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Chapter 5:- The Child
No one noticed the child crouched behind wheels, hiding behind mules and sleeping in trees. His possessions were meager and his needs few. His eyes glowed with wisdom beyond his ten years. He carried with him only two things, tokens of his life before becoming an orphan. He had a small knife with a bone handle, one his mother used to use to peel potatoes and cut reeds. It was dull and the blade nicked but it was sufficient for his needs.
Around his neck hung a leather pouch his father had made. It did not attract much attention, being like the pouches worn by many other children to ward off evil. Its contents were something more than the collection of superstitious herbs and bitter barks. On the contrary the boy feared its effect was rather the opposite.
Inside was a collection of carefully etched stone beads that were once part of a beautiful necklace. It was the most treasured and feared possession of his mother and she gave it to him the day she died. He knew she had been beautiful and how she cared for him. Since her death he could not allow himself to remember her beyond these truths. To recall her face or to remember the brush of her fingertips across his cheek was to remember that day. His memories were tainted by the nightmare of having watched her brutalized and murdered while he hid in a cupboard. She saved him while he was forced to watch her die from his hiding place in the rafters. She promised not to let anything happen to him and she had kept her word.
Since her death he kept himself safe by sleeping in trees, avoiding the notice wolves and other creatures know to feast on children. None were so vicious as those the ones that pursued him in his nightmares. Sleep was his enemy for then he was subject to the nightmares that had plagued him since the day his mother died. Each time he closed his eyes, he was forced to watch it happen all over again.
In time he joined a large group of pilgrims. He followed the company from Androna and back across the border into the wetlands Lisseon. The child did not care where they were going so long as it was away from his relations. There was nothing he left behind that was not brutalized or destroyed beyond all recognition.
He shadowed them first out of curiosity and then for the need of hearing human voices again. He stayed well out of sight. Sleep was no friend so it was easy to remain vigilant and avoid detection by the watchmen at night. He learned that filth was a good defense. After a few days on the road the mud and soot along with the smell of the pigs they brought covered them all. He smelled no worse than the rest.
After the first few nights with the caravan, he realized there were more predators lurking in the night than just the wolves. When he kept to the trees he was safe but he saw many from the camp, men and women, skulking about engaged in games he did not fully comprehend. Sometimes the woman was an unwilling partner. Some tried to scream and beat off the man while others laughed and seemed to enjoy themselves. No matter what the game, he wanted no part of it.
When a father or brother in the family was a light sleeper, the daughters and sisters were less likely to suffer. Among such men was a man named Ivan. He had a very young and pretty wife named Elsa. At first he took them for father and daughter rather than husband and wife. Their fire was always big and Ivan had a pleasant laugh. The boy liked to stay close to their camp. Ivan was very protective of Elsa and he needed to be. After giving one man a fair thrashing the others steered clear. The threat of reprisal outweighed the reward of raising a kirtle. The boy admired that about him. He wished he might have done the same for his mother.
Among their caravan was a kantorei. Most of them young men or boys and they sang while they marched but had little skill for anything else. Most of them were novices hoping to take orders at Gulistan. They hoped to sing before kings and lords along their path, counting on the gold they earned to purchase their keep when they finally reach the monastery. Their love for god and song was only equaled by their love of wine. And when they drank, they roamed as bold as foxes.
Their leader of the kantorei was a friar named Claus. Claus wore a rough brown robe and a large wooden cross. He spoke with a voice gentle like a woman’s. He was white, round and doughy. For all his outward pretense of gentleness, the boy did not trust him. He paid little heed to women on their journey but took particular notice of the boy. Indeed, he could hardly escape him during the long days that they marched.
“Do you have a name child?” He asked every day.
The boy refused to answer him the first half a dozen times he plied him. When he could avoid it no longer, he told him: “You may call me Tim.” The day was long and he had fallen far behind Elsa and Ivan. He was forced to march with the portly friar.
“I see you walk by yourself most days. Who among these fine folk do you belong too?”
That was not a new question either. Generally, the answer had been to point to the wagon furthest away and run ahead to catch it. The ploy had reached the limit of its success. Claus remembered which wagons he pointed to. In the evening he searched for him among those families. One advantage Tim had was that there was more than one boy called by that name in their caravan. It did little more than create confusion and afforded him some minor entertainment. When morning came, Claus would find him again. Tim knew that if he was found out the men might force him to stay behind at the nearest village or settlement. That is if they allowed him to continue any distance at all with them. A lone child was considered a harbinger of ill will.
