《The Ruined Monks of Rothfield Monastery》


 Chapter 1 - Wilbur (Shoreglass Monastery)

    Shoreglass Monastery.


    My early days when I joined the brothers were like murky water on my cupped hands, droplets of days falling through my fingertips. I did not know when one day ended and when one began. All I remember was blackness, then cloudy gray skies, then the brothers. They all blended together; black billowing cloaks, and red, brown, silver hair.


    Wilbur was the first I remembered. He was always gentle with me, and his kindness and patience cleared the thick fog distorting everything. His encouragement coaxed the courage I had thought absent in me.


    Slowly, I recovered. When my lips could hold words, it was his name that I spoke. When at last my arms had the strength to bring spoon to mouth, he dined with me. He cooked my meals; hot pottage with fresh crops and milk. When at last my legs could carry my frail body outside, I followed him. Hidden at first, but gradually helping him attend to his many patients.


    I began to make sense of the world I lived in, how my brothers differed from the rest of the people, and how I differed from the rest of my brothers.


    There I saw how people warmed up to him. Woodrow would be the most favored monk in all the monasteries we¡¯ve inhabited because of his beauty and charms¨Chis power to captivate and seduce grown men and women with the bat of an eye and some soothing words. But the affection villagers had for Wilbur was genuine. He did not force the trust people had for him, and so it was stronger. Seeing him soothe the injured and ill in a different manner, seeing him calm them with his gentle hands, him healing them of countless harms and hurts¡­ I trusted that he would care for me too.


    There was a night I remember when I began to become his shadow, clinging to his cloak every chance Abbott Blake allowed me small snippets of freedom.


    It came after a particularly hot day. The old women¡¯s faces crinkled into more lines as Wilbur approached them, holding the tray full of bottles of medicine and food and cold drink. ¡°Bless you, brother monk,¡± they said. ¡°Bless you.¡± They patted his face and hair with their gnarled hands. Some of the bolder ones even pinched his cheeks and Wilbur smiled, almost blushing.


    The children played until sundown, rowdier than ever, confident that Wilbur could patch them up quickly. They abandoned their fear of scrapes or broken ankles. ¡°Wilbur is here,¡± they chanted. Though Wilbur himself along with their mothers were quick to scold them, nonetheless.


    When the blanket of night hushed the noise, Wilbur dined with me inside my cell. He brought warm pottage with bits of carrots and peas. His other arm carried honeyed bread and cool springwater.


    ¡°Someday, when you get stronger, I shall take you with me and show you my garden. And then maybe, you could help me with taking care of everyone, if you want to.¡±


    He bit into his bread and dipped it into the pottage. He almost dropped it when I spoke for the first time.


    ¡°I would like that,¡± I said. I raised my brows to his surprised face. His brown eyes were lighter than the rest of the men working in the fields. They greeted everyone in the nearby village warmly. ¡°Are you truly my brother? Wilbur?¡±


    He blinked at me. Wilbur¡¯s wide smile was a rare treat, I would learn. So I was glad that I was mostly the one that made him reveal it. ¡°Yes. If you want me to be.¡±


    I smiled back and finished the meal in warm silence.


    I always felt the most comfortable when I was in his infirmary. It was the warmest place in the monastery, certainly warmer than the open cloisters and the simple cell that was my room. Warm like his eyes. Though it housed the sick, it was also often used as a general resting place for women and children, especially when strong Brother Ealhstan was repairing or building their huts. The brick walls sheltered them; gave them rest and reprieve.


    I was soon given the name ¡°gray child¡± for my dull features and for my shyness. I made sure to keep my face covered, as was instructed and kept close to Wilbur. But people can still see my hands and some parts of my face at certain angles. My skin was not pale like my brothers¡¯. It was the pallor of decay.


    Still, those first few villagers in Shoreglas allowed me to touch them, to examine them. ¡°You¡¯re warmer than your Brother Wilbur, little novice,¡± they said to me.


    Wilbur was always with his satchel. From deep within its contents he grabbed his many medicines and supplies. There were even small tools used for cutting cloth and slicing skin. The old leather bag was as part of him as his hands and legs.


    Man, woman, and child presented their arms and limbs, showing blisters or wounds, colors of red and purple. I noticed each time Wilbur was frustrated when dressing the wound, smearing tinctures, and dressing it with gauze. I did not know the names of his medicines yet, and whenever Wilbur told me I quickly forgot.


    The fresh wound he applied with a liquid that was dark copper color that dried and disappeared with the breeze, quickly leaving a scar. While the blood he wiped and smeared with a black-gold thick paste. To the blisters of farmers working in the fields and children playing, he cooled with ointments gathered from his garden. Mint, I think it was. Mint and yellow petals and a pleasant-smelling but strong transparent tincture.


    Sometimes our patients would return a second, third, and fourth time with the same ailment, and Wilbur and I would be ready to patch them again. But when the seasons changed, as the trees shivered away their summer gown for the shade of autumn, our patients lessened until there was no need for our infirmary. Wilbur was glad of that.


    ¡°The purpose of our work is to make sure fewer patients enter these doors. Give them food and medicine so they become strong and healthy.¡±


    We can be found in Wilbur¡¯s gardens at sunset; the brightest and most colorful place in the whole monastery. It was located in the cloister garth, a wide space of green surrounded by the silent columned pathways we took to get around the many buildings. Wilbur¡¯s garden was divided into two by a thick line of bushes; on one side was his herbarium full of simple herbs used for cooking, and on the other side was the physic garden used for his many medicines. They greeted me with their scents and rewarded our care with vibrant blossoms and bouncing petals. Wilbur caressed them all like they were the cheeks of children. He showed me how to water each plant, for each plant needed different requirements.


    ¡°The sun must hit this one for as long as it is in the sky. Come autumn, we must ground its petals and nectar into a paste for my salves.¡± One by one, he told me the properties. One by one, I forgot them. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t need as much light. But this curious one needs the light from the moon. Only then will the petals receive nourishment.¡±


    But I did remember the exact way how to manage them, oddly enough. What was important was the amount of light their bright faces needed. It was not long after our first year that I realized my brothers could not stand the sunlight. Only I can. And with each monastery we built, they rejected the day''s warmth more and more.


