them.  Marik glanced back over his shoulder to take in her
view, seeing two hard men bearing weapons, an injured man slumped over her
table and a youth clutching a blood-soaked bag.  He rejected several possible
remarks out of hand.

It’s the hells own night, isn’t it?  Say, would you
happen to know where a fellow could find a friendly butcher?  Don’t be an
idiot, idiot!  She’d run screaming.  That would be the capper for the day.  But
if you don’t say something, and
this
moment,
she’ll do that anyway!

Still fighting his own brain for words that would aid
the situation rather than hinder it, she shocked him completely by saying, “You
appear to be in trouble.  Please, tell me how I can help you.”

Dietrik’s eyes fluttered open.  Fine details blurred
in the afternoon light.  A dark smudge represented the wall.  He rolled his
gaze and gradually focused on Marik sitting in a chair beside the bed.

“Ouch!”

Marik grinned.  “Felt that one, did you?  Well, it’s
almost done, so sit still.”

He watched Dietrik steady his woozy head, staring
blankly at Shalla while she tied the last stitch.  Once completed, she washed
his arm clean before wrapping it in a proper bandage.

“I see no telltales of infection,” she told Marik. 
Dietrik’s dazed state faded rapidly.  “The knife must have been clean.  With
proper care, I see no reason your friend should not recover fully.”

“As long as he can move, we’ll be all right.”

“Then you are well off.  I will fashion a sling for
the arm to allow travel.”

Marik thanked her, and she tossed her head,
repositioning her braid to the center of her back.  She departed the room after
gathering her medical supplies.

“Why are you so cheerful?” Dietrik wanted to know,
glaring at Marik’s renewed grin.

“Because it’s good to be the one looking down instead
of the one looking up, for a change.”

“How nice for you.”  He flexed his arm with a wince. 
The torn muscles protested.  “I won’t be using my dagger anytime soon.”

“And not your rapier either, I’ll wager.  Having to
fight with a slung arm will cut your speed by half.”

“I’ll find a way to manage.”

“No you won’t, Dietrik.  Your speed is your key
advantage with that blade.  Without it, you’re overpowered and outmatched.”

“Bastard,” he swore at the world in general.  “A right
fit bodyguard, eh?”

“Nah, you did your job.  Hilliard doesn’t have a scratch
on him.  We talked it over while you were napping and decided to lie low for
today.  Kerwin eyeballed a nosy type wandering around outside right after
sunup.  Tomorrow we’ll wander over to the tournament office and register
Hilliard, then move into the Swan.”

“Who did Kerwin find?”  Dietrik sat up and rubbed his
head.  “Surely not one of those ruffians from yesterday!”

“Might be,” Marik allowed.  “We did kill at least nine
during the run.  They might be sore about that.  And they know we went to ground
in this general vicinity.”

“Where is the percentage?  They could chase us with
impunity through the night, but in the daylight?”

Marik shrugged.  “Perhaps.  Shalla says this is one of
the rougher districts in Thoenar.  The thief guilds can run rampant since the
cityguard won’t come in without good reason after dark.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more trouble than it’s worth to clean this place
out.  It’s mostly warehouses and production shops, so the guards concentrate
their strength elsewhere, and the owners keep the lock makers in wheat and
barley.”

Dietrik placed a hand to his forehead.  “No, I meant
that those blighters would persist.  Maybe they have a deeper stake after all.”

“I doubt it.  So does Landon.  With less to fear from
the guards, they might feel like evening the score with us, since we weren’t
such weak prey as they thought.  After they run around today, they’ll move on
to other opportunities and lick their wounds.  If we get Hilliard registered
tomorrow, then we can relax for the rest of the tournament.”

“Mmm.”  Taking in the room, Dietrik asked, “Where in
blazes are we, anyway?”

“Ever hear of the Faith of the One Soul?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Neither did I until last night.  I suppose ‘Church’
of the One Soul would be a better name, despite what Shalla claims.”