Claus deduced his true situation and he used that knowledge to force him to walk with the kantorei. At first he presented the advantages of not being a lone traveler. He mentioned curses that sprang up because of foundling children. Tim remembered the words of his family and the horror the happened to his mother, all because of him. At least Claus was not afraid of him and there was the advantage that there was plenty to eat.
However, Claus insistence he walk among them left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The more time he spent with the cleric he noticed how intently he watched the younger ones. The novices and smaller boys feared him. He had a way of putting things that made it hard to argue. He used this logic to try and to get Tim to sleep in their circle. Tim did not always have an answer. He walked with them and ate with them and at night he stuck to his trees. Claus was too fat and clumsy to climb them.
One day Claus complimented him on his hair. That evening Tim used his dull knife to shave it off. His predicament did not go unnoticed.
“Haven’t seen you about the last couple of days,” Elsa shouted to him as he ran past her in the early morning. “You stay clear of the fat one if you know what’s good for you,” she added, catching him by the sleeve.
“I will try my best,” he stammered, his face getting hot. He knew she was right.
“No. You hear me, keep far away from him. He may be a priest, may God forgive me.” She quickly pressed her hands together and tipped her head before continuing. “He is no holy man. You heed my warning. Come find me if anything should go wrong and I will call Ivan on him.”
“I promise.”
Tim felt uneasy the rest of the day. Claus looked at him often in a way that made all Tim’s senses crawl. When they stopped, he ate quickly and searched for a higher tree. He heard the steps behind him and scrambled up as best he could. Claus caught him by the leg and pulled him back down to the ground. It was dark and no one was around.
“Stand with me a little while,” he urged.
Tim felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. His throat went dry and he could not speak. Claus grip was insistent. They stood for a while as the camp settled and the fires died down. Claus smiled. He set aside his walking stick and grabbed the hem of his surcoat.
“We are friends …” he began.
Tim did not hesitate. He grabbed hold of the walking stick and swung it down hard on Claus forearm so that he let go. Next, he struck a blow between his legs and another to the cleric’s kneecaps. Amongst the blows Tim heard something crack. Claus’ shrill scream brought half the camp running toward them. He was on the ground, one hand below his belt and his other arm bent in a peculiar way. Tim dropped the stick and backed away. He tried to run but his legs felt like they were caught in deep mire. Elsa’s arms were around him the next moment. Ivan was with her. He bent over Claus to check his injuries and smiled up at Tim. Three men had to carry Claus back to the camp, with him wailing and moaning all the way.
Elsa took Tim back to their fire. Ivan told the camp that the priest had fallen out of a tree. Claus was in too much pain to contradict the story. That night Tim slept next to Elsa and Ivan’s fire. She insisted he have a place with them every night. Ivan grumbled but did not argue, a smile threatened the corner of his lips.
As for Claus, his arm was broken. More than that Tim’s blow curbed his perverse appetites for several days. Tim soon realized that even if he were no longer the focus of Claus’ attentions some other boy would be. The youngest members of the kantorei were not much older than he was. Everyone understood his predilections, yet no one was willing to do anything because he was a priest. They were all afraid of him. What was required was a far more permanent solution.
Bas was one of the kantorei, second to Claus in status. Before discovering his gift in song, he apprenticed a physician. He attended to the wounded cleric and gave him special drops to ease his discomfort. Curious, Tim watched him mix his draughts and it kindled an idea.
His mother had been a healer and he had watched her mix many potions for their neighbors. He used to watch her for hours, hanging from rafters when he was supposed to be outside helping his father. Necessity aided his memory and he recalled a particular tincture she made for a woman to give to her husband. She was plagued by too many children and an over eager younger man. If he could find all the ingredients and mix it up right it could solve the problem.
He looked through Bas’ bags and found most of what he needed. The rest he had seen growing in the forest. It took three days to procure everything. By then Claus was walking with his stick and starting to take notice again of the young ones. He would soon return to his predatory ways. Tim had to act fast. The primary root was very fragrant and extremely bitter, the rest of the ingredients were to mask its odor and taste. Since Claus was dependant of Bas’ drops so it was easy to swap the two. The first time Tim watched from under a cart as Bas administered Claus his daily draught.
“You did something different,” Claus said.
Tim’s heart caught in his throat. He should not have been able to taste the difference.
“It is the same as always,” Bas responded wide eyed.
“It tastes and smells,” Claus paused. Tim scooted forward on his belly a little further but he still could not see his face without giving away his hiding place. “It is better. Much better.”
Tim saw the shadow pass the vial back to Bas who sniffed loudly.
“I’m sure it’s just the same.”
“No, no, this is far better. The first I could hardly get down. This I would order at the next pub.”
