A Templar's Gifts (17 page)

T
he cell was a small, bare room on the far east corner of the preceptory. It was dark and the pallet thin, but neither of these were a concern to me. A healer had attended the arrow wound before I'd been brought here, and a light sleeping draft dulled the ache not quite eliminated by the healing. He had been an ordinary healer, not one of the gifted, for he noticed nothing of my other many distresses. I drifted in a half doze, wondering what would become of me.

I had no shields, no strength, no friends, and no hope. I sought the darkness, but the image of the carving filled the space behind my lids with light. I buried my head in my arms and willed it to go away. I hurt inside and out. I was beyond tired and completely alone. I was good to no one. My tears flowed like the rain drizzling down beyond my prison cell.

Sleep came a long time later, but the image of the carving remained bright. At some point in the night, the wood wore away and the woman emerged. The real woman, who had appeared to me only a few times before. Her soft amber eyes glowed with compassion and she
stretched out her arms to embrace me. Peace and love were mine for the taking.

I woke with a start, my heart pounding, and the pull that I had been feeling — the odd connection that grew more strained as I had moved farther and farther from home, that had been severed when I lost touch with the power — was mine again and had multiplied tenfold. The power was mine. The duty was mine. I could not ignore the call this time. I felt it clear through the walls. The promise I had made was not something I had kept.

I stood and moved to the door of my cell, and without hesitation I drew the power. To my surprise, it came, harsh and heady, but mine to command nevertheless. Beyond the door I felt the life of my guards. Two hearts beat.

The lad needs to use the privy.
Sweating and shivering, I pushed.
Walk him there now.
I heard the mumble of the guard as he approached, and then I targeted the second.
He needs water. Get it.
I clapped my hands to my ears as the pressure of the whisper nearly broke me.

The turn of the key was loud in the silence. Quickly I switched back to the first guard.
Get food from the kitchen.
I was rewarded with the shuffle of booted feet as he moved away and the second followed in thrall.

I stepped from the cell and moved down the hall. Rush torches sat high in brackets, sending thin plumes of
light flickering along the flagstones. In the shadows I whispered,
There is no one here.

Though a number of guards stood sentinel at regular intervals, not a one turned my way or made any move to stop my escape. The use of power was burning inside me. I felt its path hollowing my body with every step, every push I sent. It mattered not. I was hers to command and she was calling me forward.

Tormod …

The voice in my head nearly knocked my legs from beneath me.
Aine?
Reaching was worse then trying to push, much more difficult and costly.

Ye have to stop. The power is killing ye!

I have been chosen, Aine. She is calling.
It was as if I were talking to myself and yet I heard Aine clearly.

Whisper no more! We will do it for ye.
The voice was not Aine's this time, but Bertrand's and the waft of relief I felt hearing him was tremendous. Bertrand had found her. She was safe. And then I felt their flow of power, taking over where I had left off. Their whisper, even from a distance, was as strong as mine.

Slowly, as if in a dream, I made my way through the compound. The rain slashed down on my face, plastering my hair and dripping into my eyes. I passed the shops and huts, then circled around the training grounds and the kirk.

I was not cold, though the wind and rain pelted down. Within me, the tug grew stronger, and it felt as if many small fires lit a path through my body. The grounds of the preceptory were large, but soon the rear gates came into view. To the east an ancient burial grove lay. I knew without a doubt that the Holy Vessel lay somewhere within.

The cairn sat high on the hillside, an ancient crumble of stone that was gray and ravaged. Vines had twined over the entrance, but the sliver of space behind the great slab beckoned me. I moved toward it with an anticipation that churned like hunger. The space was tight, but not for someone of the Abbot's size, nor for someone of mine.

I stepped in, and my breath grew shallow as the whole of the cairn appeared to close in around me. And the cold wetness seemed to sink beyond my skin. Seeing human bones stacked in the open, I felt I might be buried here, in the dark, forever.

Y
e're o' the light. Push it away.
The voice echoed in the depths of my mind. I remembered the Templar speaking
those very words to me long ago, but why now should I hear them?

Hail Mary, full o' grace …
The prayer sounded softly in my head and I brought it to my lips. “The Lord is with thee …” All at once heat poured through me and before my eyes a host of sparkling lights illuminated a trail.

With new peace I moved through the space.

I would not have thought the hills beneath the preceptory to be riddled with burial chambers, but there were many. Cavern after cavern, the once cleanly wrapped bodies were naught but dust and bones. It didn't seem a place the Holy Vessel should reside, but I knew it was here. The trail of light and thrum of life in a place bereft of both was strong. It grew as I walked, racing through my veins, filling me with determination. I passed through many rooms connected by tunnels of earth, while the past lives of all of the men who lay there flit gently through me. It was like my first experience with the sacred bowl and pedestal. I knew those laid to rest here walked in the light. These monks were God's Chosen, as was I. I had forgotten that in my struggle.

The pull was strong. It grew as I walked, the walls coming closer as I moved deeper into the cairn and the remains of the dead, less. Rounding a bend I came up short, surprised to see that the space I'd entered had a
distinct end. The light continued to sparkle and the pulse of the power called me on, but the rear wall of dirt and tangled root went no farther. I moved closer, holding my breath in anticipation.

