A Templar's Gifts (2 page)

D
ays passed with little or no trouble from my lapse into the vision state, but my da had been out with his crew then. He and my brothers had arrived this morning and I had managed to avoid him up until now — no easy task.

I felt his approach as I cleaned the muck in the animal byre and bolted out back and up the slopes as fast as my legs would carry me. I was safe from confrontation, but I'd only made it as far as the first of our sheep grazing in the rough, when a strong stir of emotion hit me hard.
Think o' nothing,
I chanted to myself.
Hear only yer own thoughts.

A ewe wandered close and I latched on to her soft nape, trying to block out all but the simple essence of the animal. Mam's and Da's words and feelings came to me nevertheless.

“I don't know what happened. One moment he was tellin' the bairn a story, an' the next he was sittin' an' starin', stuck with a terrified expression on his face.” I heard Mam all too clearly. It made me ill to listen to them this way. I used to do it for fun, to get information I would not otherwise be privy to. But now, as it was not something I could control, I hated it.

“I'm worried for the lad. I've heard tales o' this.” Da's words were as clear as if he stood beside me. “The death o' his friend has unhinged him.”

My throat tightened at the thought, wondering if he was right.

“Mayhap, then, he should be with the Templars. Their healers can help,” said my mam quietly.

I was shocked. Mam was championing my going to the Order.

“I've told ye I will no' speak o' this again. He is where he belongs, here at home with his family,” said Da firmly. A swirl of anger rolled off of him. Mam's frustration was rising. Their emotions were within me, growing. My head ached. My guts heaved. I huddled against the ewe but could find no relief.

Lord, please, take this gift from me. I don't want it.
My prayer was answered with a shift in the land's current. It swirled, buffeting me with comfort, stripping their conversation from my mind and reach.

Though the gray light of day slipped to a charcoal night, I remained on the slopes until it grew too cold to bear any longer, thinking about how best to deal with Da. I didn't want to answer questions about what had happened. It was not as if I could give him the answers he sought. He'd think me mad.

With a sinking heart, I realized he probably already did. It was something I wondered about myself. What was happening to me? I needed the Order, but the Templars had never called for me. I'd done my part by finding the Holy Vessel, whisking it out of the country beneath the very nose of those who sought it, and delivering it home to Scotia. Their part was to take me in and train me as a Templar. The Abbot had promised.

But for the whole of a moon's turn I had wandered these hills, tending sheep and watching the days seep one into the next, waiting for the summons. Every morning I prayed for some understanding about why they had not come for me. Never an answer came.

“Well, I'll no' be waiting forever,” I said aloud to the sheep. “If they won't call for me, I will go to them and demand that they take me in.” Once uttered, I knew the rightness of it. Staring off over the slopes, I felt small and very much alone. Leaving was my only hope.

T
he smell of the tallow was strong and I watched the thick, oily smoke inch its way toward the roof beams.
The flame's small flicker did little to light the dimness of the hut. I sat on my pallet, pleating the worn edge of a blanket with my fingers, wishing to be anywhere else.

“Has this happened before?” Da asked. He was hunkered down before me, not restlessly pacing as was his wont a moment ago. I preferred the former to this unswerving attention.

I kept my eyes averted, staring up into the corner so as not to make contact, fighting the feelings he projected. It was as if a weight pressed hard on my heart. “No, Da. I didn't hear Mam calling me. I was thinking o' something else.”

“What the devil could ye be thinking?” he demanded. His voice was like the crack of a whip and I flinched. “Ye were in the midst o' a story.”

“I don't know. Just what I was going to say next,” I stammered, lying. It was another reason I would not look at him. I hated lying. It was not right and I was no good at it.

The questioning had been going on for an age. I wracked my mind for something I could tell him. “My mind drifted an' the next thing I knew Mam had doused me.” That was the truth and I met his eyes squarely as I said it.

