The Story Of Outcasts

Gilbert ~ 9/02/1183

February 9th, 1183

The light snowfall covered the small village in a cold blanket of white powder. The faint clops of a horse trotting towards the church building were the loudest thing that night. No one was awake, not even the guard dogs. The only soul stirring that night was the man on the horse with long blonde hair with a small braid, a sword at his side, a hood covering his face and a small white bundle in his arms.

In the bundle was a tiny child, not more than a month old. It was as pale as the falling snow and it was as quiet as the rest of the night, not letting out even a small cry in the ice-cold.

The man looked to the child expressionlessly, he hardened his heart in preparation for this moment. The moment he'd say goodbye to his only surviving son. Hopefully, the child would not be turned away for his unusual appearance. Born without any color, the man thought his child was sick, he still wasn't sure but his son appeared to be quite healthy. He hoped the letter he left his son within the bundle would be read by him one day, he hoped more than anything he was making the right choice. To avenge one son he must leave the other behind, hopefully, he would have a happier life.

Gilbert.

His precious, colorless, quiet son. He couldn't help but wonder if his future. Would he ever have color, would he always be quiet, would he be as precious as he was now. Would he be okay without him? Would he realize his father was gone, that he would be an orphan? Would the world turn him away and he'd be forced to spend his whole life in the church? Surely it couldn't be that bad, his son as holy-man, that would surprise him but at least Gilbert would have a peaceful existence.

He pulled the horse's leather reigns and they stopped before the church building. Carefully, Gilbert in one arm, he hopped down from the horse's saddle. He took the basket out from the luggage weighing his horse down placed Gilbert inside so that he wouldn't be left on the cold ground. He covered the woven basket so the snow wouldn't wet Gilbert and his warm blanket and he knocked on the door as loudly as he could three times, slowly. He held his breath and he waited until he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching the door from inside the church.

When the steps got close enough he quickly mounted the horse and kicked its side urging it to quickly leave. The clops of the running horse echoed in the snow until they disappeared just as a young nun opened the doors of the church building.

She looked in both directions, having heard the horse but did not see it. Looking down she saw the woven basket and her heart ached as she knew what must be inside of it.

She crouched down, still partially in the warm building and removed the basket's lid. She gasped at the pale child. Could he be dead? No healthy child could be so pale. She quickly pulled the basket indoors and bolted them shut behind her. She picked the child up from the basket quickly and cradled him in her warm arms. He was still warm, still breathing, and very quiet.

Hearing the quiet commotion, approached two more nuns in their nightwear.

They saw their sister cradling the pale child and their hearts wept for him.

Abandoned.

Orphaned.

For the first time, Gilbert let out a long and loud cry. He squirmed in the blanket and the note fell out and fluttered to the ground.

Not knowing how to read the younger nun handed it to her elder who looked over it sadly. They determined through the letter the child was born looking so pale and that he was not, in fact, dying as they held him.

They learned his mother was dead and so was his brother and that his father was going to fight to avenge him and hoped the best for his son.

But like the child's father, they feared he may never find a new family just because he was so pale. But many people thought such pale skin was attractive, surely he has a chance? But as he cried his little eyes opened as the giant tears pooled out and they saw something startling.

They were pink, almost red.

It looked demonic, it frightened them and the nun holding Gilbert nearly dropped him in surprise.

Gilbert's loud cries echoed throughout the church and alerted the rest of the staff and the nuns to his presence. Finally, the priest, deep in slumber awoke and brought with him a candelabra and they saw Gilbert clearly, confirming what they thought they'd seen.

Red eyes.

The priest did not seem alarmed, he did not feel a demonic presence from the boy but he did feel sadness, a deep sadness that could only mean Gilbert knew his father was gone. They brought Gilbert next to the fireplace in the building adjoined to the church and they let him cry until he exhausted himself.

Not even a few weeks old and he was alone in the world.

Gilbert would never be quiet and peaceful again, just like he'd never see his father again, and a part of him, though not even a month old, knew that.

That's how Gilbert's life began.