A Templar's Gifts (8 page)

T
he bairn did not acknowledge my return. His eyes were screwed shut and his slender body rocked in time with some far-off internal rhythm. I stooped to gather him
into my arms when all at once he let out a cry that rose the hair on my neck.

“What did ye do?” Aine demanded. “What's wrong?” she yelled over the wails that took over after the first scream.

Memories poured from the lad, overwhelming my senses. “He's locked in the memory,” I gasped, shaking him a little. “Here now. There, there. You're all right, lad. Hush ye now.”

He continued to wail and sob with no sign of stopping. Aine had covered her ears with her fingers and paced, agitated. “Can't ye do something?” she shouted.

“I don't know,” I said anxiously. “I've not been trained to heal and I'm in no good state myself.” The words were truer than I let on. I was a mess and the lad's trauma was combining with my own.

“I don't care. Do something! He's breaking my heart.” Tears for the bairn rolled down her face. Her hurt, his fear, all too much. It had to stop.

“Here, take my hand and no matter what happens do not let go of me.”

For once she had no words, no questions or chatter. She quickly latched on and immediately the peace I felt whenever she touched me returned. I took the hand of the bairn then and focused my attention on the levels of power in the soil at my feet.

The earth was rocky and the ground long trampled. The energy was deep below the surface, but I could see the network of silken strands that crossed and wove. Focusing on the peace that Aine exuded, I tugged a tendril of power. For some reason it felt strange beneath my probe. Like the dew that coated the morning grass, it beaded and scattered as I tried to call it toward me. Frustrated, I focused more sharply and felt the blood in my body race.

Somewhere off in the distance, I recognized Aine's humming. And then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, the power came to me. Without the chaos to confuse things, the energy pulsed into my mental grasp and in turn I directed it into the mind of the bairn.

Immediately, I was immersed in his memories. Brutal images fluttered against my mind, like the frantic beat of the trapped wings of a bird. I pushed through, reaching into his past for anything that might calm and comfort him. Memories of life before, people he knew and loved, places that were special to him, and then I found it.

The doll was not much more than a pile of scraps. Leftover linen, thread for the mouth, tiny tin buttons for eyes. Its smock was worn thin from use. The image was strong. Safety and love clung to its memory like cobwebs in a corner. I seized on it and pressed it into the fore of his mind.

The lad became still quite suddenly, and I knew that I had found his comfort. I sent the image to Aine so that she would understand. Her humming paused for a moment and she gasped. Then she let go of my hand and bolted off down the road.

My mind reeled with the sudden loss of contact. Energy swirled within me, and riots of tension rolled through me. The bairn's terror came again, and this time it was more than I could bear. I was crashing, overwhelmed by the emotions piercing my mind. I needed to let go of him. I pushed away, desperate to make it stop. My ears were filled with a furious buzz and my heart pounded with pain.

Then, without warning, I saw him, my vision sharp and clear.
Alexander!
I screamed as the chaos enfolded me.
Ground, Tormod! Focus and shield the power away. Let go!

I shoved with all my heart and mind, pushing the energy, the power back down into the ground at my feet. The land rumbled, the path split, and the bairn and I were knocked apart.

I lay stunned by the suddenness of it all. The vision of the Templar, so much as I had seen him last — strong, real, whole — hung before me. “Thank you,” I whispered to whatever had brought him to me.

Aine's running footfalls pulled me from myself and suddenly anger replaced my calm. “Why did ye let go of
me?” I bellowed, unable to control the wrath. “I told ye no' to let go! No matter what!”

Aine's face was a most unnatural white, and her chest heaved with the exertion of her run. I turned to see what she was staring at.

And the world roared. The bairn lay still and unmoving, his body twisted at a strange angle.

“No!” I screamed, scrambling to him. How could it be? He was so still. I laid my hands on his tiny chest and felt for his breath, but there was nothing. Tears blurred my vision and torment filled my heart. I called on the power.

Please, Lord, help!
But nothing stirred. It was as if the Lord and the land had given up on me.

“No, no, no,” I moaned. He could not be gone. My guilt was so deep, my pain and Aine's so hot I felt as if I might burst into flame. I couldn't think. “I killed him,” I gasped, not wanting to accept that it was true.

Aine's hands were fisted on my shoulders. “No,” she whispered, “I did. Ye told me no' to let go.” Her words ended on a sob. “I only meant to get him his dolly. I only meant …” She broke down, her cries like those of a wounded animal.

I knew her thoughts. Her pain rushed through me like wildfire — the deaths of her family, the guilt she carried, her devastation over the bairn. My senses shrieked, and the power of the land suddenly broke free, welled up beneath me, and flowed through me.

