Chapter 7: Five Of Swords

Zeb came back to consciousness slowly. The ache where the arrow had been removed from his back and the rub and hurt of other scrapes and bruises from his run were present, but not as bad as he expected. Hands ran firmly up and down his body exuding warmth and confidence. He began to take in the murmur of voices in the room.

"He should be dead. The wound itself should have killed him, even without the blood loss."

"Yet, here he is, alive, and it is our duty to heal him."

"The only good thing about the bleeding was it may have kept the infection out of the wound."

"We can only pray."

"Pray - but clean and dress his wounds."

"Of course, Brother Stephen."

Zeb opened his eyes to see two men in plain brown robes over him.

"Your patient is awake, I will leave him to your healing." The speaker glowed within with a hard, clear light. Zeb blinked at the light. The door shut firmly, leaving him with the other man.

Brother Stephen sat beside him. A chubby, old man with wispy white hair, shaved in the center of his head, he shone with a warm light that hurt Zeb's eyes. Zeb tried to sit up to escape, but the flesh that he inhabited betrayed him and he fell back to the bed.

"Easy, friend, you are safe here." Brother Stephen's voice was as soft as the rest of him. "The abbot has given you sanctuary, so nothing may disturb you, but by the will of God."

Zeb gnashed his teeth at the mention of the One, but his weakness wouldn't allow him more. The darkness swallowed him.

He woke again quickly and completely. Brother Stephen slept slumped in a chair beside the bed. Zeb would have crushed him, but the cursed flesh of his body refused to obey. His struggle did wake Brother Stephen. Zeb opened his mouth to rail at the monk, but no words would form. Every time he tried to speak his throat closed and he'd cough. Brother Stephen spoon fed Zeb and helped him to use the bucket in the corner.

"You took a terrible wound from that arrow, then you lost much of your blood running through the forest. Twas God's grace that you fell in front of that farmer and he brought you here."

Zeb opened and closed his mouth several times trying to speak, but could make no sound at all.

"I fear that the shock of your wound has rendered you silent. Try not to trouble yourself over it. There are many in this place who find silence preferable to speech. Because I am a healer, I am permitted to speak to you or others as I need," the brother smiled, "or perhaps it is my joy in speaking that made me a healer."

Zeb tried to growl at the fool and railed at the weakness of the flesh he was imprisoned in. He had no strength to silence this chattering mortal.

"You need rest, so I will not disturb you further with my prattle. If you need me, clap." Brother Stephen demonstrated. "God willing, you will heal without infection." He pulsed with light at the mention of the One, so Zeb cringed away. The brother left the room and Zeb was alone.

He could have howled at the irony of these foolish monks bringing him in to heal him. Couldn't they see that he was not just another mortal? But then, how they could see anything past the light pouring from them was a mystery.

The next days were slow torture for Zeb. His voice did not return, and he developed a fever. He wandered in and out of consciousness, sometimes shaking with cold, sometimes sweating with heat. Brother Stephen stayed with him constantly, not talking, but praying. Even through his closed eyes the light from the monk burned. Other brothers wandered in on errands. They all glowed, but none with the intensity of the healer. The abbot came in and frowned at Zeb a few times, but said nothing.

The fever broke after a week, to the joy of Brother Stephen, but it left Zeb helpless. He consumed vast amounts of thin broth. After a few more days he graduated to having a chunk of rough bread with the soup. Though not as hearty as at the castle, the food slowly gave Zeb his strength back. His voice still refused to work. He ground his teeth at the humiliation of needing to summon Brother Stephen then pantomime his need.

A week after the fever broke Brother Stephen had Zeb up out of bed. At first just walking across the room exhausted his strength, but soon he was walking the hallways. He wandered out into the yard and was slowly put to work shoveling out the barn and weeding the small garden that grew within the walls. He enjoyed his freedom from Brother Stephen's prattling, but mostly from the blessed light that shone from the old monk night and day.

The other monks grew used to seeing Zeb around, and since most of them were under vows of silence, his involuntary silence wasn't much of a burden. The abbot continued to stay aloof. He didn't mingle with the others except when they went into the tiny chapel. Zeb had refused to enter the chapel under any circumstance, though Brother Stephen asked him at every opportunity.

"I fear that your silence is the result of your body and spirit at war," he said. "To speak again, you will need to resolve that conflict. What better way than to come into the presence of the Almighty?"

One day, almost a month after Zeb's arrival, Brother Stephen was being especially persistent. Zeb pushed him away and snatched a shovel to strike him down. Strength flowed through him and he grinned. Now he would be free of this monk and his light. Brother Stephen scrambled away and ran from him. Zeb pursued him. He didn't pay attention to where the monk led him.

When Zeb stepped through the door into the chapel, he met a figure so bright he couldn't see its face, standing between him and his intended victim. Zeb shouted and swung the shovel at it. A searing white sword shattered the shovel. Zeb was thrown back through the door of the chapel to land in the dirt of the yard. He woke to find the abbot standing over him.

"Bind him in chains," the abbot said, "and lock him in his room."

They confined Zeb to a small cell with chains fastening him to the wall. A bucket was left within reach in the corner, and bowls of the thin soup pushed within his reach. He tested the strength of his chains, but they were too strong for him to break. Trapped, Zeb sat on his bed and nursed his fury.

He lost count of the bowls of soup he drank before sounds from outside roused him from his lethargy. It sounded like fighting. Zeb was certain that he heard the clash of arms and the moan of wounded men. He gathered his strength and waited.

