Sanctuary (Dominion) Page 2

  Arkael motioned to the front door with his sword.

  "Leave," he said. "Now."

  The brute fled, and truth be told, I wished I could run away with him, because I was now alone with a man I suddenly feared more than the raiders. I'd imagined him to be a champion of God, but something in me wondered if that was what I really wanted. I’d just seen him kill two seasoned mercenaries without so much as a breath of exertion, but now I wasn’t sure he wouldn't do the same to me. They'd deserved to die, but couldn't I say the same of myself? Had I not failed in my duty by letting these men kill everyone in the church? I let Caenwyld walk out that back door with Aedre, and I never raised a hand to help her because I feared I might lose it. He’d never even threatened my life. That’s how weak I was in the face of this ordeal. Perhaps this was my punishment, for today and for all my other sins.

  Fear paralyzed me as he approached, and even though he walked past without a word or a glance, I still expected him to turn around and plunge that sword into my back. I didn't relax until I heard the back door open, followed by his soft footsteps on the grass outside. I sat there, unsure if I should wait or follow him out, so I just listened, hoping he'd at least arrived in time to save Aedre's honor, and do that which I'd been unable. I heard a crash, and the sound of wood cracking. That was followed by a loud grunt, a cry of surprise, another crash, and then a scream. Aedre's scream. I hurried outside, and what I saw lifted my spirit from the depths.

  Caenwyld lay in a heap in the corner of the goat pen, not dead, just winded. The other raider sat in the opposite corner, knocked on his backside, fumbling for his sword. Aedre covered herself with her ripped shift, her face red and swollen from being struck several times. She scooted back, away from the others. And Arkael stood in the center of the pen, his sword ready, facing Caenwyld.

  "Stand up," he said, and Caenwyld looked up at him with a fury I'd never before seen in a man.

  "How dare you," Caenwyld growled, his face red. "How dare you! I will have you burned alive for this!"

  "I know what you are." Arkael took a step closer, and Caenwyld recoiled. His eyes shifted, too, from anger to fear. He grabbed hold of the wooden post next to him and pulled himself back onto his feet.

  "Who do you think you are? Do you know the penalty for striking me?"

  "I am Arkael. I've come to send the darkness in you back where it belongs."

  "Kill him," Caenwyld barked to the raider. "Kill him now!"

  The raider had his sword out, but Arkael turned his head sideways, just enough to see him from the corner of his eye, and the raider hesitated. I don't know what held him back, but he made no move to attack.

  "Why are you waiting? Do it! You saw what he did to me!"

  He lowered his weapon meekly, and Arkael turned back toward Caenwyld, confident that he'd won that battle.

  "You have no recourse," Arkael said.

  "No," Caenwyld replied, breathlessly. He was cornered, alone, and terrified. I had no sympathy.

  "You are touched by the demon. Your soul is tainted, and it cannot be saved. Not by me.”

  “No.” Louder, this time.

  “But through your death, another will be free. It is my path, not to repentance, but to forgiveness."

  “NO!” he screamed. It was the last word he ever spoke.

  Chapter 2

  Arkael pulled his sword free from the priest's narrow chest, revealing a thin, red-stained hole in his brown woolen robe, the only evidence of a wound that penetrated straight to the heart. Caenwyld's body slumped to the ground, his hand grasping his chest, but he made no sound. He didn't grunt, or scream, or even whimper. He just fell, slowly, onto a thin stack of hay in the corner of the goat pen, his mouth still open in protest and his deep, hateful eyes locked on the valiant figure standing over him.

  I stared at him far longer than was proper, caught at first by the surreal mystery of the scene, but it was Caenwyld’s eyes that held my gaze firm. I'd seen a wretched, foul evil in those eyes, enough to frighten me into terrified obedience. But when I looked at them now, they were sullen and lifeless. In fact, Caenwyld’s entire face seemed drawn and thin, and as his final breaths escaped his lips I wondered shamefully how I’d ever been afraid of such a weak old man.

