“No. Wait,” said O’Shan.
Men ran toward the woman, grabbing her and pulling her away. The crowd turned to stare at the strange priest, his composure sure and calm.
“I will be in my tent should anyone need counsel.” With that, he turned and left the stage.
“Sir?”
“We’re staying one more night,” said O’Shan.
The guard didn’t argue. Instead, he gathered the men and told them to be ready to leave in the morning. O’Shan left him, making his way to the tent of the priest. The lines were long but he waited, patiently, until the last person was gone.
Slowly he stood, weak and exhausted from the day. He opened the flap of the tent, the man’s back to him.
“I’m tired. Come back tomorrow.”
“I cannot,” said O’Shan. “I have plenty of coin for you.”
The priest’s back stiffened and he sat up straighter. He slowly turned on his wooden stool and stared at the man in his tent. He looked him up and down, then at the bag of coin in his hand. O’Shan tossed it to him and took a seat across from him.
Weighing the coin in his hand sent a thrill up the priest’s back. This could be the one he needed.
“You are not well,” he said to O’Shan.
“Anyone can see that,” said the man. “Why am I not well?”
“Have you seen a healer? A doctor?” he asked. O’Shan nodded but said nothing. “They cannot find your ailment. They know not what you have.”
Standing, he grabbed the burning candle and walked around the man. He held the candle close to his face and frowned.
“My skin is an unnatural color.”
“Yes, I can see that. There is a cure. One that very few know about. If you choose this path it will be difficult. It will test you as a man. As a human. It may take years.”
“I may not have years,” said O’Shan.
“Bring five bags just like this tomorrow and I will tell you what to do.”
O’Shan stood and left the tent vowing not to return. Five bags was a ridiculous price for something that might not work. This man was not a doctor. He may not even be a priest.
Seeing his men at their lodgings, nothing more than a camp of wagons and tents, he nodded to his guard and silently retreated to his own tent. But sleep did not come easy for him. Fretfully, he tossed and turned, images of him as a healthy, robust man once more walking his castle grounds.
As the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, he grabbed the five bags of coins and told his guard he would be back soon and to be ready to leave. When he arrived at the priests tent, he was surprised to see him standing at the opening, waiting for him.
“I knew you would return,” he said.
“You are my last hope,” divulged O’Shan. It may have been the nail in his proverbial coffin. “Here is the coin. Five bags.”
The priest took the coins setting them on the table inside his tent.
“Here is what you must do.”
When the instructions were given, when all was done, he stared at the priest in disbelief. Where was he to find such a person? Ireland had its fair share of light-haired, light-eyed people but silver hair? Translucent eyes? He’d never in his life seen such a thing. To top it off, they were to compete in strange contests to prove their strength to endure what was to come. To prove that they could provide what he needed.
He’d held contests with his men before but never to the death. Yes, they walked away hurt, bleeding, some nearly dying from a battle but he’d never intentionally pit them against one another in a battle that would absolutely kill them.
“Why must I kill them if they do not fit my needs? Why not just let them go?” he asked.
“You would be killed for what you ask them to do. You must not let others know your plan. Keep it between you and me.”
