Young Writers Society

Three:
Departures

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
Psalm 84:5, NIV


Bad breath and burnt food, this could only be the tavern.
“Roland? Roland?”
My hood fell back as I dragged my head off one of the tables that littered the establishment. The background cacophony of drunken conversation faded into reality as my senses came to.
To my direct right, Vito said, “You wouldn’t be going to sleep on me here, would you?” his face brimming with a lewd smile. In both form and condition, he had the face of a farm hand, and a manner to match. As he laughed, my gaze dissolved past him, where I spotted Jeremiah by the fire. I must have caught his eye, and he smiled at me, inclining his head. He was nursing a drink, but it was almost certainly for the sake of appearance, un-drunk or merely water. He would never permit such a disturbance of the mind. Jeremiah was easily the oldest of Hernando’s followers, the final member of my all-but-blood family of father, brother, grandfather.eUnsupported field

I glanced at Vito. “Where are the others?”
He snorted. “Leocard’s still off talking with Hernando, and Sequiel joined them just now. Everyone else is here.”
I swivelled in my seat, hoping I suitably removed from Abel, Hernando’s self-proclaimed champion fighter. It was probably just as well he was within the good influence of Hernando and the Inquisition, goodness knows where he would end up otherwise. Probably in the gaols, maybe dead.
The argument Abel was having with the landlord was audible even over the white noise of such a bawdy place. His huge arms gestured violently as he protested some obviously important thing. Probably the drinks. His physical form always struck me as cruel. He had arms for hefting blades and legs for running down any unfortunate enough to get in his way. Most people only did that once.
Gripped with the urge to also get away from the oppression of the crowd and stench, I stood. Vito asked, “Going outside?”
“Just need some fresh air.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
No sooner was I out the door than my head cleared instantly, as if the night’s cool breeze had swept away the anathemas clogging my mind. Autumn was teetering on the verge of winter, and the chill was a terrier nipping at any exposed flesh. I buried my hands within my ceremonial robe.
I glanced up and down the dirt road. The homes here had been built closely packed, or maybe they had just fallen to leaning on each other. There were few side streets, but the largest of the houses had small fenced courtyards. It was within one nearby that I heard voices. In the natural silence that always ensues with nightfall, I at first felt almost blameless for overhearing.
“Without fore-knowledge of his sins, we had no idea what to expect, you must understand,” said the voice of Sequiel.
“What did he tell you both?”
Both acolytes started talking at once, and Hernando growled, “Sequiel, what did he admit to?”
There was a long second of silence, and I was holding my breath when Sequiel finally said, “Sir, he said he was one of us.”
“One of us, what do you mean? Spoke he with sense?”
Leocard said, “His speech was clear, and irrefutably his own. He claimed to be an Inquisitor.”
“Sequiel,” Hernando demanded. “Was he the right man?” I imagine he was as hopeful as I was for a negative answer. Even one hinting of uncertainty would have trimmed the creeping tendrils of dread doubtlessly cramping his stomach as much as mine.
“I am certain,” the doctor said. “He even had the rose-vine insignia on his hand, exactly as Lasaro described it.”
“Black, on the back of his left hand.”
“Good God,” breathed Hernando, and the earlier blasphemies of the “heretic” echoed in my ears, now as cries of innocence. We had killed our own?
“Master, what could this mean? Why would General Lasaro ask such a thing of us?” Why indeed? “The man had no reason to lie, for such a claim would not save a heretic under our jurisdiction.”
“Indeed, a heretic within the Inquisition is a heretic all the same,” added Sequiel. “And given that this man was an Inquisitor, he would know that full well.”
There was more silence, then Leocard asked, “Master?”
“I fear more will come of this, and that Lasaro will renege on his promise. We must return to Madrid.” Hernando sounded defeated, speaking automatically, and I wanted to hear no more. I slipped away, not daring to even breathe until their discussion was inaudible.
I gazed upwards helplessly, the full moon above was a huge pearly orb framed in drifting cloud. I felt the need for strong shoulders to lean on; the retinue had to stay strong though this. Maybe I really was insignificant without these warriors of faith to stand beside. Maybe they were the reason I stood at all. Faith, the one thing all of our group could agree on, the one true thing that bound us. We were but sand, shifting with the mountainous changes of our time. God bless Hernando for holding us all together despite the earthly dissimilarities we shared. God bless him...