    After our work in the gardens, we fed the villagers. Supper was always warm bread or pottage and milk from their cows. We made them in the kitchens within the monastery, where some of Wilbur¡¯s ordinary herbs and spices were braided on the walls and stored in wooden pots. Brother Swithin couldn¡¯t resist the wonderful smells, not with his keen senses. He sat on the corner, cross-legged, waiting for Wilbur to throw him a bowl of warm meal. Then Brother Ealhstan will come and take the hot pot, while Wilbur and Woodrow carried the trays to the village quarters.


    Wilbur always invited me to the granges, but I was too scared to be among people. I waved to all of them goodbye, with brother Ealhstan smiling widely at me. ¡°Next time, you¡¯ll be braver,¡± he said. He always said that every night and he made me want to believe it.


    It was the third year of residing in Shoreglass when we heard a commotion outside the nave¡¯s doors. It was evening. Most of the farmers have stored away their scythes and plows, retiring for the night, waiting for their supper. Ealhstan had not come to take the pot over the fire. Curious, I joined Wilbur as he carried the trays of warm bread outside, passing the empty pews that faced the altar. In my hands was a large jug of milk.


    Drops of milk spilled on the floor as Wilbur stopped abruptly before me. Just outside were children gathered close like hens waiting for corn. The villagers knew they were prohibited from entering the monastic grounds, except for elders or leaders. Something was wrong.


    They pointed to the far distance. Brother Ealhstan carried in his strong arms the figure of a small boy, unconscious, a dangling leg streaming red fluid through Ealhstan¡¯s fingers. He was blocking a severe gash, and when he showed it to us, it was like a huge chunk of flesh was chewed off him. I can taste the scent of copper.


    The boy was pale, and he would die tonight if he lost any more blood.


    Wilbur gave the tray of warm food to the children and told them to bring it to Woodrow. He tore a fabric from his medicinal supplies and tied it around the boy''s leg.


    He ran to the infirmary, Ealhstan and I right behind him. ¡°He was in the pool of water with the sharp rocks at dusk. Foolish boy dared to climb them. Slipped and fell. He¡¯s lucky his neck isn¡¯t broken,¡± Ealhstan huffed.


    We laid him in the nearest bed and propped his leg up. I lighted the candles, opened the window above him, and waited for Wilbur¡¯s instructions.


    The boy¡¯s name was Derek, I remembered. I do not know my age, but I think Derek was younger than I am. Bigger than me and all of his friends. He was always the leader in their play-pretends.


    ¡°Ryne¡­ I¡­¡± Wilbur¡¯s hands were shaking as they hovered on the bloody fabric that he tied around Derek¡¯s leg. ¡° I can¡¯t,¡± He stammered. He looked at me wildly and for a moment his features were entirely unfamiliar. He looked like Brother Swithin when he was about to pounce on his prey. His eyes darted to Ealhstan by the door. When Ealhstan saw him shaking, he ran towards us, arms ready at his side.


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    I grabbed the towel quickly from his shaking hand. As soon as I did, he snapped out of the state he was in, and faster than I ever saw him move, Wilbur ran to the corner of the room where the shadow swallowed him. Maybe it was a trick of the low light, but his irises seemed to glow. He covered his nose with his cloak and pointed one pale finger at Derek.


    His voice was muffled. ¡°It¡¯s a deep injury. Make sure to clean it properly. Wait, no. Soak that fabric that I tied around his ankle with the alcohol. But first, make him swallow this numbing syrup.¡± Wilbur reached into his satchels and kicked the bottle gently towards me. He walked along the walls of the infirmary, closing his eyes. Once he was outside with Ealhstan right by him, he breathed out, ¡°he would require stitches. I shall get some from the crypts.¡±


    Wilbur paused, and without looking at us, he removed his satchel and handed it to Ealhstan who passed it to me. As they closed the doors, I heard Ealhstan mutter to Wilbur. ¡°You should have fed.¡±


    I opened Wilbur¡¯s satchel of medicines. Bottles parted against my hand''s weight and clinked. Wilbur hadn¡¯t labeled his bottles, but I recognized the shape and colors enough and knew what they were used for.


    I turned my attention back to the thick numbing syrup. It was a good thing that we could see well enough in the darkness, but I held the long bottle against the candlelight to be sure and unstoppered it, smelling the strong scent. Wilbur had extracted these from the leaves of the numone plant, known to numb the tongue of animals and unfortunate people that snacked on them before knowing its properties. It was distilled and enhanced and purified through Wilbur¡¯s many experiments and added with a hint of sweet honey to tolerate the taste. He explained to me that it can now pass through the body and numb the pain of the wound, and lessen the sting of alcohol.


    Derek was bigger than I was even for his young age, but he shrunk in this condition. I did not know if he could hear me, but I wanted to speak to him regardless, just as Wilbur would have done to his patients.


    ¡°Derek, Wilbur¡¯s out for a while, but we¡¯ll manage without him. I need you to drink this syrup, all right? It¡¯s going to taste nasty, but it will help with the pain.¡±


    There was no spoon, so I had to carefully tip the bottle onto the corner of his mouth. I placed my hand under his neck for support. He mumbled and parted his lips a bit, allowing the liquid to collect inside. I covered his mouth quickly so that he wouldn¡¯t spit it. He swallowed the syrup, his eyes furrowed, and he winced.


    ¡°I know, I know. But you did well.¡± I tried to put on a soothing voice, just like how Wilbur did.


    I placed him back softly on the pillow and proceeded to clean his wound. I kept talking to him as I soaked the fabric with alcohol. He groaned and gritted his teeth. ¡°There now, it¡¯s done.¡±


    His breathing was stable, and I kept checking his pulse and wiping the sweat off his brow. I did not notice Wilbur behind me until he spoke calmly.


    ¡°You did fine, Ryne. Thank you, I can take it from here.¡±


    I handed him back his satchel and thought of collecting water from the well outside. When I returned, Wilbur was stitching Derek¡¯s leg with a needle and thread. There was a jar of poultice nearby, where Wilbur reached and dabbed a few as he stitched. The skin was now deep purple.


    ¡°You did so well. I am proud of you,¡± Wilbur repeated.


