The Hospitaller

Raffael squinted against the red setting sun which fractured and poured in as a figure stepped into the vacant infirmary. Almost vacant. His company for the entirety of the afternoon had been wrapped in on one of the beds, silently mocking him. Raffe met the Brother with a smile.

The broad man nodded a greeting and proceeded into the hall, his long robe rustling.

Raffe rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. His fingers were stained black with ink and he wiped it with a cloth he produced from his coat pocket.

"Go home." Jari's voice echoed against the stone walls before footsteps disappeared into the far room. He re-emerged with a tray of tonics in vials, leaves and dressings. Amongst the long tapered leaves were small, black bulbs peppered with white flowers. The Lacewurt treatment.

"Brother Jari," he said pushing his palms against the table to stand. "I said I would care for the old man."

"I've watched you enough times to know what to do. Besides, there's nothing else you can do for him."

Raffe gave a tentative look. Not much he could do, but give the man comfort. Raffe sighed. Who else, but a Brother to offer it? And he could not deny the strain in the back of his neck which crawled up into his head and causing a small ache over his brows. The muscles in his shoulders were also taut. He unconsciously raised his hand to the back of his neck.

Jari paused before him. "Go."

He shifted his weight.

"I'll leave you a detailed report," Jari said.

Raffe had heard those words uttered often to appease him. It worked too. And try as he may, he could find no fault against them, as each and every time, he'd return to the abbey after several days' absence with the documents sitting idly on his table. When Raffe didn't speak, Jari turned toward the entrance, hiding a smile, and bade a general farewell before he exited the infirmary.

He watched the hem of the Brother's habit disappear before he gathered his papers and slid them into his leather bag. With his white emblazoned tabard in hand, he took the stone path between the misericorde and parlor. His footsteps resounded against the walls of the cloister as he passed the frater. The gallery's shadows stretched like a spider's webbing before him. A lay brother was at the cloister tending the large flower garden. The flowers had not yet bloomed, but their bulbs had begun to show slivers of yellow, red and orange. The lay brother stood and bowed his head as Raffe approached. His head was covered, though not with the hood of the Brotherhood garb, but with a veil of sorts, obscuring his features. Raffe continued toward the kitchen. The smell of yeast, meat broths and various other delightful odors wafted toward him, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the morning, and it had been a long day. He entered the lane between the cloister, cellar and dorter, and left the abbey grounds.

The city had come alive with the remaining light of the sun. Shop owners and vendors spilled water onto the streets to wash the debris which had accumulated during the day into the troughs at the sides of the wide road. Shoppers, who waited until sunset, snuck in the last purchases of the day. The noise of their bartering were no less abrasive than the yelps of scavengers. It was not until all of such activities ceased did he reach the Riceiu Tavern.

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The Forgettable Girl

Jasmina Udo was not pretty. She led an indolent life, and so her body reflected it - the roundness of her fingers, her neck, her face. Even her voice was not left untouched. When she spoke, her throat gurgled and her words were garbled. When she smiled, her face reminded him of a monkey complete with a large set of teeth and an abundance of gums. In those moments, he felt no guilt in saying she was hideous for a girl.

When her face held no emotions, she was very plain. Average hair, average forehead, average eyes - though noticeably larger than average, and nose and mouth. In those moments however, there was a sense of bloodlessness - a lack of substance about her. As if he was in the company of a cadaver, and everything about her was, in every way, forgettable. Still the more he looked at her face, an indescribable feeling, a deep foreboding fear, crept over him and swallowed him. But Alek needed only to close his eyes to forget her face. To bask in the pleasure of her absence. However, he could not never wipe her existence away.

Alek thumbed his cane which rested between his legs. His favorite cane out of the many his father had brought over from Arsuide. This one in particular, his father had stated, was given to him by the Chief of Arsuide himself the previous year for his thirteenth birthday. The head of a lion decorated the collar. An emblem used only by the House of Belenus.

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