  I closed my eyes, only for an instant, but when they opened again I realized how quiet and still the world had become, as if God himself ground everything to a halt so that He could ponder the death of this terrible man. The sluggish silence lasted only long enough for me to know it was there, though, and almost immediately after, the world returned to life with a start and the sounds of the village assaulted me with stunning clarity. The wind gusting around the corners of the church and rustling the timbers and hay. Dogs barking and chickens cackling in the distance. The screams and wailing of women and children. The roars and grunts of the raiders. My own shallow breaths. I heard clearly the sounds of murder, rapine and destruction coming from the unseen village on the other side of the church, and each cry of anguish lingered about me, a brutal reminder that we were far from safe.

  "Take her inside." The sound of Arkael's voice snapped me back to reality, like waking from an incredibly vivid dream, and like waking from a dream, the details seemed to fade just out of my grasp as the real world flooded back in. I remembered Aedre and I moved to help her stand, ignoring the nauseating dizziness that briefly washed through me, as if I'd stood too fast. She sat almost completely naked on the ground nearby, shivering from the chilled air, clutching the ripped remains of her shift around her torso. I tried not to look directly at her, pretending instead to watch the last remaining raider, who stood docile in the corner of the goat pen, somehow aware that his life hung at Arkael’s discretion. Arkael noticed him too, and waved him away with his sword. The raider obliged, hopped the short fence and ran away in the direction of his fellows. He deserved far worse, I thought.

  “This way,” I said, hurrying to open the back door for her. Aedre wasn’t crying anymore, and as she passed Caenwyld’s body she spat on him. Her foot twitched, and I think for a moment she contemplated kicking him, but she held back. He would have deserved it, though. The man was a monster and he would find himself in a special place in Hell.

  The church still stank of wanton murder, only it was worse now after having left and come back. I wanted to cover my nose, but that seemed disrespectful to Aedre so I tried to ignore the stench while fighting back the urge to retch. I surveyed the scene, and remorse filled my soul. Bodies littered the floor, most of them women related to Aedre or to her betrothed, all of whom had been cut down mercilessly. The raiders never even made an attempt to kidnap any of them. Selling the women as slaves at markets in Frankia would net them a small fortune, but that thought never seemed to enter their heads. They’d just swarmed in with their weapons ready, cutting down everyone who dared to be offended by them. It was almost as if they came into the church specifically to defile it.

  Aedre’s clothes, the ones the raiders delighted in removing, lie scattered on the floor, and I helped her round them up. She took her dress and a brown woolen shawl she’d been wearing, both of them stained with blood, and moved to the back corner to slip them on, while I looked away. I avoided the question of what happened outside. Truthfully, I hoped I wouldn't have to broach the subject, as it wasn’t my place to ask. Her mother should deal with that, but her mother was dead. Her father, too. She had no family left to comfort her, or counsel her about any of this madness. I shook my head, just now understanding the tragedy she had endured. This morning, she was to be married, surrounded by her old family and her new in a joyous celebration. Now, she was completely alone in the world.

  Arkael followed us inside and strode to the front of the stone altar, which was still draped in white ribbons and covered in lilies and tulips for the wedding. He waited there, unmoving, holding his sword tight in his hand, his eyes locked on the front door, which shuddered from the wind. The sounds outside were muffled, but hearing them made me feel guilty, like I was
a child hiding under a bed to avoid facing my fears. My fingers trembled, anticipating the carnage still to come. Thirty or forty raiders still roamed freely outside, and there was little doubt they were now hearing all about the bold swordsman who dared to defy them at the church. That wouldn’t sit well with men used to taking what they wanted. They would be here soon to see just what this swordsman was made of. A question I wondered about, too.