    ¡°So am I,¡± said Ealhstan from the door. ¡°You¡¯ll make a fine healer someday.¡±


    I was relieved. I did not know that my hands were clammy until I placed the cup of fresh water on the table near Derek. My chest felt a surge of strength from their words. Finally, I can be useful.


    ¡°Brother Ealhstan, could you please fetch Brother Woodrow and tell him to gently tell Derek¡¯s parents what happened.¡±


    We were silent all throughout the operation, Wilbur¡¯s hands now sure and steady as if he was simply working on cloth. Then he snipped and spread a thick amount of poultice on the fixed leg, and covered it with a fresh clean cloth.


    ¡°How does it work?¡± I asked.


    He paused and Wilbur showed me the thread in candlelight. ¡°This is made from easily dissolvable materials like the sensitive dey plant. It is only used for grave injuries such as these. The materials aren¡¯t easy to make.¡± He looked at me and gave me another clean fabric.


    I took it from him and soaked the fabric in alcohol while Wilbur softly added another thick paste from his jars; this one made of honey and crystallized rose petals and a gemstone powder I did not recognize to the closed wound. I wrapped the entire lower leg this time, from below the knee to the calf muscle.


    He smiled at me and touched my shoulder. He patted me on the back. Then there were footsteps and hurried breaths from the door and Woodrow, Ealhstan and Derek¡¯s parents spilled onto the room.


    ¡°Get away from him!¡± the father said forcefully, his arm about to reach out and shove me away. I crouched low to the ground, but his arm did not hit.


    ¡°That is our brother you are talking to,¡± Wilbur said calmly. He caught the father''s arm. Ealhstan and Woodrow appeared behind the door. ¡°He took care of young Derek while I was gathering my supplies.¡±


    Derek¡¯s mother cradled his son, knees kneeling on the bed. Wilbur told her to not touch his leg and expect it to hurt for a couple of days if not weeks.


    ¡°He would need a staff to help walk,¡± he said. ¡°And no more games and light farmwork until it heals.¡±


    The mother nodded, looking at the wound, refusing to look at me. ¡°Thank you, Brother Wilbur. You saved my son.¡±


    Wilbur wanted to add my name, but I held his arm and shook my head. A while later, he said. ¡°I¡¯ll go get him his medicine. Expect him to get a fever tonight. Hopefully, it will be gone in the morning. He¡¯ll be staying here until he can walk.¡±


    ¡°Here?¡± Derek¡¯s father said, looking around the infirmary and at Ealhstan and Woodrow.


    Wilbur explained further, patiently. ¡°For a day or two at least until he has the strength to carry himself home. The body is still weak and sore and needs bed rest.¡±


    Woodrow quickly came into the infirmary, locking eyes with the father who was too slow to look away. Beautiful brother Woodrow¡¯s eyes glowed green for a moment and he smiled wide. When he spoke, the voice was warm and soothing like Wilbur¡¯s medicine.


    ¡°It is all right,¡± he said. ¡°No harm shall come upon him. You may visit him anytime you like after your work.¡±


    The father breathed slowly and took in his words. His muscles relaxed, his posture calm. ¡°You¡¯re right. He¡¯ll be safer here.¡± Then he joined his wife and stood vigil over their son, Derek¡¯s cheeks began to bloom in color.


    We left them, Wilbur adding incense from his pouch near the candle near Derek. Ealhstan would stand guard over the door tonight while Woodrow returned to the mess hall with the rest of the farmers and wives. He would charm all their worries away.


    ¡°I wonder if they would make sonnets about you,¡± he teased Wilbur. The glow has gone and his lips curved into a constant smile. ¡°And well done to you, Ryne. I wonder what stories they make up about you this time." Silkily, he added, "Gray child.¡±


    He hopped merrily away, outside the monastery gates and into the warmth of a great fire and warmer music. The people were still in the middle of supper. High-pitched voices and joyous laughter blended with flutes.


    ¡°It was a good thing that it happened in the night when I was awake,¡± Wilbur said. He looked down at the grass, then slowly raised one hand to his forehead. ¡°To think what could have happened to him when I was not able to heal him.¡±


    ¡°Wilbur,¡± I began, my voice light, ¡°what did Ealhstan mean when he said that you should have fed?¡± Come to think of it, in the haze of my memories, there were only a handful of times when I saw him eat food with me. He is lean, but not famished.


    He did not answer. His lips parted, but instead, he shook his head and said, ¡°If you¡¯re ready, I shall teach you all that I know.¡±


    I nodded, eager to be helpful. ¡°I am ready.¡±


    I was eager to help them, too. Even though there were people like Derek¡¯s parents who did not trust me, especially with my appearance.


    The next morning, Derek and his friends thanked me, with the boy, looking like he had not gone through a grave ordeal, pointed to the injury, telling the others that he was the first among them to have a battle scar. When he was finally discharged and limping around the fields, helping the women with the harvest, Wilbur set me to watch over him and see that he did not get himself into more trouble.


    But the older women--the very same ones that blessed Wilbur and pinched his cheeks, made a sign of warding evil at me out of the corner of my eye. Some of the men who were not close to Woodrow and Ealhstan raised their pitchforks higher when they saw me. And so I retreated myself back to Wilbur¡¯s garth and infirmary and slept.


    Wilbur showed me his garden after a few weeks. In my eyes, it was already full of blooming things, but when he pointed out each property hidden in each petal, in each nectar and blush, it was like the garden became more vibrant. A growing space of wonders. Alive, and ready to give life. This small garden would be where he healed the world.


    ¡°But that¡¯s just half of what my medicines are made of,¡± Wilbur said as he took me to his crypts under the church. He brought out from his pockets gleaming stones that shone in the candlelight. ¡°Purodites, larpoits, and denzemonds. Rare stones like these are found in the different mines that amplify the effects of the flowers you see. Without these, they would just be simple herbal remedies, and we¡¯re here to make miracles.¡± He winked and stowed them away.