It didn't work. Da was not to be put off and adamant to get to the bottom of the trouble. “Tormod, I
know that ye miss yer friend, an' what ye've been through would hurt even a full-grown man, but it would help if ye talked about it.”

That was the last thing I could take. “There's nothing to talk about!” I shouted, reeling under the press of his emotion as well as my own. “Leave off, man! I'm no' a bairn.”

Da's fist bunched and his stare was a hard, stone-cold thing. I'd crossed a line I should not have. “Watch yerself, lad.” His voice was dead-calm quiet. “I've allowed as much leave as ye best be taking, or ye'll find yerself bent over the fence post facing my strap like a bairn.”

I leapt up and pushed past him, fleeing the hut as if all the demons of the underworld panted at my heels. He did not follow, but his anger and hurt did.

The very next day I began stowing things in a nook beneath a jut of rock, high on the hillside. I knew what a trek across the land entailed, and though I only intended to go as far as the preceptory, I had long ago determined never again to be caught without the supplies I needed to travel.

One by one, I smuggled blankets out under my plaid. Old, worn, and stained from the bairns, I knew they would not be missed. An old flint accompanied bits of
dried fish from the root cellar, and a small supply of carrots and potatoes followed. I took an old skin as well and filled it with water from the stream. I had my dagger, two extra pair of breeks, and a sark, just in case I had need of them.

In all, it took near on a week for me to gather everything I wanted. Once I'd made up my mind to go, I found I could barely wait.

That night, only the small glow of the cook fire broke the black of the hut's interior. The soft sigh of my sleeping family shushed like the sway of the birch outside. Da was the last to retire. We'd been treading lightly around each other since the argument. I'd not apologized, nor had he.

I sat up slowly, craning to see through the gloom. Lumps and piles of sleeping bodies were all about, on pallet and floor. Pushing aside my blanket, I felt for my supplies. Boots and plaid, both readily at hand. I'd already wriggled into my clothes beneath the covers. It had taken forever and my heart had nearly burst from my chest with worry that someone might hear and take note.

Now, silently, I crept from my place, whispering the barest push of exhaustion to those sleeping around me. Though I had no business using the power, I could not afford to take chances. A wave of dizziness washed over me and I held my breath, waiting for it to pass. No one
stirred. I reached for the door and looked back only once. “Farewell,” I whispered. “I love ye.”

Tears blurred my sight as I stepped out into the night. The wind cut hard into the chinks and corners unprotected by my plaid, and the slope was sharp beneath my legs.
I can do this,
I told myself.
I've done it before.

As I climbed, night sat heavy on my shoulders. I was much better without light now than I once had been. During my last trek, the merest grouping of shadows had frightened me. Tonight I moved with purpose, behind the hut and up over the rocky landscape. It took only moments to locate the gap in the rocks. My old linen sack sat beneath the overhang just where I'd placed it. With the determination to be gone, I purposefully reached down into the blackened space.

“What d'ye think ye're doin'?” A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder and my heart nearly leapt from my chest. Then all at once the night faded to a deep dark black. I was no longer there. Hard stone pressed against my cheek and pain seared my skin. The crack of a whip and the harsh wheeze of my breath sounded in my ears, and in my mind there was a horrible keening, echoing in the darkness and tearing at my heart.

“Why are ye skulking about in the dead o' night?” Torquil's voice cut away the vision but not the horror. I gasped, breathing heavily, confused and frightened.

“Torquil?” I shuddered, desperate to press the memory away, to get out of here as fast as possible. “Go away! Leave me be.”

“What are ye doin', Tormod? I'll no' ask ye again.” His voice was loud. My ears hurt. The sack in my hands was heavier than before, and I slung it wearily over my shoulder.

“Please. I don't have the strength for this. I've got to go,” I protested. “I dare no' stay a moment longer,” I said quietly. “It's dangerous to the family, an' to me as well.” It was more than I wanted to say. They were coming for me.

Torquil did not shift a muscle, just stared as if he would never move. I made to go around him and he stepped into my path. I shoved him with all of the built-up frustration and fear I'd been holding. He stumbled back a step.