I woke feeling I had not slept at all. I could no longer feel blameless for last night. Another reason to find Hernando’s gaze imposing. Maybe Hernando was wrong, and nothing would come of this. Lasaro would keep his promise, and we would know rest. Maybe. I would be silent and wait, and act as everyone else if Hernando told the rest of the retinue. The news he brought to us this morning concerned what I had heard, but not on the level I had feared – or hoped?
We were to leave for Madrid, and the morning was filled with the preparations of travelling. As a respectable party, we all travelled by horseback. I tried to lose my worries in the mundane task of packing, and the prospect of being with Inigo. Some half dozen years younger than myself, my beloved horse was blotchy grey in his colour, and unshakeable in his companionship. Since I had received him as a newborn foal, I had never changed mounts. Save the blessing of my parents, Inigo was one of the most treasured things I had kept when I left with Hernando.
As I lashed the last of my bags to Inigo’s flank, I sensed the approach of one of the townsfolk.
“So I’d be to take you’re all leaving then?” the familiar voice said.
I turned to greet the man. “Oh, Ruy!” I started, happier to see the alchemist than any permanent resident of this place. Ruy was travelling the country on a pilgrimage of sorts. Not to a location revered and holy, however, nor even a person loved or lost. His goal lay, quite literally, within the earth. He had entered the village the same day we had, and we had engaged in some pass-the-time banter.
“Good luck with your studies, Ruy.” I said, bowing with but a small inclination of my head. I was after all a member of the Inquisition, and he but a roaming physician.
He respected me by returning the gesture enthusiastically. “Many thanks, young Roland, I appreciate it. Luck be with you on your travels, I hope you some day find your god.”
Oddly worded, but I could not argue his sentiment. “And you your solution. Be sure to let us know, the extra funds would be appreciated!” I replied, grinning.
He grinned crookedly, nodding his bedraggled head. The motion seemed to accentuate, despite his vigour, just how old he was. “No doubt they would, young sir. Well, your people are making to leave. I guess at here it is we part.”
I glanced over to my party. “Looks like,” I said. “Goodbye, Ruy, it was a pleasure meeting you.” I smiled, but his back was an unhappy sight. Pleasant company was always so rare…
Funny where friendship could be found. I shook my head to myself as the eccentric limped away. Turning lead to gold, what a notion!
We mounted up, bidding formal farewells to the gathered authorities of the town. Hernando thanked them for their co-operation, and they stiffly accepted
The inconsistent breaths of the autumn winds slowly bite away at a small pile of ash in the centre of town square. A sort of natural burial ceremony, I thought as we past it.
The townsfolk, of course, were also gathered to see us depart. They barely tried to hide their mutterings. “Look, there they are.”
“Finally heading out, are they?”
Try as I might to avoid them, the stares were unavoidable. One could not help but feel on show, and I even felt slightly guilty. We had upset the village’s routine, for at least until the ashes were claimed any events at the square would have to be postponed.
“Just leaving the man there…”
“Or what’s left of him, huh?”
“I wonder what he did…”
Maybe by the time the next of kin arrived there would be nothing left to claim. I knew Hernando had felt such, the feeling of grasping smoke, whilst hunting the man. I had seen his rage as the man had evaded us, town after town. This village had not been knowingly harbouring the heretic, for the accursed man had been well hidden behind his deceptions.
“Look, there they all go…”
And then we were beyond the last of them, and I felt safe. I breathed a sigh of relief. We were on the road again, away from this cursed village, and en route to the capital city.
Madrid. The first city I ever laid eyes on.