    He showed me another pouch. This time from his satchel. ¡°He brought it closer to the candles and sprinkled a pinch onto the light. The candle instantly burned brilliantly, changing into a green flame before dying back down to its natural ember. ¡°I crush these using the tools I have back in the dungeons. But stubborn ones like denzemond¡­¡± he showed me the sparkling silver-white powder, ¡°this one I leave to Ealhstan¡¯s strength. Without him, half of the treatment in my satchel would never have been made. We¡¯re very fortunate to have him in our ranks.¡±


    I grabbed his book. He showed charts and symbols and graphs. ¡°My alchemy book. Records of my plants here, their blooming period and harvest seasons.¡±


    ¡°How long did you study these?¡± I looked over its pages, admiring Wilbur¡¯s neat penmanship and diagrams. ¡°You¡¯re an artist, too.¡±


    He smiled and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve been staring at them for so long. A year ago when we first started planting seeds. Then I started crossbreeding the common ones and altered their nature slightly with the lab I have in the dungeons. Some are successful. Some don¡¯t mix. And some need just a wee bit of encouragement to thrive. Weather, right kind of soil¡­ a lot of it is guesswork and experimentation.¡± He slammed the book close and stowed it away. ¡°Fortunately, time is a lot we have of. I think. And I will not waste mine.¡±


    He raised his arms wide. ¡°I wish to build a brilliant greenhouse where everything thrives. And introduce these plants to the world so that everyone can have them in their garden. But as of now, they can only grow here, under our care. I tried planting some of the newer breeds and they simply wilted away. They aren¡¯t yet ready for this world yet.¡±


    I touched one and caressed his cheeks. ¡°Do they have names?¡±


    Wilbur shook his head. ¡°Not yet, but soon. When they are ready.¡±


    ¡°I wish people wouldn¡¯t be so scared of knowledge. Of us.¡± Of me, I thought.


    ¡°I suppose that''s what we¡¯re here for, too. Help them realize that there is nothing wrong with branching out.¡±


    ¡°Maybe if they weren¡¯t so afraid of us and what we¡¯re trying to do, they can see that we¡¯re trying to make their lives easier. They could even learn your ways for a change.¡±


    No more people fearing each other. The huts filled with bright flowers. Wilbur patted my head and blew out the candle. ¡°That would be a bright world indeed.¡±

 Chapter 2 - Ealhstan (Trushire Monastery) (Part 1)

    Trushire Monastery.


    Brother Ealhstan was built like a mountain and had the strength of it, too. He towered over all the men. The children shrieked and scattered from his shadow, cowering behind the skirts of their mothers.


    With his unmatched physical strength, he built new stronger huts than the ones villagers made out of dried mud and clay. His huts were a mixture of strong stone and hardwood.


    They were scared of the houses, and of him, at first. But his kind words and jovial, calm nature soon won them over. They were unsure whether they could live inside his stronger houses because the current law stated that only nobles were allowed the luxury of stone walls. But after being reassured by my brothers, they settled quite nicely. It was more spacious, after all, and the stone walls kept them from strong winds.


    They wondered, too, about the speed at which these houses were built, for he was but one man. Yet as each night passed, it was as if a house sprouted fully formed from the ground. The combined powers of Knox and Woodrow soon wiped those worries away, though. Temporarily, at least, until my brothers¡¯ powers waned.


    Trushire monastery was near a forest. Each night, Brother Ealhstan ventured deep into the dark green woods and with his mighty swings, cut trees like they were nothing but common sticks. He hauled them back to the monastery where he chopped them down into new beds, new tables, new chairs, and other furniture.


    But most importantly, with his skill and strength, he built our monasteries; smaller in comparison to the ones men built but similar enough. Our dwelling places. From clumsy stones, he shaped sturdy columns and graceful arches.


    ___


    When Trushire Monastery was halfway built, a few weeks after we settled here, I found myself walking on the cloisters as the sun dipped low on the mountains. My hand hovered through the beams of red light falling from the incomplete ceiling. I pushed against the columns and their arches. I could never make houses, nor columns, nor graceful arches such as these. Even if I knew how, I doubt I could lift the heavy stones, much less shape them.


    And then my eyes landed on the darkest, coldest side of the monastery. The chapter house. The dwelling place of Abbott Blake. He never once showed his face, never revealed himself to any of us except for Knox. But we heard his voice in our dreams. Whenever we traveled to find another home, the Abbott kept to the deepest darkest shadows. I didn''t like looking at the chapter house. It always unsettled me. A creeping iceness started to slice my chest.


    I looked away and turned my full attention to the sunset, and to other things Ealhstan built.


    There were only four cells in the unfinished dormitory. Ealhstan had promised me grander cell rooms; more spacious and less dreary. He also promised the same thing for Wilbur¡¯s laboratory. But he was split between making sturdier homes for the villagers of Trushire and completing Trushire monastery itself just in time for winter.


    When I reached the monastic granges, I heard concerned voices in the air. I covered my face with my hood, concealed myself in shadow, and followed the source of the commotion.


    Two men were pleading with one other in the field. By the staff they were holding, they all looked to be shepherds.


    ¡°It¡¯s just for this winter,¡± one of the men pleaded. ¡°At least until the giant monk reshapes our home. My wife needs a warm place for the child in her belly. She¡¯s dear friends with your wife.¡±


    The other joined in. ¡°Is there any way you could spare some space for three of my goats? I heard that your house has an extra pen. I will gladly give you their food, plus more for your own goats, Mav.¡±


    Winter arrived early this year; Wilbur¡¯s delicate physic garden shivered with its unmistakable first breath, prompting us to store them in the cell that was our makeshift greenhouse. The farmers were frantic; praying to the Saints to delay winter and hasten the maturity of their crops. Wilbur was busy preparing the medicines for the common illnesses in cold months and whipping up special batches of growth fertilizers. These have curious traces of minerals that both crops and soil would need.


    The neighbor, Mav, crossed his arms. He looked agitated, eyes darting back to his house. He shook his head. How odd. Before we built our monastery, these villagers were to be found in each other¡¯s huts. Yet now that some of them had stronger ones, they kept to themselves and shut their windows and doors. I saw from his fence that there was even a thick plank of wood for barring the entrance.


    Loud footsteps like hammers pounding on soft grass came up behind me. I turned to look at Brother Ealhstan, who stretched and yawned deeply. The sun has faded. The night was when my brothers awoke. This brother looked like a bear out of hibernation. I pointed to the scene before us and held one finger on my lips.