Bas chortled. “I did add a bit more of the lavender to help with the smell. It might affect its potency but…”
“I guess I should just drink more.”
“It doesn’t always work like that.”
“You are just a student, yes? You left before you completed your apprenticeship.”
“Aye.”
“Then I as a priest shall be the judge. I say more.”
Tim covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. The first test was over.
The following days showed no renewed interest in the youth but an increasing appetite for the drink. After nearly a week, Tim judged that his groin injury should have healed enough for his predilections to revive. They did not surface, at least in any manner he could observe. It seemed only a matter of time before Bas would discover his tampering. With Elsa's help he acquired the necessary ingredients to keep up with Claus' appetite and Bas was never the wiser.
Tim joined Elsa and Ivan at their camp every night. Ivan was a gruff yet generous man. She was a fine cook and had an infectious laugh that soothed Ivan’s moods and chased Tim’s terrors away. He persisted in the lie that he was attached to another family in the camp and kept to the trees when it was time to sleep. Elsa smiled and nodded.
She gave him a blanket and an old skin bottle so he could carry his own water. She also patched the holes in his sack. He broke fast with them every morning and he could be assured that there would be an apple and a lump of cheese set aside for him every day. They were the first people since his parents to want him around. When some of the group broke off to head west into Ogalon Tim was heartbroken that they might be going. He heard Ivan asking the men lots of questions about the prospects for work and the size of the ports. It was the one place Tim could not follow and yet he did not want to be alone any more. He approached Elsa that morning with a glum heart. She handed him his breakfast.
“What’s troubling you that you have such a gray face? I thought to put roses back in those cheeks if you a not to much of a man for me to say that.”
Tim blushed at her greeting then frowned again.
“Well that is a fine good morning.”
“You’re leaving.”
“We most certainly are not unless you are wanting to put the idea in our heads. We may go someday but not till after we spend some time in Traimiss.” Elsa winked.
Traimiss. The name held a kind of power over him. His mother had visited there once. She spoke of a man who had been of great help to her family, their family. It was long before Tim was born, when she was only a girl.
Later that morning a foul and a razor sharp wind began to blow, carrying more with it than the chill and the rain. The two groups parted with well wishes ground out between chattering teeth. Tim shivered as he watched them go and not even Elsa’s arms around his shoulders could stop the cold from settling into his bones.
No one noticed the child crouched behind wheels, hiding behind mules and sleeping in trees. His possessions were meager and his needs few. His eyes glowed with wisdom beyond his ten years. He carried with him only two things, tokens of his life before becoming an orphan. He had a small knife with a bone handle, one his mother used to use to peel potatoes and cut reeds. It was dull and the blade nicked but it was sufficient for his needs.
Around his neck hung a leather pouch his father had made. It did not attract much attention, being like the pouches worn by many other children to ward off evil. Its contents were something more than the collection of superstitious herbs and bitter barks. On the contrary the boy feared its effect was rather the opposite.
Inside was a collection of carefully etched stone beads that were once part of a beautiful necklace. It was the most treasured and feared possession of his mother and she gave it to him the day she died. He knew she had been beautiful and how she cared for him. Since her death he could not allow himself to remember her beyond these truths. To recall her face or to remember the brush of her fingertips across his cheek was to remember that day. His memories were tainted by the nightmare of having watched her brutalized and murdered while he hid in a cupboard. She saved him while he was forced to watch her die from his hiding place in the rafters. She promised not to let anything happen to him and she had kept her word.
Since her death he kept himself safe by sleeping in trees, avoiding the notice wolves and other creatures know to feast on children. None were so vicious as those the ones that pursued him in his nightmares. Sleep was his enemy for then he was subject to the nightmares that had plagued him since the day his mother died. Each time he closed his eyes, he was forced to watch it happen all over again.
In time he joined a large group of pilgrims. He followed the company from Androna and back across the border into the wetlands Lisseon. The child did not care where they were going so long as it was away from his relations. There was nothing he left behind that was not brutalized or destroyed beyond all recognition.
He shadowed them first out of curiosity and then for the need of hearing human voices again. He stayed well out of sight. Sleep was no friend so it was easy to remain vigilant and avoid detection by the watchmen at night. He learned that filth was a good defense. After a few days on the road the mud and soot along with the smell of the pigs they brought covered them all. He smelled no worse than the rest.
After the first few nights with the caravan, he realized there were more predators lurking in the night than just the wolves. When he kept to the trees he was safe but he saw many from the camp, men and women, skulking about engaged in games he did not fully comprehend. Sometimes the woman was an unwilling partner. Some tried to scream and beat off the man while others laughed and seemed to enjoy themselves. No matter what the game, he wanted no part of it.