“Oh for...  We’re not in a schism offshoot of some
religious order, are we?  Or a heretic cult?  Last thing we need is to get
tangled in a theological mess.”

“We’re all right.  Shalla says we can stay as long as
we want, and they won’t bother us.  We can help ourselves to the kitchen,
though she’d appreciate it if we leave enough coppers in the mantle bowl to
replace the food, if we can spare them.”

“What are they then?”

“Near as I can figure out, they’re a bunch of nuts
with weird ideas.  Big on helping their fellow man and that angle, so it works
out nicely for us.  I didn’t catch most of what Shalla said last night since
the goon squad was still running up and down the back alley.”

“I’m not sure about this, mate.  Religion has a way of
biting you in the rear when you least expect it, even if it’s not your own.”

“I’ll be careful.  For now, you need to rest.”

“Not a chance.  I’m starving as a dog in a pit fight. 
What is there to eat?”

Marik offered his help.  Dietrik refused it.  They
walked downstairs, being careful of his tender left arm.

In the kitchen everyone still worked at the same tasks
as when he had left to help Shalla tend Dietrik.  Landon sat by the back door,
keeping it cracked so the archer could watch outside.  Kerwin slept in an
armless chair beside the hearth, dozing lightly to compensate for the sleep
lost during his watch throughout the night.  Hilliard still picked through his
belongings at the table, studying every inch of the expensive clothing for any
blood traces.  The bag’s thick canvas had shielded the contents yet the young
noble would be satisfied only after a thorough examination.

“That same man,” Landon gestured with his chin, “has
been circling the back alleys all day.  This is the fifth time I have seen
him.  He looks like no messenger I have ever known.”

“Then Kerwin was probably right,” Marik allowed.

“Course I was,” the gambler muttered without opening
his eyes.  “Don’t trust me?”

“Let’s chalk it up to hoping for the best.”

A brief hunt through the kitchen unearthed bread,
fruit spread and several eggs.  Dietrik filled a small pot with water and lit a
fire in the cast iron stove from the hearth.  Three eggs went into the water,
which held his attention until Hilliard spoke.

“I owe you an apology for the injuries you sustained,
Dietrik.  It never would have happened if you were not bound to protect me.”

Intrigued, Dietrik asked, “And how was that your
fault, Hilliard?”

“Had you not been assigned to my father’s contract,
you would be elsewhere, beyond Thoenar.”

Dietrik laughed.  It took Hilliard aback.  “If I
hadn’t been assigned to your service, I would have spent all spring and summer
going from one battle to the next!  Don’t fret over it.”

The eggs came out minutes after the water boiled. 
Dietrik cracked the tops with his spoon after wrestling it from his pack. 
Exhaustion hit him hard after scooping out the liquid, steaming innards.

“Perhaps I need my rest after all.”

Kerwin left with Dietrik, both deciding to lay down in
the room.  Marik took over the watch from Landon with a bread hunk slathered in
apple jam clutched in one hand.  The archer passed Shalla coming in as he left.

Still clad in her brown robe, she carried a bundle of
white cloth and a small wooden box.  She sat across the table from Hilliard and
used the tabletop to arrange her items.  The box contained thread, needles and
other sewing implements.  A sling for Dietrik formed while her efficient
movements made quick work of it.

Hilliard, in an effort to demonstrate his
gratefulness, said, “Thank you for all you have done for us.  I am pleased to
find honest people willing to aid those in distress.”

Shalla nodded.  “To turn your back on others is to
turn your back on yourself.”

“Many people choose not to see life that way.  Is
there any way I can show my gratitude?”

She smiled.  “There is no need.  I thank you for your
kindness, but I expect no sacrifices on your part in return.”

“Be that as it may, I insist on returning the favor. 
As the heir to my father’s barony, if there is any trouble I can ever aid you
in, please call upon me.”

Shalla nodded again, accepting the offer, her
needlework continuing without respite.  With his bag’s contents spread across
the kitchen, Hilliard next needed to clean the dried blood from the canvas.  A
wash tub had been arranged in a different room so he departed with the fouled
bag and a soap cake.

