3- The Paters’ Garden

Soren crept through the dark forest, quietly moving closer to the flickering glow of the Paters’ torches.  He had never been this close to the Paters’ camp before.  He had heard about it, and Master Alred had even shown him a map of it.  He climbed a tree near the fence and crouched on a thick branch to have his first look.

There were torches blazing at regular intervals along the high wooden fence, but inside the grounds were dark, with only a few dim lights here and there.  There were bright torches by the doors to the large building in the center.  That must be where the Paters worshiped their gods.  And off in the corner near the big gate by the road was a long building full of windows where he could see fires burning and people moving around inside.  That would be where they allowed their followers to stay when they came seeking a night’s shelter.  Soren’s people knew better than to seek the hospitality of that place, even on the coldest and wettest journeys.

After identifying those two buildings, he could easily make out the rest of the compound from the map that Master Alred had shown him.  There were the three buildings where the Paters slept at night.  Soren found himself wishing he could just bar the doors to those buildings and set fire to the whole lot of them.  Burn the Paters like they burned his own people.

But that wasn’t why he was here.

Soren finally found the flat rectangular building where the Paters ate their meals.  Behind it, he could just barely make out the low fence that surrounded what should be the Paters’ garden.  He climbed down from the tree and began stalking through the forest toward that far corner of the Paters’ camp.
There were torches on the fence there too, but Soren knew that he wouldn’t be seen if he climbed over it by the garden.  From where the Paters slept, the food building blocked their view of that area.

Soren hoisted himself up, groaning under his breath as he did so.  He was feeling much better after sleeping all day, but his ribs and back still hurt a lot from the beating he’d endured that morning.  He reached the top of the fence and saw that the ground below him was covered by a row of thick shrubs.  Sighing, he inched along the fence until he found a patch of bare earth large enough to drop down onto.

The ground was softer than he had expected, and instead of landing in a sturdy crouch like he had intended, Soren stumbled and fell face-first into the moist, loose soil.  For once, he was glad that he was doing this alone.  He closed his eyes and pictured the herbs he needed.  Unlike the others who had done this before, he wouldn’t be needing a torch or a candle to find what he was looking for.  His fae-blessed eyes could see well enough without that.

Before the Paters had come, the sacred binding herbs had grown wild, and young initiates like Soren would have left the great cities to spend weeks out in the forests, purifying their minds as they searched for the places where they grew. 

But then the Paters had arrived with their gods and their torches, spreading their words of love and tolerance and forgiveness, and killing anyone who refused to conform to their teachings.  And those of Soren’s people who chose to remain faithful to the old ways and uphold the sacred Covenant of their ancestors had been forced to go into hiding.  And when the Paters learned which plants were necessary for their Bindings, they took it upon themselves to seek out those plants and destroy them.

But they didn’t destroy it all.  Separately, the herbs each had their own uses for healing and cooking, so the Paters had kept a small amount to grow in their own gardens.  They did trade it, but that trade was so tightly controlled that none of Soren’s people ever had any hope of getting it that way.  Some had tried to grow the plants from cuttings taken from the Paters, but so far no one had managed to get the cuttings to take root.

No, the only way to get what they needed now was to steal it, in the dark of night, right from the Paters’ gardens.  And that was how Soren had ended up covered in dirt in the middle of the night, crouching among neat, orderly rows of vegetables, risking his life to steal a handful of leaves.

He glanced around, making certain once again that he was alone, then he slowly stood and brushed the dirt from his clothes and began inspecting the plants closest to him.  Ordinary cabbages.  Soren sighed.  This garden was huge, and he had no idea where to find what he was looking for.  He decided to start from one corner and move in straight lines, working his way to the opposite corner, so that he was sure to cover every bit of ground and wouldn’t miss anything.

It was tiresome work, and Soren’s mind was beginning to wander when he suddenly came upon the very last thing he might have expected to find in the Paters’ garden.  Someone was lying curled up between two rows of turnip plants.  Soren carefully pulled the knife from his belt and crept closer.

It was a child.  A small boy, maybe eight or nine years old, with short-cropped yellow hair and rosy cheeks.  Soren could hear the child’s soft, even snoring and knew he was really asleep.  Why would a child be sleeping here?  Master Alred had said that only grown men lived in this place.  Only Paters.  Perhaps the boy was one of the Paters’ followers?  Or maybe he had some special purpose for being there.  Maybe the master was wrong and there were actually Paters this young.  Whatever the reason, Soren just hoped the boy didn’t wake easily.  If he woke and somehow alerted the others, Soren would be burned by first light.  But Pater or not, he just couldn’t bring himself to kill a sleeping child.

He quietly stepped away from the boy and continued his search.  He needed to find everything and leave quickly, before he was seen.

Almost three hours later, he had two of the plants he needed in the small sack at his belt.  Just three more and he could get out of there.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the three images in his mind.  Master Alred had lent him drawings of all five herbs so that he would recognize them on sight, and he had seen a few actual specimens that were dried and pressed, so he knew exactly what to look for.  This place was just so big, and the plants could be anywhere.  Soren sighed and glanced up at the sky.  He needed to find them quickly, before first light.

Suddenly he had the eerie feeling of being watched.  Soren froze for a moment, then glanced back toward the turnips.  The boy was sitting up, large dark eyes silently staring straight at him.