    ¡°It¡¯s either the child or two goats, there isn¡¯t as much space as you think there is,¡± Mav growled. The two men looked at each other and one of them nodded. Space for the wife, then. Once the decision has been made, Mav hurried to his house and blocked the entrance with the thick plank.


    ¡°Liar,¡± Ealhstan growled. ¡°There was more than enough space for the wife, the goats, and his family. I made sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Brother, would it be possible to make their houses bigger, if not sturdier?¡± I said. ¡°Maybe we could make a communal barn for all of their animals? Or add an extra pen for each house from now on. I don¡¯t know which takes more time.¡± Shyly, I added, ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s all right with you.¡±


    He crossed his arm and regarded me. ¡°But your cells and Wilbur¡¯s crypt and the garden house?¡±


    ¡°Forget that.¡± I waved my hand dismissively. ¡°I¡¯m sure Wilbur would say to prioritize the villagers.¡± Just then, an eerie sound came from the forest. The howl of winter foxes. The sheep and goats nearby bleated their fears. ¡°Maybe we could build stronger protection for their animals, too?¡±


    I looked at the sharp fences protecting the pigs and geese. It was not enough. The forest animals were behaving wilder than usual. Fiercer and more clever. Two nights ago, wild foxes climbed through the pointed fences and dragged two geese. It was then the villagers assigned the men for night patrols. One man after another, guided by torchlight.


    Ealhstan looked over the village quarters outside the monastery. Half of the huts were made of stone, and half of the huts were made of dried mud. The air was crisp and cool. The impatient sounds of winter foxes and other wild beasts that lurked in the forest called. ¡°All right.¡± Then he grinned and slowly placed his huge palm on my head, just like Wilbur did. I did not shudder or wince. I knew by then that he was a gentle giant. ¡°Help me make their homes?¡±


    I raised both brows at him, certain I misheard. My eyes motioned to his strong body and mine.


    ¡°I know your limitations,¡± he said, ¡°but don¡¯t let Knox and Blake tell you what you can or cannot do. What matters is what you want to do.¡±


    With him, I can be useful. With him, I can lift stones and build and shape things. I nodded and smiled at him.


    ___


    For the next few weeks, I divided my time between Wilbur and Ealhstan. Knox sniffed and muttered under his breath but said nothing when Ealhstan hid me from view. I just had to make sure that my longer cowl was securely tied around my neck; Wilbur had to make a new habit for me when the veins in my face started to stretch out, reaching across my chest and upper arms.


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    We were concerned, at first. But Wilbur can''t figure out what was wrong with me.


    Every night, I waited for Brother Ealhstan to wake, and we would venture forth to the nearby quarry to gather limestone and sand. There was a kiln there of his own making, where we burned the limestones. After it had cooled, he crushed the lime with sand and other materials that he said were animal bones and, surprisingly, when he thought I was out collecting more limestones with his pickaxe, I saw him use his own blood. A ribbon of red mixing with the grey; a part of his strength in the houses we would build.


    Every night, when we were about to lay the foundations of the new houses, Woodrow did his duties. He distracted the men working in the fields and the women caring for children and livestock while Ealhstan built their new homes. He and Wilbur and sometimes Swithin came out at dusk, when darkness swallowed the last remaining scattered embers, with trays of warm pottage and bread. We had to ration the crops and filling, but there were still many days in a week when bits of radish, celery, and carrots bobbed on top of hot stews and soups. The bread would be filled with Wilbur¡¯s famous honey and custard, while the jugs of warm milk may be spiced with his herbs.


    The mess hall outside the monastic granges swelled with the villagers of Trushire. Chorus after chorus rang, laughing the hours away. Their children slept soundly as we built new walls around them, and when they woke to find new homes, they would point at us to their parents and happily exclaim that we transformed their old houses. The parents smiled and shook their heads, never believing the stories their sons and daughters said. Not while Knox was covering us in his veil of illusion, that is.


    Knox, through all this, had his brow furrowed. The project was approved by Abbott Blake himself, and he had no choice but to help us. Still, he kept looking at us as if he wanted to put our heads on a spike.


    It made me clumsy around Ealhstan. But Ealshtan encouraged me, still. Thrice a week, Wilbur came and offered me my own warm pottage, complete with cream and buttered bread. I smiled at him, missing his food and his company.


    It worked. The neighbors stopped bickering and pleading. The two men from before gladly offered their extra space for storage and free lodgings to their other neighbors, while Mav kept to himself, always locking his gate and eyeing everyone. Because of the space of their new homes, some of the family also grew, though we warned them that a long winter may be approaching and need to ration food. Yet, they smiled, confident that we monks could fix their problems.


    A little girl woke up from her chambers one night as Brother Ealhstan and I worked on her family¡¯s house. I noticed that she was the one always clinging to Ealhstan, smiling up at him and not afraid of his size. She crawled up to him slowly and I alerted him to her.


    ¡°Leila, my dear. Go back to bed,¡± Ealhstans said gently.


    ¡°What are you making?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A house,¡± I said. For your newborn siblings.¡±


    ¡°Can I help?¡±


    ¡°No, Leila. But tell no one of this.¡± Ealhstan checked to see if Knox was looking in our direction. He shielded her from his gaze.


    ¡°You are so strong, Brother Eestan.¡± Little Leila smiled. She looked at me. Her eyes were so kind and wide, not yet polluted by hardships.


    ¡°What would your house look like, Leila?¡± I asked. Partly to distract her, and partly out of curiosity.


    She thought about it, her lips pouting and her gaze turned toward the twinkling stars. ¡°Windows wide, so the babies can have plenty of light. Maybe the ceilings can reach as high as you, Eestan! So you can visit us and not stoop down!¡±


    She giddily told us about her dream house. As she narrated, I helped Brother Ealhstan smooth the stone, layering it piece by piece until we had made a wall. His movements were so precise that everything fit perfectly. Leila and I both clapped our hands softly before I fanned the finished trough that would house soil instead of water for their flower garden.


    Finally, she yawned, and knowing that sleep was not far, washed my hands off the stone and led her to the doors of her house. ¡°Good night, Brother Ryne," she said wiping her eyes.