“There are things that ye don't know, things I can never tell anyone, that happened while I was away,” I snapped. “Don't ye see, I'm no' the same inside. Ye know what I was when I left.”

This reached him. His eyes dropped. He knew well what I meant and it bothered him still. The rift between us grew deeper and wider.

I'd seen the death of the da of one of his friends, and Torquil let it be known. It had not gone well for me after that.

“It's worse now, Torquil. I have to go, before something happens.” I'd no sooner spoken when …

Dust rose in a cloud. Thundering hooves. The great wooden gate. The Abbot's study.

“Who was the boy traveling with Alexander Sinclair?”

“I know no such boy.”

My knees nearly buckled as the vision slid away. It was too much. My heart pounded, and I felt like I was going to vomit. “They hunt me. I can't go to the preceptory,” I mumbled.

My panic reached Torquil. “Who, Tormod? Who?” His fingers dug into my shoulders and I gave up any effort to conceal the vision.

“Men o' the French King.” The words tore from me. “They're coming!” My frightened gaze begged him to understand. “Torquil, don't try to stop me. They're killers an' they're looking for me. Go away. Go home.” His stare was hard. He fought some internal war I did not have time for. I made to leave.

“We'll take the boat,” he said, his words shocking me to the core.

“What? No,” I protested. “I'll go alone. Da will kill ye if ye take the boat without permission.” I started quickly down the slope but Torquil remained fast on my heels.

“If I don't do it, I could no' live with myself,” he said almost so quietly I did not hear. The sound of our rushed steps echoed loud in the night. Tremors rippled along my spine as we bolted through the village, down to the water's edge. They could be here at any time. I could never tell with the visions.

W
e were on my da's fishing boat and out into the harbor in barely a quarter the time that was usual. I stood at the bow, willing the boat to move faster, watching the edge of my world disappear yet again. The water was dark and choppy, and we dipped jerkily in the waves. I was frozen and my insides rocked with the ocean's movement. We were traveling as quickly as the wind might take us, but what if it was not enough?

Torquil manned the wheel while I watched, sick with fright as the shoreline disappeared in the darkness. Whether it was truly my own fear or the reflection of Torquil's, I didn't know.

“Where can ye hide?” he asked. Torquil's face was in shadow, but I knew it was taut with worry. His emotions
were battering my own, making it difficult to think. It was all so confusing.

“I have a friend in Arbroath. If I can get there, he will take me in,” I said grudgingly. I'd often thought of Bertrand, the Knight Templar with the gift of healing. He had cared for me when I lost my toes and promised to help if ever the need arose.

The wind tossed the ocean into a churning white froth. I felt the raw and ancient power of its depths, but took no pleasure in it. My thoughts were filled with the terror of the soldiers hunting me. The “need” had surely arisen.

“I know the place,” said Torquil. He had made many trips along the coast over the years. As a senior fisherman on my da's boats, he often plotted and sailed.

It was a long while until dawn. Only the steady murmur of the waves parting around the hull disturbed the peace of the night. I should have been asleep on my feet, but my body was strung tight. Hunched against the chill within and without, I stared up into the black and endless sky, dotted by the pinpricks of light that spilled through from the heavens.

I drifted toward the mast and sat, watching the subtle movements of Torquil's hands and eyes. “I thank ye for helping me.” It was nearly painful to say the words. We had been at odds for so long and our animosity toward each other was still fresh in my memory.
“Ye'll be facing a goodly portion o' chaff when ye return.”

He ignored my words and fished a pouch from his sporran. “I saved my share of the haul this summer.” His voice was low, but even soft conversation seemed loud on the water. “I thought to hold on to it in case I was able to get to market to buy Bridie a ring.” My jaw dropped in shock. That he would give me money was nearly as surprising as the thought of him marrying. I looked for the lie. His eyes were far away. I could read nothing in their depths.