On a shelf that looked much like every other in the cairn, it sat, quiet and unassuming. The plain wooden box was banded and sealed with iron studs and lay beside several very old jars. I'd never seen the holder constructed for it, but I knew without a doubt that the Holy Vessel lay inside.

I slid my fingers along the edge of it, trembling as the familiar warmth and welcome only the Holy Vessel could give flowed.

Slowly I lifted the lid. Light flashed in the dark behind my eyes. I dropped to my knees, the open box tight in my grasp. The carving and bowl glowed with unearthly heat while images flooded my weary mind.

“What is your name, boy?”

Men in arms. Blue and gold. Torquil tied at the wrists.

“My name is Tormod.”

“No!” I wanted to shout and to wake from this vision, but there was more I was meant to see.

“It's me ye want. I am the red-haired one ye seek.”

My roar of denial echoed through the cavern, but even as I surfaced from the vision my mind was sifting
through the many instances and conversations Torquil and I had exchanged. Torquil was gifted! And I knew he felt responsible for all that had befallen me. He would use the power to convince them, and he would be taken.

I hugged the box to me, hunched like a wounded animal. Torquil would be imprisoned. He would be beaten, lashed. He would lose himself in the pain. No. No, no, no. It was not going to happen. I would not allow it. I was the Chosen. The prophecy said that I would have all the gifts Heaven and earth could bestow. I would use them well. I would change what was to come and make it the future that I chose it to be.

With determination I reached inside the box.

Heat and energy sizzled and burst as it had the very first time I had united the pieces of the Holy Vessel. Fire coursed through my veins, racing through my body, taking me to a place where I no longer existed. Time froze. Breath ceased. Life, as I knew it, dropped into stillness.

And something within me changed.

T
he cold dirt of the crypt pressed against my face. I opened my eyes slowly, feeling my aching body shift and creak as I rolled to my back. It took a moment to remember where I was and what I had been doing, but when I did, the rush of panic brought me instantly to my knees. Torquil. I looked around quickly and saw that the Holy Vessel sat apart in the box beside me. Even in my jumbled-up state I longed to wrap my fingers around them once again. The carving glowed a sullen white in the darkness, a soft beacon that lit the place well enough to see. I knew that I must hurry home, but what to do about the Holy Vessel? It had called me. I needed it. There were things I had yet to do. But the idea of taking it from here filled me with dread.

Then a thought came to me: If the pieces were not together, then the whole would not be in jeopardy.

Quickly I placed the bowl reverently in its space, closed the box, and laid it back on the shelf where I'd found it. With pleasure I wrapped my fingers around the carving and moved through the darkened space toward home.

The carving lit my route through the underground tunnels as if I carried a torch and had been here a dozen times before. Through a fissure in the darkness I stepped into the night. The opening was far beyond the gates of the preceptory, long in the direction of home. With the beat of my heart loud in my ears, I climbed the rocks to the top of the rise and faded into the trees. I ran, then, as I hadn't in a very long time, since before any of this had begun. I was my da's runner. I was fast. I would make it.

Off in the distance came the cry of the wolves. They had frightened me sorely when first I'd run through these woods, but they seemed now only a small part of an extremely vast world.

I cut a path where none existed, as the trees around me whispered of power and danger and trouble pressed like the breath of a ghost on my neck. My footfalls pounded in time with the thump of the sporran against my waist and the heat of the carving streaked warmth through my body. Memories of visions haunted my passing, and fear built a lump in my stomach that grew as I ran.
The boat afire. Torquil in agony. Aine, white and bleeding.
I ran as fast as my legs would take me, praying heart and soul that I would reach them in time.

And when at last I came on the great boulder in the village square, the sense that something was wrong had
become so strong that my legs trembled beneath me. Though I knew that I shouldn't, I reached for the power, stretching ahead for the feel of my family. What came in the wake of that reach chilled the blood in my veins.

Desperate heartbreak. Mam.

I stumbled to the door of the hut as the carving seemed to burst into flame at my waist.

M
y mam's frightened, tear-streaked face looked at me as if I were expected. “Tormod!” My name escaped on a sob. “Get away from here! Run!”

“A touching scene,” Gaylen said mockingly, as he held the knife he had used on me up to my mam's throat. “Now why would he be leaving such a loving family reunion so soon?” His eyes narrowed. “Carefully put whatever ‘tis ye're gripping in that sporran gently on the table.”

“Mam, where is the family?” I asked quietly, shifting toward the table, desperately trying to stall for the time to think of a way out of this.

Gaylen pressed the knife a little harder and a soft cry escaped her. “No tricks, little man. There's no one
about to save either o' ye. They're off to the laird to set up a search party for yer brother.”

My heart nearly stopped.

“But they're no' going to find him, Tormod. He's long away now. Takin' yer place with the soldiers of Philippe.”

Mam's terror lashed out at me, and I stumbled against the table with the force of it. I wanted to lunge at him and cut out his lying tongue. Torquil could not be gone. That would mean that I had failed him, had failed them all. Again.