    ¡°Good night, Leila.¡±


    I helped Brother Ealhstan with carrying the leftover stones and returned what I carried with my weak limbs back to his cart. And then, when we were finished, we looked over the remaining huts we needed to improve.


    ¡°They look more like cottages now,¡¯ I observed. Wilbur told me that cottages were bigger and could be found in towns with more villagers under the protection of minor to major lords.


    My arms ached and I noticed myself wolfing down my supper like how Swithin finishes his boar. I patted my stomach and looked at my limbs. Still small, still thin. ¡°I am truly stuck with this body, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    The dust on my hands sparkled in the moonlight. I clapped them away and stretched. Ealhstan did not comment, only watched me twist my torso. ¡°No matter how much I lift heavy stones or timber, my body will feel the sting of labor but will always revert back¡­ to this.¡± I rolled up my long sleeves and showed him my veins and soft muscle.¡± I can help however much I want, I will never change. I saw boys grow into men, saw how their bodies changed. They sprouted like WIlbur¡¯s plants, shooting tall from saplings. I will always be a pressed flower.


    ¡°Ryne, you¡­¡± Ealhstan began, but Knox cut him off.


    ¡°If you¡¯re through, might I now return to my tower?¡± Knox said severely. I almost jumped up if not for Ealhstan beside me. I forgot he was there to hide us from the parents.


    ¡°Of course, Brother Knox. Thank you so much for your help,¡± Ealhstan said. Knox sniffed, turning his nose up at us and disappeared into the monastery. ¡°Prick,¡± Ealhstan muttered under his breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing that you can control your strength like that,¡± I said. The clouds parted to reveal the full glow of the moon. Icy winds blew past us, sending the women in the mess hall trilling. ¡°You all fit your powers accurately, don¡¯t you think? It¡¯s been on my mind lately. The more I am with you all, the more I think all of your powers suit your nature and physical qualities. Brother Woodrow¡¯s beautiful face and lithe body with his power to charm. Brother Wilbur with his rapid-healing abilities and his devotion to the healing arts. And you with your size and immense strength.¡±


    I smiled at him and scooted near so my head bumped his lower arm. I punched him softly. ¡°I love how you chose to use it.¡± His function, according to Knox, was supposed to defend us from harm, squashing enemies to pulp. But he always focused on building our defenses and giving people proper homes. Ones where they could rest and be safe so that they wouldn¡¯t be dissatisfied and hostile in the first place. ¡°You are a gentle giant.¡±


    Ealhstan smiled slowly. He threw a small stone just lying about and flipped it high in the night sky, letting it fly like some night bird. It fell back on his hand, hot. He chucked it over a nearby stream where it skipped endlessly out of sight.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s me¡­¡± I laughed humorlessly.


    ¡°There¡¯s you, keeping me and your Brother Wilbur sane through the years,¡± he said.


    Without warning, he lifted me by the arms and threw me up in the air just like he did the rock. My heart leaped in my throat. Is this how Swithin feels when he vaults from trees? I did not scream, the joy and thrill of shooting up to the star-filled heavens suspended breath. Then I stopped in mid-air, the moment when gravity was about to call me down.


    At this moment, I felt free as a night bird. Knox wasn¡¯t around. I was free to do as I pleased, the sky above¨Cor was it around me?¨Cvast and uncaring of what I looked like. My cowl was thrown back, of course. My hair free in the wind, my whole veined body weightless as if buoyed at sea. The noise from the mess hall barely audible. And then I fell.


    Ealhstan caught me in his arms. It was like landing on a firm bed. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to do that to someone,¡± he said.


    I grinned up at him and raised my arms wide. ¡°Do it again, then!¡±


    He threw me thrice more. All three times I felt like an owl, free from all troubles. An owl and a sparrow and a bat. The third time, I dared myself to look below. The forest was wide, shapes merging into darkness the farther trees went on. The great roaring fire from the mess hall looked like a fading candle and the villagers looked like matchsticks surrounding it. Trushire monastery looked grand even when its body was incomplete, like a shy body concealed in cloak.


    Beyond, there was a curious smoke from the hills where we traveled from. I did not know why, but my mind went back to Shoreglass monastery, where I would sit at the tower and daydream about traipsing across those very same hills, far off in the distance. But Shoreglass was far away¡­ almost a week we traveled, using thick trees as protection, and using Brother Swithin¡¯s speed as he pulled the cart we were on.


    I narrowed my eyes¡­ the smoke looked orange, and instead of looking like puffs of black clouds, they looked more like blankets twisting upward. If we were this far and that sight was that great, it must have looked like a bonfire swallowed several cottages, or licked up the stones of a castle. It looked like the sight of war.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Ealhstan asked, checking if I was injured. He placed me firmly on the ground.


    ¡°I thought I saw something back through the hills we traveled,¡± I said, and described what I saw to him. We frowned but shrugged it off. There were a dozen explanations for such a strange sight.


    Before I headed back, Ealhstan called after me. ¡°Thank you for not looking at me like a weapon.¡±

 Chapter 2 - Ealhstan (Trushire Monastery) (Part 2 - END)

    It took another week of Woodrow¡¯s merrymaking distractions and Knox¡¯s unwilling illusions to complete their houses. Once we were finished, the village quarters looked like a miniature of Wilbur¡¯s infirmary. Villagers and animals were grateful for their new homes. When I passed their new mini-barns, the pigs, sheep, and goats all licked my fingers.


    The wolves and other wild animals, on the other hand, grew restless in their dens. At night, when the villagers slept, the edge of the forest glowed with menacing eyes accompanied by the sounds of impatient snarls and yelps. Beasts howled in frustration. Swithin could hunt them down, but he always respected the balance of nature, and so was unwilling to dispose of them. Abbott Blake and Knox could not care less about wild animals.


    It was one of these nights where one couldn¡¯t be certain if the wind was howling by itself or carried the howls of the wild that I saw Swithin squatting like a cat on the top wall of Trushire. Swithin the swift, we called him. Our scout and hunter. His speed made him look like he was flying from one end of the field to another. He held out a hand as I approached him, then held a finger to his lips.


    We listened to the forest¡¯s lament. Desperation echoed, and my mind filled with images of thin villagers grasping dried stalks, mothers and fathers abandoning their children to scavenge for food.


