Stone of Tears

Despite having lived out-of-doors, and being a little dirty and rumpled, Sister Verna, compared to these people, looked like royalty. Anyone coming close bowed in reverence to the Sister, and she prayed for the Creator’s blessing on them in return.

The timeworn buildings, some faced with faded, crumbling plaster, some with age-darkened wood, were just as packed as the streets. Colorful wash hung from the rusty iron railings of nearly every tiny balcony. A few held pots of flowers or herbs. Laughter and the hum of conversation came from taverns and inns. A butcher shop displayed fly-covered carcasses on the street out front. Other shops sold dried fish, or grain, or oils.

The farther he and the Sister went, the cleaner the city became. The road widened, even the side streets were wider, and none had huts leaning against the buildings. The shops had bigger windows with painted shutters, and better-looking wares, many displaying colorful, locally woven carpets. By the time the wide road became lined with trees, the buildings were grand. The inns looked elegant, with doormen standing in red uniforms before them.

On the stone bridge over the Kern, men were lighting lamps hung on poles to show the way in the gathering darkness. In the river, below the bridge, fishermen in small boats with lanterns rowed through the dark water. Soldiers in ornate uniforms with gold-trimmed white shirts and red tunics, and carrying polearms, patrolled each side of the river. As the horses” hooves clopped along the cobblestone, Sister Verna finally spoke.

“It’s a great day, at the palace, when a new one with the gift arrives.” She cast him a brief, sideways glance. “It’s a rare and joyous event. They will be happy to see you, Richard, please remember that. To them, this is an event of note in their calling. Though you feel differently, their hearts will be warmed by the sight of you. They will want you to feel welcome.”

Richard thought otherwise. “Make your point.”

“I just did. They will be delighted.”

“What you are saying, in other words, is you would like me not to horrify them right off.”

“I didn’t say that.” She glanced with a small frown at the soldiers guarding the bridge. She finally looked back to him. “I am simply asking you to realize that these women live for this very thing.”

Richard stared ahead as he rode past more guards in dress uniforms. A wise person, a person I love, told me once that we all can only be who we are, no more, and no less.” His gaze swept the top of the wall ahead, noting the soldiers there, and what arms they carried. “I’m the bringer of death, and I have nothing to live for.”

“That’s not true, Richard,” she said in a quiet tone. “You’re a young man, and you have much to live for. You have a long life ahead of you. And though you may have named yourself the bringer of death, I have seen you do nothing but strive to stop the killing. Sometimes you will not listen, and make matters worse, but it’s through ignorance, not malice.”

“Since you abhor lies, Sister, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to pretend to feel other than I do.”

She sighed as they went through a huge gate in the thick, outer bailey wall, the horses” hooves echoing inside the long, arched opening. Beyond, the road meandered among low, spreading trees. Windows in the buildings rising up all around were aglow with soft yellow light. Many of the buildings were connected by covered colonnades, or enclosed halls with arched openings covered over with latticework. Benches dotted the far side of the courtyard, against a wall with a frieze carved with figures on horses.

Through archways with white-painted gates, they came to the stables. Horses browsed in a field beyond. Boys dressed in neat livery, with black vests over tan shirts, came to hold the horses as he and the Sister dismounted. Richard gave Bonnie’s neck a scratch and then started taking down his belongings.

Sister Verna brushed out the wrinkles in her divided riding skirt and straightened her light cloak. She fussed at her curly hair. “No need for that, Richard. Someone will bring your things.”

“No one touches my things but me,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head, and then told the boy to have her things brought in. He bowed to her, and then hooked a lead line on Jessup. He gave a sharp snap on the line. Jessup balked.

The boy brought a whip around on the Jessup’s rump. “Move, you dumb beast!”

Jessup bellowed as he tried to yank his head away.

The next thing Richard knew, the boy was flying across the walkway. He slammed up against a flimsy wooden wall and landed on his seat, as a glowering Sister Verna loomed over him.

“Don’t you dare whip that horse! What’s the matter with you? How would you like it if I did that to you?” In shock, the boy shook his head. “If I ever hear of you whipping a horse again, you will be without a job, after I whip your skinny bottom.”