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FIRST


The dark woods of Bellon loomed ahead of him in the distance. Gasping for air, the young man covered in a long, black traveling cloak ran full out towards them, desperately clutching a wrapped bundle to his chest. Behind him, just past the hill, the sky was lit with fire and smoke that stank of burning flesh. The scent clung to the man like burs, stabbing relentlessly at him when he least expected it. He took in a much needed breath and nearly gagged on the taste.

Still running he chanced a look over his shoulder to check for pursuers. There were none yet, but he knew that could change at any moment. Putting on a last burst of speed, the youth made it to the woods and sprinted several dozen yards down the path before he lost his momentum and finally slowed to a walk. Pressing one hand to his side he turned to the right and began trudging into the woods themselves.

When he had gone what he judged to be a safe distance he slumped to the ground, the bundle still cradled in one arm. Pulling back his cloak, the young man’s face was finally revealed. He had blood red eyes, a small pointed nose and a strong jaw that was kept clean except for a small tuft of beard under his lower lip. The beard was a golden red color, a few shades lighter than his reddish-brown hair. His clothes were plain brown traveling clothes at the moment and attached to the front of his shirt was a small silver cross that marked him as a Brother in the Church.

This Brother, though at the moment his face was ruddy and covered in sweat, was usually a kind man with a pleasant face and gentle personality. His features twisted with something near loathing however, as he looked down at his burden. “So much trouble,” he sneered. “For such a hideous little thing…”

He moved the cloth wrapping away and revealed an infant boy. The child was awake, staring up at the Brother with wide, unnaturally knowing eyes. His hair was dark as most babies’ were, but his eyes disturbing; one blue eye and one green eye, with no trace of red in either one.

“Soulless abomination,” the man hissed at the infant. “You’re the devil’s child himself, I swear it!”

The baby’s face puckered at the anger radiating from the man, but no tears or cries followed after it.

“You haven’t even cried once since I’ve seen you; you’re unnaturally silent, Damian,” he said, spitting the boy’s name like a curse. “But I was commanded by God’s servant to save you and I am obedient to God’s will in all things. The sooner I am rid of you though, the better.” And having said all he wanted to, the young Brother closed his eyes and quickly fell into a light asleep.

THIRD


Tavish stood next to the dying woman and looked down on her. Her face was swollen and bruised, her long, blond hair gnarled and matted with blood, mostly her own. Nonetheless, she was still recognizably pretty. Her soft red eyes stared up at the ceiling, glazing over as smoke began to permeate the room. He knelt beside her and the sudden motion caused her eyes to turn to him. Fear filled her face and she struggled weakly to move away from Tavish’s cloaked figure and shadowed face.

“Lay still, woman,” he said, holding the front of his cloak aside to reveal the cross on his chest.

“No,” Lydia wailed quietly, tears coming to her eyes and running down her cheeks as she stared at him. “Why the Church? Why now? What was the point?”

Lydia turned her face from him and wept. Tavish would have let her continue to cry but the smoke was growing thicker already and he needed to find out where the child was. “Listen to me,” he said as he laid his hand on her shoulder. “The other men have left but the house is on fire. Even if it wasn’t you wouldn’t live much longer.”

The woman looked at the billowing smoke and closed her eyes against it; Tavish was unsure whether it was in denial or resignation.

“You must tell me where you’ve hidden your child,” he reasoned. “Who knows where the child is hidden? Does anyone other than you? Think what will happen to him when you die. No one will find him.”

“I can’t!” she cried, her eyes darting wildly around the room, looking any where but at him. “You’ll hurt him. I can’t.”

“The Church will take care of him and raise him. He’ll be redeemed and then live a normal life,” his specious promise rang false even to his own ears. Lydia was dying though, and his next words caught her. “By not telling me, you’re condemning your child to die!”