    Swithin¡¯s eyes were firmly set on the forest. ¡°They are hungry. They want to feed their pups or they will die. They feel cheated.¡± He dangled one leg over the wall. ¡°The people are well fed, but they are not. Soon, they will leave the forest they called home from their birth and their parents¡¯ birth, and move on to another, where they will compete with other packs. Just like people.¡±


    He brought out a bag, soaked and dripping with blood. ¡°Don¡¯t tell Ealhstan. I only slaughtered the oldest ones.¡±


    This was not hunted from the forest. The blood seemed tame. ¡°Which animals did you get?¡±


    ¡°A pig, a goat, and a sheep. The pig, I got from the neighbor who kept his gates always closed.¡± Mav, I thought. I nodded and he went off to the forest, to calm the ravenous hunger and maybe, who knows, travel with the wild tonight, guiding them to their new homes.


    It wasn¡¯t often that Brother Swithin was in a talkative mood. He was, like his senses, quick and simple, like the wild animals. He sometimes was primitive. He did not want to be caged inside the monasteries, preferring the fields and forests outside. He only came back at night to sup with us. But if he decided to stay, he slept in the crypts underground, where he shared a space with Wilbur.


    ___


    Weeks after Trushire Monastery was finished, when the livestock had multiplied to replace the ones slaughtered and preserved for winter, when the newborn babes wailed against winter, Wilbur paced and tutted as he appraised his stock of medicines.


    The crypts or dungeons were always underground of the nave, the main church where we invited the villagers every Saintsday evening to read and understand the story of the Saints, led by Knox at the pulpit. It was the one day when they visited the monastic grounds and admired our granges and gardens and Ealhstan¡¯s craft.


    Wilbur was a whirlwind of mutterings, pacing back and forth over his long wooden table. I noticed that he had fewer ingredients this time; there were some vibrant colors absent. ¡°This won¡¯t do. The good news is that I still have leftover preserved petals and bottles of basic medicine for the people. Unfortunately, it would just barely go over a fortnight with all the newborns¨Coh the newborns! I almost forgot to add the strains in their milk¡­ thank our good senses that we harvested milk thistle before it got frosted over.¡±


    He then grabbed a bottle from his satchel and filled it with powdered milk thistle. There was a small fire in the middle of his workstation, where he would melt some powdered stones and dissolve clumps into base liquids. He took a tiny cauldron and poured in a gallon of stored cow¡¯s milk. To it, he added the powdered milk thistles and mixed them with a long spoon. He has been like this ever since Trushire monastery was finished.


    The fortified milk done, he scooped its contents gently onto wooden bottles that he would hand to the mothers; it took longer than Shoreglass, but they put their trust in him. As he was spooning the boiling milk, I cleaned the tiny cauldron and the metal spoon in the nearby washbasin. The sound made him look.


    ¡°Ryne! I didn¡¯t know you were here.¡±


    ¡°We were in the winter garden house Ealhstan built. The world vanished as you focused on that black dot on the flower.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡± Wilbur scratched his head and remembered his tasks before he got sidetracked.


    Some summer and autumn flowers managed to survive in Ealhstan¡¯s winter garden. It was closed off from the rest of the world with thick bricks and thin windows, with only a thin slant for air. The smell of earth was rich here, and it was so humid that I pulled back my cowl every time we entered.


    When we gathered all his springtime and summertime flowers at dusk, Wilbur noticed a powdery substance in one of them, its name I had forgotten. At first, we thought it was simply dust or mold, but learned that it was a bruise that corrupted the flower, nullifying its healing properties. Strangely enough, it did not make them wilt, at least not yet. But when Wilbur tried to smudge it away with his thumbs, it was there still. A mole sitting on a face. He frowned and cut the flower for observation after he checked the remaining supplies.


    Wilbur snapped his fingers, remembering where he left off. ¡°We are out of rhodomentite¡­ and¡­¡± He grabbed a chunk of ores from one of the crevices in the walls and chunks of the familiar dull gray-white ore from his pocket. ¡°Please bring this densemond to Brother Ealhstan, won¡¯t you, Ryne? Tell him to crush them into the finest powder and put them in this pouch. I would go myself, it¡¯s just that I must find out this new disease in my plants.¡± He went back to another large flat stone smoothed by Ealhstan. This one he used for corrosive and explosive experiments. ¡°Oh, and please send my thanks and appreciation for Ealhstan. If it wasn¡¯t for him, I couldn¡¯t continue my medicines.¡±


    Quickly, he went underground and observed it under the microscope. Wilbur murmured, ¡°How odd. How very odd.¡±


    He would be preoccupied with that for who knows how long, so I left him to find Brother Ealhstan. Up the stairs I went, past the empty pulpit and the benches, and out onto the cold snow. I heard him first before I found him: just outside the brick walls that divided the monastery and the village settlement. His laughter boomed in the snowy evening.


    It was now twilight, and the children climbed him like a great oak tree, small arms reaching for his arms and fingers. They all clung to him, they all loved him, innocent smiles and peals of laughter as they hung around the thick branches of his arms. They swung on them, pulling each other down. Ealhstan spun around slowly, making sure he would not step on anyone.


    I leaned back on the wall, watching, careful not to disturb them. Soon, when the night swallowed the world again, when their mothers called them back home for supper and when fathers and sons went into the mess hall, Ealhstan shook them off, like how the trees themselves peeled off their leaves. When the last of the children was set down, he noticed me. ¡°Ho, there!¡±


    ¡°Wilbur likes his new winter house for his flowers. Your skill seems to improve with each home,¡± I said.