The door to his room was kicked open, and a man Zeb recognized from the castle stared at him then laughed.

"So, these monks aren't as foolish as I thought. They have you tamed. They converted you to their God yet?" He stepped into the room with sword lowered.

Zeb screamed and threw himself at the foolish mortal. Zeb took the man's bloody sword and used it to cut him open. The perfume of blood and guts called him to battle. His unwitting saviour sat trying to push himself back together as Zeb hammered the chains until they broke.

With the chains, the hold on his voice shattered. Screaming blasphemies, Zeb ran through the monastery killing anyone who stood in his way, both monk and soldier. He painted the walls with blood and smashed in doors looking for either the abbot or Brother Stephen. They weren't to be found, the monks had fled along with the soldiers. Time for me to leave too. They will search the roads, I will return to the woods.

He left the road and walked into the shadow under the trees. The forest was dim and cool. The leaves on the large trees blocked the sun so there was little undergrowth. Walking was easy, but Zeb was soon lost. He washed in a river. Zeb didn't particularly care about the blood, it might make him easier to trace.

Zeb carried the sword with him as he wandered through the forest. He didn't want to be without a weapon, but it was no use in catching food. It was too early in summer for berries, and the animals and birds stayed well clear of him. Hunger cut through his stomach. He drank more water, but his body demanded food. Zeb didn't know how mortals lived with the constant demands of their bodies. He took pleasure in the physicality of flesh and blood, but it was so weak.

He'd been traveling under the trees for several days when he heard voices. Zeb headed toward them. Voices meant food. He crept up on a group of rough looking men sitting around a fire. They had a couple of rabbits roasting on sticks. The smell made his mouth water. He hefted the sword and stepped into the clearing.

"I want some meat," he said.

"So what?" said the largest man, who towered over Zeb when he stood. "They're our rabbits, go get your own."

In the brief time it took to look around at the half dozen men who were sitting there, Zeb decided that it would be easier to let them find food for him to eat, so he didn't kill the big man. He kicked the man in the knee then in the head. He had the sword at his throat before he hit the ground. The other men hadn't had a chance to move.

"Give him a leg, boys," the downed man said, "I think Chancy will like him." He rolled to his feet and sat across from Zeb surreptitiously rubbing his knee.

Zeb ate the rabbit with the sword in his hand and grease running down his face.

 "Ye don't need to be holding on to that sword," said one of the other men as he gnawed on his own chunk of meat. It ain't like we are going to steal it. If ye can't eat it, we ain't interested."

Zeb learned the big man was called Oaf.

"We're all here 'cause it keeps us from the gallows," Oaf said. The others nodded or shrugged. "Now, Chancy, he's got real houses, with roofs and everything. We winter with him and help out with things."

They wandered without any clear direction throughout the summer. Zeb learned how to knock a squirrel or rabbit down with a stone. One of the men insisted on picking and eating various bits of green plants that they found along the way. Not as good as the meat, but welcome on the days when the stones missed their targets.

The summer passed in the green light of the forest. They saw no other people than themselves. Oaf showed Zeb the marks that told him that another group had crossed their path.

"Why don't you take what you need from the peasants?" Zeb asked one day when they were all hungry.

"If we start hurting the farmers, they complain to the lords. Then we get hunting parties coming through with bows and dogs. If we leave them alone, they leave us alone." Oaf gnawed on an old bone.

"Chancy don't like us messing with the farmers," another said past a mouthful of leaves.

They told him it was a lean year. He couldn't argue with them. As summer progressed, there were more days that the little group chewed on leaves or went hungry. Even the berries when they began to appear didn't appease their hunger.

Their first raid on a farm came almost by accident. They were walking along the edge of a field when they heard the sound of chickens. Upon investigation they found the birds pecking the dirt at the edge of the forest. A house was just visible across the field. Zeb's stones knocked three birds down and they grabbed their kill and ran back into the forest. There was no sound of pursuit.

The birds vanished into the men's bellies quickly. The day after, they were hungry again. Zeb led them back to where they had found the first birds, but nothing was there. As they walked in the shadow of the trees, they heard the sound of chickens again. This time, it came from across the field. When the men refused to cross the field, Zeb adjusted the sword in his belt and headed off alone. He found a fenced area and a dozen of the delicious birds. It was a matter of a second for Zeb to snatch the closest and walk back to the forest.

He wouldn't let the others eat until they promised that they would go the next time. The men did convince Zeb that they should spread their theft out so they rarely returned to the same homestead. Zeb didn't care, as long as he had sufficient food to feed his body. What began with chickens soon progressed to larger animals. They took whatever they could carry easily. The men had never eaten so well.

Fall came, and the men began talking about the hardships of surviving the winter. It didn't sound like something Zeb wanted to experience. He started going into the farmhouses and taking supplies they could keep through the winter. The men didn't like it, but they had grown so used to following Zeb that they didn't do anything more than grumble.

The first time they were interrupted in their raid, the farmer's wife just swore at them and ran off. They were gone before she returned with help. The next time, a farmer with a pitchfork tried to stop them. He was no match for Zeb. Even Oaf was white-faced as Zeb stepped over the body to ransack the house.

A farmer with a bow managed to kill one of the group before Zeb got to him. Zeb took the bow, but he couldn't get the hang of it and broke the three arrows they had been able to find. The men quit asking Zeb to stop. They had caches of food through the forest.

"We are going to eat better than Chancy this winter," Zeb said as he gnawed on a ham bone. The other men didn't argue. They were too busy eating.