The Sentinel by Avril Borthiry

Author:Avril Borthiry
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2017-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

THE CHURCH BELL sounded louder than usual, perhaps because of the message it conveyed. Not a call to worship, but an obituary, since the toll, thrice times three, announced the death of a man.

Abbot John sat at his desk staring at the crucifix on the wall. He sought to find comfort from it, reminding himself that the Son of God had died for the sins of mankind. All morning he had prayed to Father and Son both, an invocation that had bolstered his spirits.

Somewhat.

But a shadow continued to creep unchallenged across the land. It seemed God had stepped back and given this hellish pestilence leave to wreak havoc at will. There was no sanctuary to be had. No safe haven. Were the sins of man so great as to merit such a punishment?

The bell ceased its third knell, and the subsequent silence felt all the more ominous. John knew the bell rope would not be abandoned for long. So far, only one man had succumbed, but the rapidity of Brother Daniel’s demise had stunned everyone. He had collapsed during morning prayers and been dead by sunset. Three more brothers had developed fevers that afternoon and now lay awaiting their fate in the infirmary. John knew their chance of recovery was unlikely. He also knew the decimation had only just begun.

As had the exodus.

Those who were able had already begun to leave the coast, heading inland, many passing by Abbotsbury on their way north. The last John heard, two people had succumbed in Melcombe, and several others showed symptoms. The sickness seemed to be spreading all along the coast and would, no doubt, soon follow those seeking to escape it. Of course, poorer folks, trapped by circumstance, had no choice but to stay and face their fates.

John’s thoughts turned to Cristen St. Clair and her enigmatic sentinel. Had they managed to stay ahead of it, he wondered? He offered up another heartfelt prayer as a knock came to the door.

“Enter,” John said, straightening his spine.

“My lord abbot.” Brother Francis, one of Abbotsbury’s scribes, stepped into the room. “We have visitors.”

John frowned at the worried expression on the man’s face. “Seeking shelter?”

“Nay.” Francis threw a nervous glance over his shoulder. “They are apparently seeking –”

The door flew wide open, narrowly missing Francis, who flinched.

John caught his breath and rose to his feet.

“Abbot John.” Ralph St. Clair strode into the room, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Good of you to spare the time. You do remember me, I trust?”

John cast a glance at the man’s weapon. “I do, indeed, Sir Ralph. Welcome to Abbotsbury. Brother Francis, be good enough to take the man’s sword for safekeeping.”

Ralph shook his head. “My sword stays with me. Besides, this shouldn’t take long.”

John held the man’s gaze for a moment. Ralph St. Clair’s eyes, a dark, ominous gray, possessed no hint of warmth. Indeed, they appeared empty of any and all emotion.

It had been over a year since John had last seen him, the occasion being Cristen’s marriage to Ralph’s brother, Cedric.

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