“I want ye to have it, Tormod,” he said. “I don't like the idea of ye off with naught but the clothes on yer back an' that wee pack.”

Another shock. “Ye've got plans for that coin,” I gasped. “I canno' take it.” I felt like it was a trap. “Ye've worked an' saved. Marriage?” I mumbled. “I can't even fathom it.”

He smiled in his
I'm older and know something you don't
way. As usual it got under my skin, but I said nothing. “Go on an' take it.” He tossed the pouch to the deck near my leg. “I've gotten on without a ring until now. I'll raise it again. Bridie'd no' care. She worried for ye long, ere ye went away.”

Revelation on revelation. Bridie worried over my disappearance? The last I'd seen of her, she was mocking my hair and freckles. It was so small a thing now, I
wondered why it bothered me to begin with. “Why are ye helping me?” I said at last, nearly afraid to have mentioned it. In a small voice I said, “Ye hate me.”

“Hate ye! Lord, whatever would give ye that ridiculous notion?” He seemed truly offended. I didn't know what to think.

“Come on, man,” I exclaimed. “Ye've had no use for me for long an' away. Ye've been torturous since that day on the beach. I didn't plan on having that vision, nor did I expect you to tell Cormack I saw his da dead, Torquil. I was as shocked as ye were.” I turned my eyes from his, still hurt by the memory.

The reference to it made him uncomfortable. “I just don't understand ye, Tormod. Why d'ye make trouble for yerself? Why can ye no' just do like the rest o' us? Be like the rest o' us?”

I let my head fall back against the wooden pole, looking to the heavens for guidance. “Don't ye think I wish that, Torquil? To be different than I am? Ye don't know what it's like to see things no one else does — to know things before they happen an' have no way to prevent them. This is no' something I chose or can control. The visions come to me. I don't court them. I don't even like them. But they are a part o' me, as much as the color of my eyes or hair.”

He was quiet, brooding no doubt about my not falling in with his idea of what I should be or do. “What
happened that day, Tormod? Where did ye go, an' why did ye wait so long to come back?”

My stomach heaved. I had not spoken to him directly about any of the things that had befallen me and I wasn't sure I wanted to. Fear and distaste were rolling off of him. “It's a long story,” I said, sighing.

“Aye. Well, we seem to have a bit o' time. I've no' offered it much, but I've an ear to listen, if ye're of a mind to tell.” His gaze was on me and I was torn. Torquil stood tall and strong at the wheel, and I missed the way it used to be between us. I told myself over and over again on the long journey home that I would someday win my brother back to my side. It hadn't happened yet. If I didn't take the chance now, might I lose it forever?

With a deep breath, I started the tale as it had been told to me by the Templar. “In the beginning there was one knight …”

The story crept out of me slowly, unfolding into the wee hours. The telling brought me back to places and faces I'd put aside. Being home had dulled the experiences into things less and less real as the days had gone by, but now they were back and the wonder of what I had seen and done was fresh and shocking, even to me.

Torquil listened with rapt attention, breaking in with questions from time to time. There were moments when he appeared doubtful, and others when he was truly
astounded. And when I neared the end of my tale, I saw something in his eyes I had never expected to find. Dare I hope … respect?

“Ye escaped with an artifact o' great power and the soldiers of the King hunt ye,” he said faintly. He shook his head as if to dispel the notion. “It's like a legend of old, Tormod. Are ye havin' me on?” He looked at me suspiciously.

“Truly,” I insisted, “but my worries don't end there.” Restless, I leapt up and started to pace, feeling the edginess within me churn. “There's an oddness that's come about, one that I canno' control. I've changed.” I rubbed my eyes, feeling the throb of an aching head approach. My feelings were keyed to Torquil's and he was worried.

“Changed in what way?” he asked.

I was afraid to speak of my gifts. I'd long hidden them, especially at home. “Ye know I sometimes see things that have no' as yet happened?” I said. He nodded. I drifted to the rail, gripping it tightly, feeling Torquil's unease grow. “I have abilities now that I've never had before. I've been having visions about things happening beyond our croft and land, things that I think I should be making sense o', but I canno'.”