With new clarity I moved deeply into the mind and body of the bairn. I saw the stillness of his tiny heart, the quiet emptiness of his mind. The power had done this. I saw the scorched places in his body where the energy had seared. I tried to fix him, as I had healed the Templar's nephew, Seamus, but I knew in my heart of hearts that he was beyond me.

It was a long while later when I realized that Aine was shaking me, and so much longer before I was able to still the tears that flooded my world.

W
e worked in silent numbness. The day lengthened as I dug a shallow grave with an old spade from one of the huts. The ground was cold and hard. It took much to make the barest of dents, but I did it while Aine gathered stones to make a cairn.

As the rain began once more to fall, I laid his small body to rest. Aine put the doll in his hands, her tears dripping down on his pale face.

“Lord, take this innocent unto your care. He's seen more than his share an' yet not nearly enough o' this
world. Though we knew him not long, he will stay with us always.” I could barely speak for the sadness.

“Hail Mary, full o' grace …” Aine began the prayer and I joined in softly. The bairn was home with his family now.

We did not linger in that place. Aine climbed astride our horse and I walked, leading, following the road away. Sadness hung around us like the fog blanketing the mountains.

“I don't know how that could o' happened,” Aine said in a whisper, as if she spoke to herself. “He was here and now he's no'.” Her voice caught in a sob that she pulled back with a hiccup.

I had no answer. I couldn't speak. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I might start screaming and never stop. I was supposed to be his protector. Instead I had killed him.

Misery and guilt were my only companions as I thought of what happened again and again, wondering what I could have done differently.

The echo of his cries filled my head. My body was cold, and my legs stumbled every few steps.

“Tormod! What's wrong? What is happening?” I felt her hands on my arms and her nails digging. Her face
was strange and far away. My head pulsed with a throbbing that encompassed my eyes. I stared at her mutely, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

Focus. Ground. Shield.
Words pounded my skull, but like puffs of cloud, they brushed me but beyond that had no effect. The voice in my head was not my own. I squinted. The light was too bright. I was confused.
Do it! Now!

Aine's face was fading in the brightness of the light.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God …”
The words came to me, as did the vision. I saw a block of wood. Shavings curl and fall. A likeness unfolding. Dark hair and amber eyes. The face of a woman. The carving had come to life.

I blinked and my shielding was in place. Aine was before me, and the woman was gone. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, and ragged sobs tore from my throat. For the bairn, for the Templar, for Seamus. For myself.

Aine took my hand and pulled me to her and hugged me. I cried a flood of tears that had no beginning or end. And for a very long time she did not let go.

As if by silent accord we spoke no more about what had happened to the bairn, and we took to the road with an emptiness I had never felt before. We walked side by side, leading the horse and holding each other's hand.

“Tormod,” she said after a very long while, “I'm frightened for ye.” Her nervousness slid along a path inside me and I opened my hand to pull away, but she gripped it hard. “No, don't.” Her eyes beseeched mine. “Tell me what is happening. This isn't right,” she said quietly.

How could I explain it? I walked along, breathing the early evening air and listening to the wind. “After ye sing, or whatever ‘tis ye do, d'ye feel like yer sick or tired?” I asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Tired, surely,” she said. “Ye mean it has something to do with the power?”

“Aye. The power gives us the abilities that we have, but it also takes something away each time we use it. It's like we're used as well.”

She nodded, as if what I said unlocked a question she had. “An' this has something to do with the way ye are ill?”

“Aye. I think so. When I use the power, it drains me badly. I have more abilities than I ever had before. I feel the emotions of everyone around me, and I sometimes hear their thoughts.” She started and made to pull her hand from mine. “No, it's all right. I canno' hear yers, an' it hasn't happened for a bit, anyway. My brother Torquil had the same response.”

Aine smiled and seemed to relax in that.

“It's just that everything is so much stronger and so much more draining of late, that ‘tis hard to bear.” I shook my head in frustration. “Emotions seem to come at me instead o' rolling off an' away. They get tangled up with whatever I'm feeling an' they grow in me. Everything spins out o' control. I can't seem to do anything about it. Things just go awry.”

Aine was quiet, her eyes fixed on the road. My thoughts drifted back to the bairn and my heart dropped even lower than it had been.

“Yet, when we touch ye seem better,” she said.

“Aye. It's the only thing keeping me stable. I've only known a few of the gifted. None did that for me.”

She looked down on our twined fingers. “It's a strange bit, no denying that. But as I told ye, I can usually calm folk with my hum. It must be a part o' it, though its never been like this before. I wish that I could do something more. If maybe I'd known sooner, then …” Her voice was strangled and she didn't continue.