When a father or brother in the family was a light sleeper, the daughters and sisters were less likely to suffer. Among such men was a man named Ivan. He had a very young and pretty wife named Elsa. At first he took them for father and daughter rather than husband and wife. Their fire was always big and Ivan had a pleasant laugh. The boy liked to stay close to their camp. Ivan was very protective of Elsa and he needed to be. After giving one man a fair thrashing the others steered clear. The threat of reprisal outweighed the reward of raising a kirtle. The boy admired that about him. He wished he might have done the same for his mother.
Among their caravan was a kantorei. Most of them young men or boys and they sang while they marched but had little skill for anything else. Most of them were novices hoping to take orders at Gulistan. They hoped to sing before kings and lords along their path, counting on the gold they earned to purchase their keep when they finally reach the monastery. Their love for god and song was only equaled by their love of wine. And when they drank, they roamed as bold as foxes.
Their leader of the kantorei was a friar named Claus. Claus wore a rough brown robe and a large wooden cross. He spoke with a voice gentle like a woman’s. He was white, round and doughy. For all his outward pretense of gentleness, the boy did not trust him. He paid little heed to women on their journey but took particular notice of the boy. Indeed, he could hardly escape him during the long days that they marched.
“Do you have a name child?” He asked every day.
The boy refused to answer him the first half a dozen times he plied him. When he could avoid it no longer, he told him: “You may call me Tim.” The day was long and he had fallen far behind Elsa and Ivan. He was forced to march with the portly friar.
“I see you walk by yourself most days. Who among these fine folk do you belong too?”
That was not a new question either. Generally, the answer had been to point to the wagon furthest away and run ahead to catch it. The ploy had reached the limit of its success. Claus remembered which wagons he pointed to. In the evening he searched for him among those families. One advantage Tim had was that there was more than one boy called by that name in their caravan. It did little more than create confusion and afforded him some minor entertainment. When morning came, Claus would find him again. Tim knew that if he was found out the men might force him to stay behind at the nearest village or settlement. That is if they allowed him to continue any distance at all with them. A lone child was considered a harbinger of ill will.
Claus deduced his true situation and he used that knowledge to force him to walk with the kantorei. At first he presented the advantages of not being a lone traveler. He mentioned curses that sprang up because of foundling children. Tim remembered the words of his family and the horror the happened to his mother, all because of him. At least Claus was not afraid of him and there was the advantage that there was plenty to eat.
However, Claus insistence he walk among them left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The more time he spent with the cleric he noticed how intently he watched the younger ones. The novices and smaller boys feared him. He had a way of putting things that made it hard to argue. He used this logic to try and to get Tim to sleep in their circle. Tim did not always have an answer. He walked with them and ate with them and at night he stuck to his trees. Claus was too fat and clumsy to climb them.
One day Claus complimented him on his hair. That evening Tim used his dull knife to shave it off. His predicament did not go unnoticed.
“Haven’t seen you about the last couple of days,” Elsa shouted to him as he ran past her in the early morning. “You stay clear of the fat one if you know what’s good for you,” she added, catching him by the sleeve.
“I will try my best,” he stammered, his face getting hot. He knew she was right.
“No. You hear me, keep far away from him. He may be a priest, may God forgive me.” She quickly pressed her hands together and tipped her head before continuing. “He is no holy man. You heed my warning. Come find me if anything should go wrong and I will call Ivan on him.”
“I promise.”
Tim felt uneasy the rest of the day. Claus looked at him often in a way that made all Tim’s senses crawl. When they stopped, he ate quickly and searched for a higher tree. He heard the steps behind him and scrambled up as best he could. Claus caught him by the leg and pulled him back down to the ground. It was dark and no one was around.
“Stand with me a little while,” he urged.
Tim felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. His throat went dry and he could not speak. Claus grip was insistent. They stood for a while as the camp settled and the fires died down. Claus smiled. He set aside his walking stick and grabbed the hem of his surcoat.
“We are friends …” he began.
Tim did not hesitate. He grabbed hold of the walking stick and swung it down hard on Claus forearm so that he let go. Next, he struck a blow between his legs and another to the cleric’s kneecaps. Amongst the blows Tim heard something crack. Claus’ shrill scream brought half the camp running toward them. He was on the ground, one hand below his belt and his other arm bent in a peculiar way. Tim dropped the stick and backed away. He tried to run but his legs felt like they were caught in deep mire. Elsa’s arms were around him the next moment. Ivan was with her. He bent over Claus to check his injuries and smiled up at Tim. Three men had to carry Claus back to the camp, with him wailing and moaning all the way.