By the time Lydia choked out her son’s hiding place, the room was filled with thick, black smoke and flames licked at the edges of the door. Tavish left her the minute he knew where he needed to search. He pushed open the door and found the front room engulfed by flames, the entrance blocked by a wall of fire. He moved across the room, circling the smoldering body of the woman’s husband with averted eyes and a hand across his nose and mouth.

Tavish came to the window frame. Its oiled-paper panes had burned away long ago so all he had to do was use his cloak sleeve to brush aside the cindered divider and climb out. He landed on his knees in the dirt below the window. Getting to his feet, he crept to the corner of the house and peered around it. There didn’t appear to be anyone nearby but Tavish wasn’t going to take any chances. He moved away from the house, across the field with its wheat spouts towards the tool shed doubled over in a half crouch. Reaching the shed, he cracked the door open just wide enough to slip inside.

The small one room building was filled with tools, wooden crates and burlap bags full of seed. Reaching out into the dark Tavish made his way to the farthest corner of the room. “Damian,” he whispered. “Come out, Damian. Your momma sent me to find you…” Tavish stopped in front of the crate in the corner and stared at it. The lid had been knocked off and the child that should be inside was missing. Tavish gripped his hair with one hand and pulled on it as he got on knees and felt around the inside, hoping somehow he had just overlooked the child.

Nothing. The box was still empty. “Where is he?” Tavish hit the side of the crate with his fist and had to stop and take a deep breath. Placing his palms together he closed his eyes and prayed silently. In the quiet, a small whimpering became audible. Tavish took a moment longer to say his thanks before getting slowly to his feet. He followed the soft cries back to the front of the shed, and there beside the tools, behind the door the baby sat. He looked up at Tavish, snot bubbling from his nostril as his cries gave way to exhausted hiccups.

Trying not to look at the boy’s eyes, Tavish picked him up and left the shed. Outside, a dozen or so men were milling about in front of the burning house. At their head stood a tall, barrel-chested man with pinched features and a hawkish nose. He was screaming and yelling at the others to find the little brat and to do it before he lost his temper.

Tavish needed to get out of there before they started searching. He watched and waited until most of the men were facing away from him and then he ran, clutching the boy to his chest. The dark Woods of Bellon loomed ahead of him, it’s densely crowded trees offered the only protection to be had for miles. Gasping for air, Tavish ran full out towards them. Behind him, the skyline lit up brighter as the fire and smoke that stank of burning flesh grew even higher, fed by the wind that had begun to blow at his back. The scent clung to him like burs, stabbing relentlessly at him when he least expected it. He took in a much needed breath and nearly gagged on the taste.

Still running, he chanced a look over his shoulder to check for pursuers. There were none yet, but he knew that could change at any moment. Putting on a last burst of speed, he made it to the woods and jogged several dozen yards through the thinly spaced trees before he lost his momentum and finally slowed to a walk. Pressing one hand to his side he turned to the right and began trudging into the thicker part of the woods.

When he had gone what he judged to be a safe distance he slumped to the ground, the bundle still cradled in one arm. Pushing back his hood, the young man’s face was finally revealed to the moonlight. He had dark, blood-red eyes and a small pointed nose with a strong jaw that was kept clean except for a small tuft of beard under his lower lip. His beard was a golden red color, a few shades lighter than his reddish-brown hair. Beneath his black cloak he wore traveling clothes that were a rough brown. Attached to the front of his shirt, the cross he always wore and was so proud of marked him as a Brother.

“So much trouble for such a hideous little thing…” He muttered, holding Damian at arms length to look at him. Damian stared back at Tavish with wide, unnaturally knowing eyes. The blue and green orbs seemed to pry at Tavish’s soul the longer he looked at them. With a small, hissing sigh he eventually had to look away.

“Damian,” he said, shaking his head as if just saying the boy’s name had left a bad taste in his mouth. “I was commanded by God’s servant to save you, but the sooner I am rid of you, the better.” Having said this, the young Brother rolled over and closed his eyes. He lay there in the dark, holding the baby and planning the next leg of their journey until they both had drifted off to sleep.