Caistumbled ahead of him down the pulpit steps.Together they laidBenedict out on the flagstones.Cai dropped to his knees, vaguelyaware that Marcus was holding back the crowd.Now he could seeBen’s face.In that moment he understood that his friend had got itright after all—that he’d tied his final knot, and made his lastleap, with perfect efficiency.
Still hetried.He listened at his chest, silent as an empty barrel.He feltfor the pulse at his throat and his wrist.Theo had taught him aheretical manner of calling back souls whom God had decreed drownedby breathing with his own lungs into their mouths, and he did thatfor a while, until the deadly cold of Benedict’s mouth under his,the unnatural movement of his head when he let go of it, finallybore it in that he would be recalling the spirit into a body sodestroyed that revival would be cruel, an obscenity.
He satup.Full sunlight was blazing into the church now.The day would behot.“Fen,” he said, his voice echoing hollowly in his ears.“Helpme carry him down into the crypt.I have to…”
Therewas no one there.No—the church was thronged now, but the one faceCai needed was missing.
“Not in the crypt,” Aelfric was croaking at him.“Not asuicide.Not in holy ground.”
Caithrust him aside, his scrawny body as insubstantial as his words.Maybe Fen, having seen the worst that could happen on this holyground, had taken advantage of the chaos and run.Cai didn’t blamehim.It was time for him to do the same.
Hepushed blindly out into the light.He didn’t blame Fen, but hewanted him, and he loathed him in that moment for creating thebitter desolation in his heart, a hunger he’d never have known ifthey had never met.He set off uphill at a dead run.He kept goinguntil he reached the outhouses, until his hands were tearing at thewell-known latch of the small barn where he kept his supplies forjourneys, his packs and his secular clothes.He tore off hiscassock and tossed it as hard as he could into one corner, sendingup a cloud of spiders and dust.Beneath its heavy wool he wassweating coldly, stinking of shock and misery.He’d walk into thefirst water he came to, and he didn’t much care if he came out.Perhaps he could use his last breath on a few of Fen’s curses, andtrust in the sea to bear them home.
There onthe shelf were his shirt and deerskin leggings.He pulled them onwith shaking hands.The shirt fastened with a fine leather stripacross the chest.He had to lace it through fabric loops on eachside, a task that proved impossible when he tried.Swearing, hetore the lace out altogether and threw it onto the ground.He’d dowithout.He’d do without the pack, for that matter—it wasn’t as ifhe’d be stopping off at the kitchens for supplies, or buying thingsfrom the settlements, or ever coming home.He was donehere.
Someonewas blocking the door.Not a scarecrow shape this time—a gracefulone, tall and straight.He had picked up Cai’s lace from the groundand was holding it, a delicate thing in his big hands.“You areleaving?”
Caididn’t answer.He kicked off his sandals, replaced them with theboots he kept in a wooden chest, safely out of reach of mice.Nowhe was ready.“Get out of my way.”Fen didn’t move, and Cai marchedup to stand in front of him, not meeting his eyes.“I thought youwere gone.”
“No.I saw Oslaf heading for the church.Brother Wilfrid hadjust told him.He…required restraint.”
Caiswallowed hard.“What did you do to him?”
“I restrained him.I took him up to the infirmary.I gave himthe poppy, the drug that brings sleep.”
“Oh, God.”
“A little.”
“How did you know...”
“I took note when you gave it to me.He’s asleep.I leftWilfrid to watch over him.Now, do you want help with the body ofyour friend?”
“No!”It came out as a shout, scaring the doves in the rafters.“Aelfric won’t let him lie in holy ground.”
“Why in Thor’s name not?”
“He took his own life.Another new rule, I suppose.I didn’tknow.No one ever… No one ever did that here before.”His voiceshook.“There was never any need.”
Fendidn’t touch him.He bowed his head a little, so his brow wasalmost brushing Cai’s, and in a concentrated silence broken only bythe wing beats and the music of the doves, he passed the leatherlace through the first loop of Cai’s shirt.Then the next, and thenext, until he drew the strands together in a knot.He repeated,his voice rough and low, insistent—“So.You areleaving?”
In abunk in the infirmary, Oslaf lay waiting to wake up into hell, aworld of unimaginable pain.Wilfrid, whose sympathies and skillswere those of a goatherd, sat helpless by his side.In the church,the ruined shell of a fine man lay, defenceless to the black-robedbuzzards who believed him too corrupt to lie in his own monastery’ssoil.None of this had anything to do with Cai anymore.This placewas Aelfric’s now—it belonged to the crows.And yet… “No,” hesnarled, stepping back out of range of Fen’s warmth.“I just haveto get off this damned holy ground for a while.”He shoved hishands into his pockets and thought for a few moments, frowning atthe hard-packed earth.Water.He wanted water, to be clean again,or at least away from the mud.“I’m going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Yes.I go out sometimes and fish.Food, you know?Meat thathasn’t been strung up in a cellar for three months.Let mepast.”
“There’s going to be a storm, Cai.”
“Nonsense.The sky is clear.Do I have to knock you down,or...”
“No.”Fen stepped aside.
A fewyards down the track that led to the boathouses, the weather-beatensheds where the monks kept their fishing creels and lobster nets,Cai turned.Fen was watching him intently, beautiful in thesunlight.Cai would have given anything to run back into his arms.“Do something for me, will you?”
“If I can.”
“Oslaf has family.He comes from farming stock up near Berewic.Find one of the lads who runs errands between here and the village,and give him a message.Tell them to come for him.Tell them tocome now.”