  I examined Arkael’s features, looking for a clue as to where he came from, thinking that may tell me something more about him. My gut told me he wasn’t from these isles. He didn’t look like a Briton, a Saxon, an Angle or even a Scot. His jet black hair and tan complexion weren't common here, and neither was his style of dress. I could see some Roman in his expression, though, and enough of their progeny still remained that I could believe he came from them, but my instincts said otherwise. His words, as short as they were, had the tinge of another language in them, one I didn't recognize. I would have asked him about all of this but at the time my mind was in such disarray that I couldn’t formulate any proper sentences. It was all I could do to keep from spouting gibberish and sounding like a drunken lout. So I just gaped at him and said nothing. Fortunately, he spoke instead.

  “What is your name?” he asked. It took me a moment to remember that crucial piece of information.

  “Daniel,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Daniel, sire.”

  “Stay in the church, Daniel, and you will be protected.” His eyes never left the door. “This building is your sanctuary.”

  I nodded. Vigorously.

  “Thank you,” Aedre said, her soft voice shaking the stillness within the church. I turned to see her clothed again, although she hadn't managed to fasten all the laces on her dress yet. Caenwyld had been right about one thing. Her beauty was right out of a dream. Even though her long blond hair was wet and matted and her face red and puffy, she still looked as beautiful as she had when her parents brought her to the church this morning. She would have made a fine bride. I chased that thought away, though. Not because it was inappropriate, but because it was another reminder of the nightmare we'd just survived.

  As if to reinforce that stark realization, Aedre walked with hesitating steps to the center of the church, toward the bodies lying on the ground. The anger in her eyes was gone, replaced by misery as she crouched down next to her mother, Liova, who’d been gutted several times. She lay still on the floor, clutching her midsection, her eyes and mouth still open in silent agony. Aedre caressed her face, ignoring the blood covering her mother’s body, and she cried again, but not the whimpering from before. This was deep, passionate anguish. An emotional outpouring that mirrored the brutality the two of us had just witnessed.

  She leaned over and buried her face in her mother’s bosom, embracing her as best she could. I turned away in shared grief. Arkael's expression, however, revealed no emotion. He saw the same thing I did, but where I couldn't bear to watch, he stood still and aloof, as if death and loss and sorrow meant nothing to him. He seemed as alive as the walls around us, and as emotionally invested. I envied him for that. But I also couldn't help wonder what else he'd seen in his life that a scene like this had no effect on him.

  The front door flew open, and I jumped in surprise as a cold wind tore through the church, flickering both the torches on the wall and the half-melted candles on the altar. Three burly raiders marched inside, dressed in heavy leather jerkins, dark colored breeches, and boots muddied from the climb up the beach. A fourth stood at the door, the brute who'd held me down, but he didn't dare enter the building. The first three kept their distance, cautiously assessing their new enemy as Arkael held his sword out in front of him. Aedre backed away, and I went to her, pulling her behind the altar. Behind our protector.

  “Everything will be fine,” I whispered. “Pray to God, and He will save us.”

  Aedre nodded, shut her eyes and mouthed a prayer.

  "This is a holy place!" Arkael called out. “Those who bring death through that door will face God’s justice!”

  The raider in the middle turned back to the brute.

  "Him?" he asked and the brute nodded, keeping his gaze down so as not to look directly at Arkael. "No bloody way."

  “I seen it!” the brute protested, then backed away, almost out of sight. “It was him!”

  More raiders pushed through the door. Nearly a dozen now stood before us, and one came to the forefront with a scowl on his face. He was tall, with a thick body that could almost be called rotund if anyone had dared to utter that word around him. He wore leather like the others, but he also had a rusted chain vest draped over his shoulders that only hung down to his belt due to the curve of his belly. Unruly brown hair fell down his back, pulled together with a leather tie, and a thick beard covered half his face. He glanced at the bodies of the two dead raiders, and then stared at Arkael with rancorous brown eyes.

  "You!” he roared. “You think you can kill my men, like they're mange-ridden dogs?"

  "You are these men's leader?" Arkael asked.

  "I am Ranulf, and these,” he pointed at the bodies, “belonged to me. I'll be expecting compensation. And if you can't pay, then I'll be taking your head."