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I feel what others are feeling. Their emotions make me ill. Sometimes …” I hesitated. “I hear their thoughts in my head. I canno'
shut them off or push them away. It's as if my mind is full to bursting an' I'm about to go mad.”

He gaped. “That's what happened the other day, isn't it?” he asked. “Ye had another vision.” His wariness of me peaked.

“Aye. It comes on suddenly an' I have no way to stop it. I've always believed that the visions come for a reason, to warn me that something is about to happen or to give me clues as to what I'm meant to do, but now I have all these other things going on and I don't think it's supposed to be that way.”

“What ye said just now, about the visions telling ye something ye're meant to do. What did ye mean?” His eyes were fast on the horizon and yet I felt his attention, sharp and keen as he waited for an answer.

“Sometimes I try my best to change what I see. He told me I could,” I said, remembering the many conversations we'd had about that very thing.

“Who, Tor?” he asked. Torquil hadn't called me that in a long while. It gave me a good feeling of home and the way it used to be.

“The Templar Alexander. He had the vision of what was, what would be, an' what could be. He said what I saw in the visions could be changed, because the future is no' yet determined.” I sighed. “But I've no' seen any evidence o' this. I've tried, Torquil, so hard to change
what I see, but near as I can tell I have no effect on the future whatsoever. Truly, sometimes I think I often
cause
what I see to happen.”

My heart was near breaking at that thought voiced aloud. Had I caused the death of the Templar in trying to keep him from being killed?

A spike of strong emotion I could not name leapt from Torquil, cutting through my unhappiness. “I'm sorry I sent ye back for the tinderbox, Tor. If I hadn't, ye never would have gotten mixed up in all this trouble.”

I was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. “Ye needn't worry over that, Torquil. I'd do it all again with no regrets if I had the chance.”

He cradled the wheel. I could almost see the thoughts whirring in his mind, but only his feelings came across to me. He was anxious. “Is it safe?” he asked.

“Is what safe?”

“The artifact, the Holy Vessel ye found,” he replied.

“Och, aye. The Order has it hidden away,” I said, thinking of the Abbot and his assurances when I'd delivered it to him.

“But if your vision showed soldiers at the preceptory …” he said. I didn't remember saying that precisely.

“ 'Tis safe,” I said with conviction. “It has to be. My duty was to get it there. It's their responsibility now to keep it. They have a whole army to do it.”

“Ye would know that more than any other,” he said. I felt his confidence. It was a good and unexpected thing to have encountered in my brother after all I'd been through.

A soft wind swept the bow. The shush of the water, ever moving, drew me. Without reaching, the pure, clean life of the ocean came to me. Like the mist that coated my skin, it was fresh, cold, and invigorating.

The depths of the ocean called. And my mind was suddenly somewhere else.

“Come forward.”
The voice was melodic, and yet commanding.
“Tell me what you saw.”

“A light as like nothing I have ever encountered. The boy held it aloft and the hand of death struck any who advanced.”
The man's terror curled my guts.

“What was beyond the light? Surely you must be able to tell me something.”
His tone was scathing and the man flinched.

“I believe it was a vessel, my Liege. A base and a bowl of some sort. But the light was too bright to behold. I can tell you nothing more.”

I snapped to as Torquil adjusted the sail. “Ye were drifting,” he said apologetically. “I didn't mean to wake ye.”

It only took a moment for my thoughts to readjust. The queasiness that always appeared in the wake of a
vision roiled within me. They knew of the carving and bowl and I was their only link.

“Rest ye now, while ye can, Tormod. Ye will need yer strength when ye leave me. I'm here an' will take care of ye. Sleep.”

I was bone weary. Even with the vision fresh and the fear of what was to come, I could barely keep my eyes open. And so when sleep stole over me, I gave myself up to the protection of my brother.