CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
They left a few hours after sundown amidst promises that the townsfolk would seek out a new priest and rebuild. The colors and brightness of their auras had lightened considerably, and Gareth had hope that they would stay so. They'd been offered a second horse, and Gareth was happy that they wouldn't be forced to walk the entire way.
"So that's one soul down and nineteen to go," Gareth sighed as they left the town behind them.
"You should be proud of how many you saved," Fydelis said without diverting his eyes from the moonlit path stretched out before them.
Gareth looked over at him as they rode side-by-side. He would not admit to pride— pride was a sin, but he was pleased that there were people who had begged for his blessing, so that they might be taken back into the arms of the Creator. He'd said a prayer for the town and truly hoped they would do well.
"You did your part too. Selecting Rul as mayor was quite smart."
Fydelis shrugged. "We'll see. It seemed enough rich men had squandered their turns at the job, so why not try something different? And his daughter was probably the only one who wasn't ready to tumble into bed with you."
"You were not without admirers." Gareth pointed out. He had noticed how many of the young men they had rescued from Mayor Johnnes's estate had stared openly at Fydelis, along with many women, though Fydelis had appeared not to notice them in the least. It had stirred something in Gareth that felt like possessiveness.
"Hm? Oh." Fydelis shrugged off the notion.
"Do you never notice how humans find your appearance?" Gareth asked, uncertain of his own reasons for doing so. Perhaps it was to confirm to himself that Fydelis's looks had nothing to do with what Gareth found comely, but were meant to entice humans in general.
"No. Not really. It is enough to know that one in particular has no interest in me." He offered a quick, but pointed look towards Gareth.
Gareth blew out a slow breath that turned to steam in the chilly night air. "That's not… I've explained to you…"
"I know, I know; you're pining away for a guardian who may not even exist. Well, good for you and your chastity." Fydelis leaned over and patted Gareth's knee, offering him a condescending smirk.
"Why does that bother you so?"
Fydelis sat back in the saddle a bit, looking up at the moon as though seeking an answer. Finally, he said, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should have taken the chance to bed as many random, human bodies as I could. I'll be sure to do that the next town we reach." He looked at Gareth again. "Would that be all right with you?"
Gareth felt something bitter fill his mouth and an invisible knife twisted in his gut. He looked away. "It's none of my business."
"But you're making it your business. When is the last time you actually spilled some seed just for fun?"
Gareth wasn't certain if he was more shocked by the implication or the words Fydelis chose, but he drew back on his horse's reins a bit too sharply and the animal danced sideways. The distraction of calming his ride was just what he needed to try to get his own mind under control.
"Pleasure for pleasure's sake is a sin, and the soldiers of my order are not permitted to marry or engage in… relations."
"So you were sent to the priests when you were eight, and you began your Crusader training at thirteen… and you are how old?"
Gareth ground his molars. "Thirty-five," he answered through clenched teeth.
Fydelis's eyes grew round. "You haven't— anything— in over twenty-two years?"
"Nineteen, actually," Gareth admitted uncomfortably. "Unlike you, I have other things on my mind that I find to be more important." He'd hoped that Fydelis was finished, but apparently not yet.
"What about when you sleep? Didn't you even spend in your sleep?"
"I am not a child, Fydelis. We were… trained to keep our minds and bodies pure." As if acting to remind him, the scar across his groin suddenly began to ache. "Can we please speak of other things?"
Fydelis offered him a look that might have been pity, but Gareth turned away too quickly to know for certain.
***
They rode for a few more hours, their way lit solely by the fat white moon overhead, but gradually, the clouds rolled in, and it began to snow. They decided to find a place to stop and seek shelter, rather than risk being lost in a squall. The road split, and Gareth could see what appeared to be a town to the left fork. "Let's see if we can find something there."
They headed for the darkened village, its appearance little more than a silhouette of buildings through the thick white flakes. But as they drew closer, Gareth had a sense that something wasn't quite right. There were no watchmen to meet them, and the front gates were cast wide open. For a place so close to the main road, the lack of any security measures for a sleeping town was reckless. Their horses' hoof beats echoed with an uncharacteristic sharpness between buildings as they moved slowly up the gravel path through the center of town. The stillness here was beyond the regular quiet of sleeping residents. Gareth strained to hear any sounds that indicated life, but he heard not so much as a rustle of man nor beast.
"This is…"
"Odd… yes." Gareth anticipated Fydelis's next words.
Fydelis smirked. "I was going to say 'cozy', but odd works too."
When they reached the inn, they found the door bolted and chained from the outside. Gareth dismounted and went to one of the shuttered front windows, peering through a split in the boards to see if he could detect anything inside.
"I'll take the horses to the stable. I doubt it's manned, but at least they'll be out of the cold," Fydelis said and took the reins of Gareth's horse, turning them both towards the stables behind the inn.
Gareth nodded absently. It was too dark to see inside the inn, but that in itself was strange. Stepping back, he looked around at the buildings nearby, then turned and noticed something fastened to a wooden post in the center square. As he drew closer, he could see it was some sort of proclamation. Although the ink was smeared, he could make out one thing, the unmistakable design of a circle of braided vine and a white dove: the symbol of his former Crusader's Order.