Marik quickly grew bored with his view through the
doorway.  With nothing else to occupy him, he pondered Shalla’s brief words
from the night before while they both carried Dietrik to bed.  Too many other
events were transpiring then for him to devote much attention to her.  He had
missed most of her explanation on her order.  Ordinarily, any person bent on
religious sermonizing annoyed him to no end, but her complete non-effort to
proselytize him actually sparked his curiosity.

“I’ve been wondering,” he offered, testing her
willingness for conversation.  “About when you said your members were all
enlightened to the existence of the soul, exactly what you meant.”

“Are you familiar with our order?”  She continued
sewing.

“No, I’m not.  I never heard of you until we snuck
into your kitchen.”

“We’ve been around for long and long.  This chapter
house was originally constructed when this area was the outer city, before the
third wall was erected.”

“That’s
was
a long time ago!  How come I’ve
never heard of you?”

“Our order has never had large numbers in Galemar.  We
only have nine houses outside the four cities.  People take comfort believing
in utopian afterlives, and so naturally shy away from us.”

“Most religions I know of usually end that way. 
What’s so different about yours?”

“We are not a religion.  We are simply awake to the
truth of our nature.”

Sounds like a religion to me.
  “That being?”

“How many religions can you name who preach
reincarnation?”

He winced.  That was a question he wished she had not
asked.

Most reincarnation fanatics over the years had spawned
cults that always ended up on the wrong side of the highwayguards’ swords. 
They caused fantastic trouble because they believed they would be reborn, and
were willing to burn the kingdom down in order to rebuild it according to their
own perfect views.  Thus would they then enjoy the rewards of their efforts in
their next life as they lived in a re-constructed perfect world.

Mindful of this and hoping her order was not such a
one, he answered, “I’ve heard of a handful.”

“The first of our order followed such a religion when
he was young.  One day, he realized the sect leaders had misinterpreted the
truth and, in so doing, he attained enlightenment.”

A scuffing noise from outside delayed his response
when he peered through the crack at an unsavory fellow slinking along.  He
moved away without showing any particular interest in Marik’s doorway.  “About
reincarnation?” he murmured with only ten percent of his attention fixed on
what he said.

“The concept is not solely the domain of one or two
deranged prophets,” she imparted, gazing at him over her work.  “Hundreds of
religions have struggled with it throughout history.  Without surcease the
subject is approached, and time without end the leaders present a different
conclusion.  Why is that, do you think?”

Marik remarked, off the cuff, “Probably they loved
their vices too much to want to give them up simply because they died. 
Reincarnation makes for an easy escape back to what they know and love.”

For a moment he thought that might have offended her. 
She remained smiling.  “An interesting idea, but I don’t believe that is the
case.  More likely is that each of these religious leaders, who opened their
hearts to their gods, also opened their awareness to the truth.  Each glimpsed
it in part, though never were they able to comprehend the full picture.”

“And your founder managed to do that.”

“Yes, he did.  The others, with their partial
knowledge, believed a soul could be reborn, but only under specific
circumstances.  The truth is that
all
souls come to be reborn, because
all lives are the same Soul.”

Marik spared a moment to shift his attention from the
alley.  “I don’t follow.”

“The fact that you are reborn after death is what all
sects who accept reincarnation agree upon.  But they all base their theories on
the existence of multiple human souls.  The truth they each miss seeing is that
there is only
one
human Soul in all existence, which is born over and
over throughout time.”

“That suggests none of us have souls at all.”

Shalla’s smile broadened.  “Not at all.  You see the
issue though your physical perceptions.  Time has dominion over us because of
our physical bodies.  Over the Soul’s pure being, time has no power.  When it
reaches the end of one life, it is reborn as a new person.  Perhaps it will be
born in the same time period its previous body died, or perhaps the new child
housing it will be born nine-hundred years in the past.  Or five-hundred in the
future.”