Shadows of Consequence - 10. Chapter 10

Indeterminate rivulets of seconds, minutes, and hours whiled the night away. What little rest Sam managed to catch was broken by every creak and groan of the house, or by gusts of wind rattling the window. But worse, any attempt to nod off triggered fierce nightmares. The encounter in his parents’ bedroom held his mind captive, only now, the bandit was far from human. Instead, the man was a shadow with glowing red eyes and a gruesome sneer, revealing pointed teeth. He loomed large over Sam’s prone, paralysed body. The floor was awash with blood, flowing like an ocean wave and splashing against the walls.

He shook himself awake. Despite the chill of the room, his bedclothes were damp with sweat. Restrained by the enveloping darkness, it threatened to devour him whole. It was at times like this—when the sun was but a mere memory—where the foulest thoughts were deafeningly loud. An unbearable weight of despair and loneliness sat upon him. Even the knowledge that Graeme rested just beyond the bookshelves did nothing to repel the overpowering desolation. After all, the knight would soon be gone, and then Sam would be truly alone in this house.

That thought alone was more than he could bear.

He tossed the bedsheet aside and shivered from the cold sweat clinging to his skin. In spite of how prolonged the night felt, looking out the window revealed sunrise was still many hours away. He needed light—something to fight against this oppressive gloom. He dressed hastily and then crept downstairs. Lighting a rush from the stove’s coals, he set every candle in the room alight, banishing the haunting shadows.

He sat at the table, trying to ignore his parents’ closed door. A morbid seed within his mind begged him to open it. Had the villagers managed to scrub the wooden floor thoroughly clean, or was it permanently stained red? What would he gain by knowing? Would he ever open the door again, or would it remain barred forever?

Letting out a shuddering sigh, he allowed his better judgement to take control. Using his arms on the table as a pillow, he laid his head down and closed his eyes. A gentle touch on his shoulder caused him to jolt out of his seat and fall to the floor. Graeme stood over him, watching him from under his dark hood.

“I apologise, Sam,” he said, raising his hands affably. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Sunlight streamed into the kitchen. Sam had dozed off, and the sudden shift in time was jarring. Remarkably, the nightmares had kept their distance. Perhaps the candlelight helped him feel safer. They’d all guttered out by this point, their melted wax pooled at their bases.

Embarrassed by his reaction, Sam stood up awkwardly and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “It’s okay.”

The knight inspected the covered pot on the stove. There was still some stew left. “Have you eaten?”

Sam sat at the table again and shook his head.

“You ate so little yesterday,” Graeme said, portioning a small amount onto a plate. “You need to keep your strength.”

Sam smiled inwardly at the knight’s paternalistic attempts, then took a bite of the lukewarm stew. Graeme scraped out the remaining for himself and sat opposite Sam at the table. They ate in silence.

This time, Sam was able to finish the food on his plate without his stomach protesting. But that didn’t stop a wave of uncertainty from washing over him, questioning if he’d ever manage a good night’s sleep under this roof again.

“I can’t stay here,” Sam blurted out. The statement was meant to be a thought, but it unintentionally spilt from his mouth.

Graeme nodded as though he already knew this. “Where will you go?”

That question frightened Sam more than he would ever admit aloud. After living a life of such comfort and security, the absolute uncertainty of leaving Reabury had his mind spinning. He’d always admired the adventurous spirit of his childhood friends. After reaching the end of their teenage years, they’d left the village to explore greater endeavours. Sam had always meant to follow in their footsteps, but the nagging doubt of the unknown had always held him back.

They’d written letters back and forth for about a year. One of them offered Sam a temporary place to stay at the port town of Harworth, saying his blacksmithing skills would make it easy to find work, but Sam lost his nerve and declined. Over time, the letters dwindled to nothing. Had Sam tried to reconnect now, he wasn’t sure if they lived in the same town or had moved on. Regardless, he knew he’d squandered the opportunity—losing his chance to escape Reabury and make something of himself.

“I . . . have no idea,” Sam muttered, finding himself near tears again. He hated feeling this way, having no control over his emotions.

“Would you consider joining me?” Graeme asked.

This was the conversation Sam wanted to continue the night before, but now, the excitement he’d felt then had unexpectedly vanished. In its place was an aloof, sticky sludge. “I’m too old to be an actual squire.”

“Not as a squire. I realise our private joke has been overstretched, and that is entirely my fault. Witnessing your excitement at the title brought a smile to my face, and I saw no harm in continuing. But tell me, did you enjoy it?”

Sam—his face warming—nodded his head bashfully.

“While you may not be a knight or a squire, you display the qualities of one.”

“That doesn’t change the fact I’m just a farmer’s son and a blacksmith.”

“I’ve met many people in my travels, Sam. Trust my judgement. You are greater than the sum of your parts.”

Sam reflected upon the praise silently, but was left bewildered. How could Graeme possibly compare him to a knight?

“Presuming you decide to join me,” Graeme said, “we would be comrades and travelling companions. You would not be my squire.”

Sam found it difficult to fathom what that would entail, but before he could voice his thoughts, Graeme continued.

“I offer this reluctantly, however. From my observations, your village has sheltered you and its inhabitants from the harshness of the world at large. Those bandits—with their vicious and heartless way of life—are but a taste of what we could encounter in our travels. You’ve proven yourself capable with a blade, but I question whether you can remain composed if we find ourselves in a violent altercation.”

Of course, he was referring to Sam’s ruthless attack upon the bandit—a grisly facet of himself he’d never known existed, and one he never wished to encounter again.

“I want to believe I can.”

Graeme nodded. “Given the circumstances, your reaction was understandable. But in a combat scenario, control is key.”

“How often do you find yourself in a fight?”

“Not as often as you might expect, but sometimes, trouble finds me. The road is not a safe place.”