Filled with sadness I said, “Aye. I wish many things, but the wishing's never done me any good. I have to warn ye. Sometimes I get pushed into a dark place that I canno' get out o'.”

“Like that day on the beach, when I found ye,” she said. “An' after with William?”

“Aye,” I replied.

“That's frightening. Maybe using the power too
often has done this to ye. Maybe neither of us should use it at all,” she suggested.

“It's no' that easy. I can't stop myself. The visions come when they do. Can ye stop yerself?” I asked.

“I can't stop the readin' of a place, but I can choose no' to give comfort with the song. Though when someone is in need, I wouldn't want to withhold giving them what relief I could.”

We were quiet then, each lost to our own thoughts. The silence was welcoming. In it I felt no accusation, no press for what I could not give. It decided me. “I want to tell ye something, for ye have to know what danger yer in, should ye choose to stay with me.”

She lifted her brow. “I'm no' goin' anywhere.”

“Ye might change yer mind,” I said. “I'll tell ye a story,” I said, “that stretches back a good long time. It will take a bit …” I hesitated.

“We seem to have nothing but time,” she said.

I nodded. The sound of the horse's hooves played in my ears. I felt a mess, as if I might be sick at any moment, and the light hurt my eyes.

“There was a knight. A good and brave, gifted man. His abilities were to see the future. No' just the things that would be, but also what might be.”

Aine stared ahead, but her concentration was rapt.

“He came to my village on the celebration o' Beltane and asked me to deliver a message.” I laughed without
mirth. “And I bungled the task, as I do most things.” The reminder of the bairn sent a fresh jolt of pain through me.

Aine squeezed my hand and I continued. “But in spite of it, or maybe because of my mistake, I ended up on a quest that took us far from home with bad people chasing us.”

I was quiet a moment, remembering all that we'd been through and how it had turned out. It was impossible to sum up in words.

“Tell me about it,” was all she said.

I nodded. We remounted the horse and I began the story from the very beginning.

T
he land passed by in a blur as I spoke, and I left out no detail in the telling this time. Aine said nothing throughout the whole of it. I finished as the sun slipped from the afternoon sky.

“I know o' this thing, this carving, o' which ye speak,” Aine said timidly.

“What? How?” I asked, shocked.

“When I healed ye, back a' the byre. I saw it in yer
dreams when I sang to ye.” She seemed ashamed by the admission.

“Ye knew, all this time? Why didn't ye say anything?” I asked.

“I didn't know what it was or what had happened to ye, but I saw it. No' for long, but oh, it was so lovely,” she said. “I didn't want ye to think I was intruding on yer memories. 'Twas no' on purpose, I swear.” I could feel her agitation.

“It's all right. Sometimes that happens to me as well. I know how it can feel, like ye've listened to something ye shouldn't an' know it's wrong.” I felt her relax.

“D'ye have the Holy Vessel still?” Aine asked.

“No. I gave it over to the Order at Balantrodoch.” The sharp memory of the vision where soldiers rode through the gates of the preceptory and questioned the Abbot surfaced in my mind.

“And yet ye're still hunted,” she said. “Why?”

“I don't know. I have to believe they didn't find what they were looking for at the preceptory. I don't even know where it lies.”

“So we seek the healer ye met on yer journey,” she said. “D'ye believe he can make ye well?”

“I don't know. He's fair good at what he does, but even if he canno', at least I know that he can get me to the Templars, if no' here then in France or Spain. They will protect me from the King's men.

“Aine, I shouldn't have taken ye with me. Ye could fare badly in all o' this. Finding Bertrand might be impossible, an' I am getting more an' more dangerous to be around every day. I meant it when I said ye might choose another path to travel. Mayhap ye should go yer own way.” I said the words, but the thought of Aine not being with me to block the chaos filled me with panic.

“Yer no' more dangerous than the man I left,” she said softly.

“I could be,” I countered.

She shook her head and a dark bleakness flit through her. “I'm a fugitive now, as are ye. I think we were meant to find each other.”

Her words were so similar to ones I had uttered to the Templar that I stared at her.

“What, ye don't think so?” Her voice held the edge of peevishness. It was amazing how her temper could rise with so little reason. I shrugged, disturbed by the thought that she'd compared me to her uncle. Was I a beast like him? Would I harm her? Not on purpose, surely.

“Ye need me, Tormod MacLeod,” she declared.

“Aye. Perhaps.” I knew that I did, but it felt distinctly unmanly to admit it.

She huffed and it gave me a small smile. It felt good to bait her. As if maybe things were not quite as dire as they might be.