"What's that?" Fydelis's voice came as he moved up beside him.
Gareth drew his fingertips lightly over the smudged and faded words. "The Order has been through here… but it looks as though the citizens left before they arrived. This town has not been cleansed, as much as claimed."
"Hm," Fydelis grunted. "At least nobody was killed, right?"
"I suppose," Gareth said, looking around at the buildings that faced the square.
"Means we shouldn't have any problem finding shelter then. Let's pick someplace and get inside." Fydelis handed the load of bedding he'd brought from their supplies to Gareth, and strode off in a random direction.
His words offered little consolation to Gareth as he followed Fydelis, letting him decide which house they should occupy for the time being.
"No animals in the stables either, I suppose?"
"Not even mice," Fydelis confirmed, rattling the door on the first house they came to. "The place doesn't feel cursed, though."
"I was thinking the same thing. It appears that the people here must have had some advanced warning and left."
The door made a soft groan as Fydelis pushed it open. "Not locked, just stuck." He ran his hand over the edge of the wood.
Inside, the house smelled stale, but little else. In the small patch of anemic light from the open door, Gareth could see that, aside from a broken chair and some litter strewn about, the home looked empty. So the warning had come early enough to allow people to pack up their belongings and leave. But where had they gone? From the size of the town, it might have held between fifty and one hundred people. A group that large entering another town like the last one they'd been in would have at least garnered some remarks.
"Doesn't look like it's been empty for too long," Fydelis commented, drawing his finger across one arm of the broken chair and examining it for dust. He was probably right; the parchment in the square hadn't been exposed to the elements long enough to disintegrate, and the lack of dust and cobwebs in this particular house indicated weeks, not years, since it had been abandoned.
Gareth found a spot on the floor in front of the fireplace and laid out their bedding. "We should get a fire started, then do some exploring."
***
They decided to split up initially— or rather, Gareth decided he wanted to chop wood the human way and Fydelis found himself bored so he wandered off.
The homes and shops here were quaint and appeared to have been well-maintained, so the idea that it had been an impoverished town and simply abandoned certainly didn't make sense. And then there was the lock on the door of the inn. It may have been a merchant's habit to lock up his business when leaving for any period of time, but it didn't seem likely. Even the largest house— the one Fydelis assumed had been the mayor's— stood quite empty and unlocked.
Fydelis was just coming downstairs from exploring the upper floors of the home when he noticed a figure in the doorway. It was too short in stature and hunched to be Gareth, and he realized quickly that it was an old man. The man leaned forward on his walking stick and watched Fydelis come down the stairs with an expression of mild curiosity.
"Old man," Fydelis called to him, "were you left behind?"
"I chose not to go, and nobody forced me," the man answered, still watching his descent. "You are not one of them. Your colleague, I'd thought perhaps…. but no, they travel in groups."
"What are you going on about?" Fydelis frowned. One person in town and he was too senile to make sense. No wonder they left him behind. The man turned and stepped outside when Fydelis reached the doorway. He began a very slow hobble down the path. "Six weeks ago, a group the size of an entire village came here from the south. They claimed to be on some sort of pilgrimage."
"Pilgrimage?" Fydelis frowned, trying to keep a snail’s pace beside the man.
"Aye." He glanced up at Fydelis, his gaze lingering long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Fydelis looked down at the path.
"They stayed a few days. On the last day, folks began packing up. Entire families. Nearly all of 'em left to join the pilgrimage. About a week later," the old man said, "they came through; those Crusaders. Knights of the Faith, they called themselves. Picked up the stragglers."
Ah. So that's who the old man thought Gareth was. "But not you," Fydelis pointed out.
The old man scratched his bristly chin, squinting up at the cloud-covered sky. "Nope. Not me. Would've slowed them down."
"Do you know where they were going?" Although Fydelis suspected he already knew. A pilgrimage was something undertaken by those heading to a holy place.
"They were promised blessings, glory, and ascension. I assume to the one place they might hope to receive those things; the Temple of the Sacred."
This was bad. Was this Karathis person leading a march against the Temple?
"Ah, your friend comes," the old man said, gesturing with his walking stick.
Fydelis lifted his head and saw Gareth coming towards them down the path. He wore his sword at his hip, his hand resting upon the pommel. Protective. Gareth had worried and come looking for him, ready to fight if need be to protect him. Fydelis fought the foolish urge to wave and rush into his arms.
"Fydelis, you've found the town's only resident, it seems." Gareth smiled as he reached them, his hand relaxing as he removed it from his sword, his arm resting now at his side.
The man looked up at Fydelis again, his heavily lined face pensive. Fydelis, unnerved by the scrutiny, moved quickly towards Gareth. "He said the rest of the town headed out on some pilgrimage, apparently following the lead of a large group from the south."
"Aye. Then the Crusaders after that." The man nodded, his attention now on Gareth.
"Really," Gareth said softly, as if uttering a curse, which Fydelis understood it might as well be. He met Gareth's eyes briefly, and saw the dark shadow of comprehension within them. Fydelis looked away. Gareth's pain was too affecting.
"I'm going back to the cottage," he said, keeping his eyes averted and his head down.