“Aye. Philippe will pay far more for that little trinket ye hold than the Church. They came to me as well.”

His words were slippery in my head, battering my shielding. I felt it breaking down moment by moment.

“Put down the artifact, Tormod, or she will never see another day.”

I felt the truth in what he said. My body began to shake as I looked into my mam's eyes and could feel nothing but her fear.

Distance yerself!
The command startled me into motion. I reached for the steadiness of the earth, and, as the first of the shielding commands enveloped me, I was able to think once more.

“Send her away and I will give ye what ye want. I will come with ye to deliver the package.” As I silently worked at the second command, I changed direction and walked toward the fire instead of the table.

I drew the carving from my sporran and held it out toward the flame. “I will burn it before yer eyes if ye don't release her unharmed.” I closed my eyes a moment, pressing hard and out, and my shield snapped into place. The power was mine to command, even if it was only for a while.

Ye canno' carry it without me,
I whispered toward Gaylen.

I saw the pressure of his knife lessen. He was not immune to my whisper. I took a step closer and held it over the fire.
Let the woman go. She will hinder yer progress.

And then, suddenly, Aine's hum filled my mind and a flow of power with the essence of Bertrand fleshed out the strength of my whisper.

Almost against his will, Gaylen moved toward the door with my mam still pinned in place before him. I pushed again, sweat beading up on my forehead and beneath my arms, and he opened the door and shoved her outside.

Mam did not hesitate. She bolted away, no doubt racing for help.

Gaylen stood with his back to the door. His breath was harsh and in his eyes burned an anger that hammered my overtaxed senses.

“Ye think to challenge me?” he said.

I moved away from the fire, gripping the carving, its warmth nearly burning my fingers. I began gathering strands of loose power to myself.

“I don't know what ye're talking about,” I bluffed, working the suggestion into his mind.
Ye need to be away from here. Men are coming.

He drew himself up straighter, looming over me in the dimness, and fury pounded against my shielding. I pulled my dagger from its sheath and the dance between us began.

I waited for him to make the first move as I had been taught by the Templar. In his anger, he was impatient and leapt forward, slashing deep toward my middle with his knife. I darted out of the way and shoved a stool in his direction, but he tossed it aside with little effort. “Ye've a bit o' training, I see. Well, it's no' nearly enough.”

I felt the power grow, then suddenly pool around him. His next slash caught my tunic, but I moved quickly and the cut missed my skin.

“Give it to me,” he said, using a compulsion so strong I fought myself to keep from obeying. The carving in my hand was heavy. I felt my shielding begin to thin along with my resolve.

“Hand me the artifact an' ye will live to try an' save yer brother. Continue to play with me an' I will kill ye
now, and then I will kill all yer family, starting with yer dear, sweet mam.” Images poured through my mind. Tortures he planned to commit. Cruelties he would find pleasure fulfilling.

I reared from the visions, sickened.

“Yes, ye see now what I can do. What I want to do, if ye but give me one reason. But it will end here, if ye are but a good lad an' do exactly what ye're told.” I felt his whisper deep in my mind.
Ye are only a lad. This charge is too great.
I was wavering. If I did as he said, no one would get hurt. Gaylen was moving toward me with the knife in his hand, sweeping it back and forth.

Ground!
The voice of the Templar rang in my ears.

“Alexander?” I said aloud, stunned.

“Calling yer friend will d'ye no good,” Gaylen taunted. “There are warrants out all over the land. He will not be coming to yer rescue.” The knife jabbed toward me and I darted to the side, barely avoiding it.

Ground, Tormod. Do it now!

Suddenly the room began to tilt.
No,
I thought, I could not let this happen. The darkness was closing in on me and I was powerless to stop it. A vision was descending as Gaylen was advancing.

Paper beneath a soldier's hand. A seal in the right-hand corner.
Familiar. I had seen it … on a ring. I felt Aine's concentration and the vision widened. Words
caught from the corner of my eye. Closer. Clearer.
To be taken alive. Templar Alexander Sinclair.

I felt the first cut of the blade, a knick on my arm. He came at me strong and hard and I stepped aside, stabbing toward his body. The slice cut away a bit of his tunic. Blood glistened on my blade.

“Stop playing with me, lad. Put the knife away and hand me that carving. Yer brother has been taken. Ye don't know where he is or who has him. I do. Give me what I want an' the information is yers.”

I wished that I had the Templar's sword to cut off his head and still the words. He would never let me live if the carving was his. He was a viper — out for himself and for the goods and land the Bruce would provide, if he were able to overthrow the English. I saw that now.

Drop the blade. Ye are no match for me. He will not save ye this time.
The whisper spread over me. He was strong, his command of the power more sure and skillful than mine. I had the overwhelming desire to do what he asked.

Then, in the back of my mind I heard Aine's hum, and with everything in me I latched on to it. The vision crashed over me with a force that nearly took me to the ground as Aine pulled me into her read of the land over which she was traveling.

The familiar shape of man and horse. The sword I would recognize anywhere.
The Templar. In Scotland. Alive. Following a group on horseback.

Torquil.

Gaylen took the opening he had been waiting for and focused the power on me.