  "Your men were given a warning, which they chose not to heed. I will give you the same, but it will be the last time I speak it today. This church is protected by God, and I will see to it that no more innocent blood is spilled in here. Take your spoils and leave this place now, or you will face God’s justice."

  I didn’t picture Ranulf as a man who was told what to do very often, and the outraged expression on his face seemed to prove me right. He stepped forward, kicking aside the body of Aedre’s young cousin, a boy named Egric who was only a year younger than her. Aedre gasped and looked away.

  "Where is Caenwyld?" Ranulf demanded.

  "Your false priest is dead by my hand," Arkael answered. "And if you and your men don't leave, you will all be joining his soul in Hell."

  Ranulf's face contorted in rage and he pulled a large sword from his scabbard.

  “You will learn your place!”

  Arkael raised his own weapon in a defensive posture.

  “You have been warned,” he said.

  Ranulf ignored Arkael’s words and leapt forward. He swung his sword up over his head, intending simply to overpower Arkael's defense. It made no difference. With a speed that was anything but natural, Arkael sidestepped the attack at the very last moment, letting Ranulf's sword crash into the stone floor. With his left hand he punched the raider’s wrist, loosening his grip on his weapon, which fell and clattered to the ground, and with his right he held his own blade up to Ranulf's neck. Ranulf's momentum nearly carried him onto the point, but he caught himself just in time, and his wide eyes hammered home just how close he'd come to death. The other raiders in the church either drew their weapons then, or held those they’d already drawn higher. Though it seemed to me they did it more for their own protection than any desire to attack.

  "I will not be sparing any more lives today, Ranulf. You and your men leave, now, or you'll have to figure out how to seek your repayment while burning for eternity in the pits of Hell." His words had no trace of malice, but they had the desired effect, nonetheless. Ranulf backed away slowly from the point of Arkael’s sword and Arkael, to his credit, let him. Once he stood about halfway between Arkael and his own men, his fear waned, replaced by a small modicum of reason. None of the other raiders in the room looked too eager to fight, and Ranulf sensed the unease amongst his men.

  "Everyone out of the church," he said in a low growl. "We have what we came here for. Get what you can on the boats. Now."

  The raiders filed out quickly, leaving only Ranulf standing at the door. He glanced at his sword lying on the ground near the altar, his face a mix of anger and bewilderment. Arkael slipped his foot under the blade of Ranulf's sword and flipped it across the room with a kick. Ranulf caught the hilt expertly. He gave everyone in the church one last glance, letti
ng his gaze linger on Arkael.

  “I’ll be looking for you,” he warned. “Watch your back.”

  He stepped out, slamming the door behind him. It was then that I realized I was holding my breath and gripping Aedre’s arm tightly. I let go and composed myself, exhaling and then breathing in the foul air of the church, which I’d thankfully not noticed during the encounter. Aedre absently rubbed the red marks my grip left on her arm, her expression devoid of any emotion. She stared again at the bodies all about the floor before finally moving to the front bench where she sat, holding her face in her hands. Arkael stalked toward the front door and opened it, watching the raiders leave.

  "Wait here," I told Aedre, and I followed Arkael to the door. Then I stopped and turned back to her. "Don't leave the church, no matter what." I felt horrible that she must sit amongst the bodies of her family just to save herself, but that was Arkael's message, and it had held true thus far. The church was our sanctuary.

  I peered around Arkael, watching the raiders move back to the longboats beached on the coastline, their arms laden with various small treasures from the village. I could see four women in the boats already, under guard, but at this distance I couldn't tell who they were. I only knew what their wicked and undeserved fate was to be, and I wondered if the dead here in the church should consider themselves lucky. Ranulf barked at his men, his bellowing voice carrying throughout the middle of Rogwallow.

  “Back to the boats, you dogs! Back to the boats!”

  They were leaving. The village, whatever was left of it, was safe. I could finally relax, knowing that I would not die today. Although once I did the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind since Arkael arrived finally pushed its way to the front.

  Had I witnessed a miracle?