Soren’s fingers inched toward his knife as he thought of all the possibilities.  If the boy stayed quiet and didn’t move, then perhaps Soren could just get what he needed and leave without having to do anything he might regret.  But if the boy began to shout, how long would it take for Soren to get over there and silence him?  And how much shouting would it take to wake the Paters?  And if the boy ran . . . Soren looked the child over.  He was probably about half his height, but he had a healthy build.  Most likely, a fast runner.  Would he be able to catch him?  He tried to stay calm.  Killing a child– even a Pater child– just wasn’t something he was eager to do, if he could avoid it.

He decided to continue his search for now, keeping a wary eye on the boy as he went.  He needed those herbs.  As he moved about, peering at leaves and shrubs, the boy just sat still and watched.  After a while, Soren began to relax and his heart gradually stopped its wild drumming.

He found the third plant near a group of fruit trees and took a cutting of it for his sack, glancing back toward the turnips as he did so.  The child was still there, watching him intently.  Go back to sleep, he thought at him.  Not that he expected it to work.  Maybe after he was Covenant-bound, he might learn to do something like that.  But for now, the boy didn’t lie back down.  He simply sat there staring at Soren like he was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.  It was a little unsettling, but at least it was preferable to running and screaming.

After another hour of searching, he finally found the fourth herb.  Only one more, and he could go home.  Soren took his knife from his belt and cut two shoots from it.  He was just standing up when he felt two small tugs at the bottom of his tunic.

Soren whipped around and heard a small yelp as his knife connected with something.  The boy stood there, clutching his hand to his chest, scrunching up his face in an obvious effort not to cry.  Soren willed himself to stay calm.  He hadn’t even heard the child approach.

The boy whimpered softly for only a moment, then took a deep breath and held it.  Soren watched as the child knelt on the ground and began slowly gathering up the small purple flowers that were now scattered at his feet.

Soren blinked.  He knew those flowers.  He dropped down and started scraping them up, shoving handfuls into his pouch.  When the boy held out the two bunches that he had picked up, Soren accepted them eagerly.  This was the last of the herbs he needed.  He could leave now.

He paused, and looked up at the child.  “You helped me,” he stated.

The boy blushed and glanced away, then looked back at Soren.  “You need them, right?” he asked.

Soren smiled.  “Yes,” he replied, “I really do.”

The boy got an excited look on his face.  “I knew it,” he breathed.  “Are you really a sorcerer?”

Soren pulled back.  A what?  Of course he understood what the child meant, but he was shocked that he would ask such a thing.  Just what kind of Paters’ boy was he?  He thought for a moment, then answered, “Not really.  Not yet.”

Soren looked down.  The boy was clutching at his hand again.  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“It’s only a scratch,” the boy said bravely.  “I can handle it.”

Soren held out his own hand.  “May I see it?”

The boy slowly unclenched his fist and placed it in Soren’s hand.  A scratch?  Soren shook his head.  It was a deep cut.  The tiny palm was covered in blood.

Blood.

Soren’s heart dropped into his stomach.  He frantically opened his little bag of herbs and looked at its contents.  There was blood on all of it. 

He looked around.  Could he replace it all before first light?  He couldn’t even remember where he had gotten most of it.  Not to mention the one that the boy had given him– he had no idea where that one was.  He turned to the east.  The sky near the horizon was growing lighter.  There was no time.  He needed to leave now.

Soren looked at the boy.  He did need blood for his Binding.

The blood of an enemy he’d slain.  It was something he’d been mentally preparing himself to do for over a year now.  The next night, Master Alred was planning to go with him to kill a Pater. 

He glanced back down at the bloody plants in his sack.  He could only use the blood of one person.  Otherwise, the Binding would fail.  And he’d never get a second chance.  He looked back toward the horizon.  The light was creeping farther up into the sky while he hesitated.

He knew he had to kill the boy.  The person whose blood he used had to be dead.  He’d heard the stories and knew the consequences.  A life of misery and pain.  An early death.  He grabbed the boy’s arm again, clutching the tiny wrist firmly so that he couldn’t escape.  His other hand reached for the knife at his belt.  He would have to do this quickly, before the child could cry out.  He closed his eyes for a moment to steel himself, then looked back at the boy again.

Those big brown eyes were watching him curiously, full of innocence and trust.

Soren sighed.  He would never be able to forgive himself if he killed this child.  So he would have a miserable life.  So he would die young.  What of it?  It couldn’t be worse than living his whole life with the guilt of having murdered an innocent child.  And the boy had helped him, too.  Was this how he repaid kindness?  No.  He couldn’t do that.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.  He reached for the old scrap of cloth he’d used to tie his hair back.  It was a dirty old rag, but it was the best thing he could think of.  He wrapped it around the boy’s hand to stop the bleeding.  “You should wash that hand soon.”

“I will,” the boy promised.

Soren stood up, and the boy got up as well.  The child’s head barely reached the middle of his chest.  On impulse, he reached out and ruffled the boy’s soft wheat-blonde hair.  Soren knew this child would probably grow up to be a Pater.  Would he come to regret this decision?  How many of Soren’s people would one day burn because of this?  He tried not to think about it.

The sun had finally made an appearance on the horizon.  Soren had to leave now, before he was caught.  He ran for the fence.

“Wait!” the boy called after him, “Are you going to come back?”

Soren paused at the top of the fence.  “I don’t know,” he replied, and then he dropped down to the other side and sprinted into the safety of the forest.

That boy would do best not to wish for Soren’s return.  If he did go back, it would only be to kill him.