Sam thought back to how Graeme had attempted to resolve the confrontation at the Lÿmian ruins. He’d tried to talk to them first, only resorting to violence when it was evident they wouldn’t respond to anything else. But the ease with which Graeme had struck them down—without feeling or emotion—seemed remorseless. Sam didn’t want to be that way.

“How many people have you killed?”

The question caught the knight by surprise. He straightened in his seat, contemplating before replying. “I have been travelling for many years, Sam. Please don’t think ill of me for not knowing the answer, but it was always in self-defence, or in the defence of another.”

“Do you . . . remember the first time?”

Graeme let out a long sigh, resting his arms on the table. “Of course.”

“And did it affect you?”

The knight gave a sombre nod. “It did.” The reply was a near whisper. “Show me your hand.”

Puzzled by the request, Sam hesitantly held it out. His knuckles were still raw, shrouded by purple bruises. Graeme held his hand gently, touching the palm and pads of his fingers. As before, he wore one leather glove with his other hand bare. The caress was peculiarly intimate, almost loving in its tenderness. Sam’s breath caught in his throat—he was unsure what to think of the gesture.

“Your hands are calloused,” Graeme said. “The sign of a hard-working man.”

Sam still didn’t understand what was happening, but allowed himself to enjoy the experience. For a moment—lost in the knight’s touch—he forgot his fear, his turmoil, his pain. In its place was a sense of calm, and he accepted it eagerly.

“When you started as the blacksmith’s apprentice, were your hands sore from working with the tools?”

Sam nodded.

“Regardless of what you might think of me, killing another human is never easy. My first time? Of course it affected me. I’ll always remember it.” Graeme still held Sam’s hand, his warm thumb softly rubbing into the crook of his palm as he spoke. “But after a while, one tends to create a protective wall in their mind, like a callous. If you join me, this method will be essential to ensure your safety and well-being.”

A rush of nagging fear unsettled the calm brought on by Graeme’s touch. Sam knew this fear well, and now it threatened to tumble down and crush him. Was this his only option to leave home—to escape Reabury? Was he really going to travel alongside this knight—a man he barely knew, whose face he’d never seen? Was he going to risk being a part of more violence that could result in his own death? The proposition was ridiculous, but he refused to dwell on his uncertainty.

He trusted Graeme implicitly. He trusted Graeme with his life.

“Where would we go?”

The knight withdrew his hand, much to Sam’s distress. The fear within himself, however, remained held at bay.

With a gloved hand raised in the air, Graeme replied, “Anywhere and everywhere. It’s a lonely road, but to ride with another would make all the difference. Especially if it were you.”

Considering the touch they’d shared mere moments ago, Graeme’s words now held a profound meaning for Sam. But was he reading into something that wasn’t there, or did Graeme suspect Sam’s attraction? And if so, was the attraction mutual? No, of course not. He refused to entertain such ridiculous thoughts.

“But killing people,” Sam said, “even if they’re bad people—I don’t know if I’m capable of creating this callous you talk about. I’m not a violent person. At least, I want to believe I’m not.”

The knight regarded him silently.

“What I did,” Sam continued in a hushed voice, “it scared me.”

“When it comes to self-preservation, you’d be surprised at what you’re capable of. That fight within you, don’t fear it.”

Sam found it difficult to believe he shouldn’t fear violence, even if used for good. His face betrayed this thought, and Graeme caught it.

“I know you’ve been shaken by your experience, Sam, but the dire situation you found yourself in was extraordinary. You aren’t only reacting to the violence you inflicted, but also to the . . .”

Despite trailing off, the unspoken words hung in the air—murder of your parents. Sam swallowed hard, holding back a cry that sought to escape his lips. He jammed his eyes shut as the image of their bloody, lifeless bodies clawed at his mind. The knight’s warm hand took Sam’s again—a tight grip now, as a way to share his strength.

“Open your eyes, Sam.”

He did so—his sight watery. With tight, determined lips, he blinked until his vision cleared.

“We’ve been focusing on the wrong thing,” Graeme said. “My primary duty isn’t to kill, it’s to help others when they can’t help themselves. Oftentimes, that means putting myself—us—in danger. There is a chance that means killing another, but generally, it does not. I speak plainly because I don’t wish to deceive you into joining me. The life of a knight-errant is hard, but it can also be deeply rewarding.”

Taking in his words, Sam reflected upon the many novels lining the shelves in his bedroom. He’d read them so many times, poring over the exciting and gallant adventures within. Even the violent parts thrilled him. This was what he always wanted, and now, it was being proffered on a silver platter. He’d be a fool to refuse this knight sitting before him—this knight requesting his company. He scoffed at how blinded by fear he’d become and stood up to address him.

“Ser Graeme, I would be honoured to be your travel companion and comrade-at-arms.”

Graeme rose and circled around the table to stand before him. “Then I accept you with a glad heart,” he replied with a reverent nod. “We may now be comrades, but I still am, and always will be, your stalwart protector.”

The promise Graeme had given to his mother rang in Sam’s ears. He fought against the whirlwind of emotions battling within himself, and this time, he triumphed. Knowing this valiant knight would always be at his side and continue to selflessly honour his oath filled Sam with reassurance.

He blinked, unable to believe that his destiny had been altered so enormously, yet so easily. His future was now a blank slate. Anything and everything was possible. The relentless fear that had plagued him for years attempted to emerge once more, but as Sam gazed upon Graeme now, it dissipated into the aether. It was surely a temporary reprieve, but if Graeme’s presence could free him from his crippling fear of the unknown, then he was certain he was making the right decision. Excitement bloomed at the prospect of travelling alongside this knight. He didn’t need his books anymore. Together, they would write their own adventures.

• • •

End of Part One