Martyr's Fire by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online

weeds piled in neat bundles beside Gervaise, but the rosebushes, roots already wilting in the sun. The most precious plants in the garden! Why would Gervaise root them out so diligently?
    Thomas sucked in his breath. Was this a message?
    It disturbed Thomas so much that, instead of a joyful call, he continued to limp slowly toward the old man.
    “Good sir,” Thomas croaked, “alms for the poor? I’ve not eaten in two days.”
    Gervaise yanked another rosebush free from the soil and did not look up.
    “Gervaise,” Thomas hissed, “it is I!”
    The old man laid the bush on the nearest bundle and shuffled sideways on his knees to an unworked patch of soil.
    “Of course it is you, Thomas. And not a moment too soon,” Gervaise grumbled without looking up. “Removing these roses has robbed me of five years of toil. This price counts little, however, for you noticed and took it as warning.”
    Gervaise paused, then said, “Ask your question again, as if I were deaf. And add insult to your words. We must appear strangers to each other.”
    Thomas hesitated a moment, then raised his voice. “Are you deaf, you old cur? I’ve not eaten in two days.”
    “Do as the other beggars,” Gervaise instructed loudly with acted impatience. “Enter the church and pledge allegiance to the Priests of the Holy Grail.”
    Thomas stopped abruptly as Gervaise turned his head to look upward in response.
    The mangled right side of the old man’s face was swollen purple. Lines of dried blood showed the trails of cruel, deep slashes. His right eye was swelled shut, and his nose was bent and pushed sideways at an angle that made Thomas gag.
    “The Priests of the Grail know you and I are friends,” Gervaise said calmly, without moving his head. “This was done to encourage me to deliver you into their hands. And as you may have guessed, they observe me now from the church windows and from the trees behind you.”
    Thomas blinked back tears.
    “If you do not go into the church shortly,” Gervaise continued in a low voice, “those watchers will suspect you and hunt you down. They may be within hearing distance. Ask me now which priest to see. Do not forget the insults.”
    Thomas hoped his voice would not choke as he forced the words into a scornful snarl. “Worthless donkey! Instruct me well the priest to seek, ere I add to the scars on your face!”
    “Enter the church without hesitation,” Gervaise commanded quietly. “You must reach the altar. Then—” Gervaise looked past Thomas, then back at Thomas. Gervaise bowed his head as if afraid.
    But his voice continued strong but low. “Thomas, the panel beneath the side of the altar that holds the candles—kick it sharply near the bottom. Twice. It will open. Use the passage for escape.”
    “But—”
    Gervaise then looked Thomas squarely in the eyes. Exhaustion and strain marked the other side of the old man’s face. “After sixty steps, you must make the leap of faith. Understand? Make the leap of faith. You will find the knowledge you need near the burning water.”
    Thomas began to shake his head. “Burning water? What kind of madness do you—”
    “You must reach the altar. If they suspect who you are, Magnus and all its history is lost.”
    “Gervaise …,” Thomas pleaded.
    Gervaise sighed and turned toward his digging. “If I speak more to you, they will surely suspect. Walk away.”
    Thomas shifted his balance.
    Thomas then limped onward, toward the entrance of the church.
    He kept his head low as tears rolled from his eyes.

At the wide doors to the church, Thomas discovered some of his fears had been unfounded. Instead of being a lone and highly noticeable figure, he was only one of many entering the building.
    Once inside, he stopped to let his swimming eyes adjust to the sudden dimness.
    Gervaise , Thomas sorrowed, what evil has forced itself upon us?
    Men and women stood in a long line down the center of the nave, the main chamber of the church. At the front