Elsa took Tim back to their fire. Ivan told the camp that the priest had fallen out of a tree. Claus was in too much pain to contradict the story. That night Tim slept next to Elsa and Ivan’s fire. She insisted he have a place with them every night. Ivan grumbled but did not argue, a smile threatened the corner of his lips.
As for Claus, his arm was broken. More than that Tim’s blow curbed his perverse appetites for several days. Tim soon realized that even if he were no longer the focus of Claus’ attentions some other boy would be. The youngest members of the kantorei were not much older than he was. Everyone understood his predilections, yet no one was willing to do anything because he was a priest. They were all afraid of him. What was required was a far more permanent solution.
Bas was one of the kantorei, second to Claus in status. Before discovering his gift in song, he apprenticed a physician. He attended to the wounded cleric and gave him special drops to ease his discomfort. Curious, Tim watched him mix his draughts and it kindled an idea.
His mother had been a healer and he had watched her mix many potions for their neighbors. He used to watch her for hours, hanging from rafters when he was supposed to be outside helping his father. Necessity aided his memory and he recalled a particular tincture she made for a woman to give to her husband. She was plagued by too many children and an over eager younger man. If he could find all the ingredients and mix it up right it could solve the problem.
He looked through Bas’ bags and found most of what he needed. The rest he had seen growing in the forest. It took three days to procure everything. By then Claus was walking with his stick and starting to take notice again of the young ones. He would soon return to his predatory ways. Tim had to act fast. The primary root was very fragrant and extremely bitter, the rest of the ingredients were to mask its odor and taste. Since Claus was dependant of Bas’ drops so it was easy to swap the two. The first time Tim watched from under a cart as Bas administered Claus his daily draught.
“You did something different,” Claus said.
Tim’s heart caught in his throat. He should not have been able to taste the difference.
“It is the same as always,” Bas responded wide eyed.
“It tastes and smells,” Claus paused. Tim scooted forward on his belly a little further but he still could not see his face without giving away his hiding place. “It is better. Much better.”
Tim saw the shadow pass the vial back to Bas who sniffed loudly.
“I’m sure it’s just the same.”
“No, no, this is far better. The first I could hardly get down. This I would order at the next pub.”
Bas chortled. “I did add a bit more of the lavender to help with the smell. It might affect its potency but…”
“I guess I should just drink more.”
“It doesn’t always work like that.”
“You are just a student, yes? You left before you completed your apprenticeship.”
“Aye.”
“Then I as a priest shall be the judge. I say more.”
Tim covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. The first test was over.
The following days showed no renewed interest in the youth but an increasing appetite for the drink. After nearly a week, Tim judged that his groin injury should have healed enough for his predilections to revive. They did not surface, at least in any manner he could observe. It seemed only a matter of time before Bas would discover his tampering. With Elsa's help he acquired the necessary ingredients to keep up with Claus' appetite and Bas was never the wiser.
Tim joined Elsa and Ivan at their camp every night. Ivan was a gruff yet generous man. She was a fine cook and had an infectious laugh that soothed Ivan’s moods and chased Tim’s terrors away. He persisted in the lie that he was attached to another family in the camp and kept to the trees when it was time to sleep. Elsa smiled and nodded.
She gave him a blanket and an old skin bottle so he could carry his own water. She also patched the holes in his sack. He broke fast with them every morning and he could be assured that there would be an apple and a lump of cheese set aside for him every day. They were the first people since his parents to want him around. When some of the group broke off to head west into Ogalon Tim was heartbroken that they might be going. He heard Ivan asking the men lots of questions about the prospects for work and the size of the ports. It was the one place Tim could not follow and yet he did not want to be alone any more. He approached Elsa that morning with a glum heart. She handed him his breakfast.
“What’s troubling you that you have such a gray face? I thought to put roses back in those cheeks if you a not to much of a man for me to say that.”
Tim blushed at her greeting then frowned again.
“Well that is a fine good morning.”
“You’re leaving.”
“We most certainly are not unless you are wanting to put the idea in our heads. We may go someday but not till after we spend some time in Traimiss.” Elsa winked.
Traimiss. The name held a kind of power over him. His mother had visited there once. She spoke of a man who had been of great help to her family, their family. It was long before Tim was born, when she was only a girl.
Later that morning a foul and a razor sharp wind began to blow, carrying more with it than the chill and the rain. The two groups parted with well wishes ground out between chattering teeth. Tim shivered as he watched them go and not even Elsa’s arms around his shoulders could stop the cold from settling into his bones.