    He grinned. ¡°I knew he would like that. I modified the blueprints he gave me. Made the windows wider and added moving tiles to the roof so that his plants could sing in the sun. Well. When the spring comes, anyway. How are they? I have not had a chance yet to visit.¡±


    ¡°The flowers thrive and are indeed singing.¡± Purple and pink petals molded into one another. Yellows and grays and royal purples dance with joy. Some plants snake into the crevices of the walls. Some are still sprouting from fertile soil. ¡°Except for one that Wilbur was considering in his tools. I did not check what it was.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I am glad. His plants are finicky and weird. But delightful. It would be nice to repopulate the fields with such weird wonders. Does he know the results of his new crossbreeding yet?¡±


    I nodded. That was one other thing he was working on. ¡°Feverfluke flowers mixed with purple plumes produced a stronger fever-reducing effect. But needs rhodomentite to bind the effect together.¡±


    He clapped his hands at that, smiling. He was so quick to celebrate one another¡¯s accomplishments. Except for Knox. Everyone but Blake hated Knox. ¡°Excellent! And it only took a monastery and a half for him to figure it out.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of¡­.¡± I handed him the chunk of denzemond. ¡°If you would be so kind, good sir.¡±


    He opened his palm, thrice the size of my hand, and I placed it there. His fingers curled, the sound of denzemond as he crushed it sounded prettier than average stones, almost like a tinkling. Other sounds from sturdier stones sounded like falling trees. He motioned for me to open the pouch. He let it fall into its mouth, the once dull gray chunk now like white sands.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I tied the pouch around my waist. ¡°Thank you.¡± I handed him the list of the ores that needed to be mined. The night was dark and it was a cloudy dark sky, hiding half of the stars in the sky. He pocketed it and looked around. ¡°Wilbur¡¯s not around?¡±


    ¡°Preoccupied with his plants. I think something¡¯s affecting his plant children.¡± The infirmary was empty today. Crops have been good so far. Wilbur had already healed them of their hurts when we first came and with good food and good homes, the villagers have not any reason to visit him. I wanted to see him off and help him get his cart from the granges.


    ¡°Well, since you¡¯re free today, won¡¯t you accompany me?¡±


    I wanted to, but Knox had given me a severe scolding after we finished the villager¡¯s houses. So I shook my head, and consciously tied the knot of my hood close to my chest and doubled it. ¡°Safe travels,¡± I muttered.


    I looked at him and his smile was gone. He reached for me, his big hand blocking out the sky. ¡°Come now. There won¡¯t be anyone to see you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll only be getting in the way.¡±


    Knox did not want me ¡°disturbing¡± the rest of the brothers. I was allowed near Wilbur, but when he needed full concentration, I left him. There was one time when Knox and Abbott Blake gave him counsel or some secret mission in their tower. Their voices oddly did not echo down the spiral staircase when they spoke to him. I doubt even Swithin heard them.


    When he emerged, Wilbur looked grave. He quickly rearranged his features when he saw me, and simply told me that from there on out he had serious work to do in the crypts, and gently told me that I was not allowed near him.


    Ealhstan frowned. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be getting in the way if I wanted to take you along. I will answer to Knox if he asks.¡± He crossed his arms, his face serious. Would he break him in half, even though Knox was above him in rank?


    And then without another word from me, Brother Ealhstan told me to wait there and grabbed his cart. I heard its reinforced wheels scatter dirt. I thought about my brothers¡¯ many tools. Wilbur had his satchel, and Ealhstan had his cart. I think that the other brothers had other important favored items, too. Sometimes, when Woodrow was performing, I saw a glint concealed behind his cloak. A mirror, perhaps.


    Ealhstan stopped his cart next to me and nudged. ¡°Hop on, little Ryne. While the night is still young.¡± I hesitated, but shrugging, climbed aboard.


    When we left Shoreglass, we were crammed in this cart, my brothers and I, with all the remaining supplies that we packed. We left before my brothers'' powers of deception waned and the villagers grew suspicious. Our power was not limitless, I learned. Knox and Woodrow had difficulties charming and tricking a huge number of villagers. So when they felt that their numbers grew more than we could handle, we moved on. I could not even remember the final day. I did not even remember farewells, nor Derek and his friends, not the other old women that pinched Wilbur''s cheeks. All I remember was that we left Shoreglass monastery when the newborn babes there who greeted our arrivals turned the age of five. We would probably do the same here in Trushire.


    Ealhstan draped his cloak over me. My brothers did not feel the harsh bitter cold of winter. Though the cloth wasn¡¯t warm, for my brothers did not produce body heat, I snuggled in it nonetheless, using it as a blanket.


    We passed the lit huts of the villagers, watching the candles through the windows being snuffed out one by one. The monastery itself had candles every night, simply to keep up with the illusion that we needed light.


    ¡°The stone huts still look so small compared to Trushire,¡± I pointed.


    Elastane nodded. ¡°If only I could build them castles, Ryne. If only. But Knox would not have it.¡±


    I did not mean to say that what he did wasn''t enough. I just meant that it looked cozy despite the difference in size. He rolled the cart until Trushire shrank in the distance and the forest expanded ahead. Snow had blanketed the tops of trees and the ground turned frigid. As we entered the thick trees, all was silent. No wolves were around, nor any strange beasts. We spotted a den when we were deep enough, but still, no glowing eyes. No snarls or howls or warning sounds. The only noise came from the trees and insects that flew around, dotting the area in dancing light. We passed a small marsh and slimy wet boulders until we found the mouth of a cave.


    Small caves such as these housed common ores like copper and iron. But sometimes, common caves may have more valuable resources deep inside, inaccessible through thick rock walls or below perilous, slippery tunnels with no light and low air quality. Rarer caves and mountains have valuable resources on the upper floors but were owned by the kings and major lords of the realms.


    We went inside, our eyes adjusting completely to the darkness. The warm breath from my lips turned to mist. There were no drops of water from the ceiling; maybe everything within its depths was frozen solid. There were no boulders around, the other villages must have mined this area as well and brought it back to their respective kingdoms. Ealhstan walked slowly along the wall and placed his hand there.


    ¡°How about we make it easier for our villagers to mine this area?¡± He punched the wall so hard that it cracked. Determined, he kept smashing down and clawing the stone, digging as if he were breaking and splintering thin wood.


    ¡°Careful,¡± I shouted. ¡°Make sure the hole isn¡¯t that big so the walls don¡¯t collapse.¡±


    ¡°Right you are,¡± he replied, and his arms, stronger than any hammer or pickaxe, chipped away the new opening and clawed it like it was nothing but sand. Deeper he went, tunneling through the cave¡¯s interior where it would take a team of miners weeks to excavate. When the sound was almost distant, just when I was about to call him back, he stopped. And then he slowly walked out into the main area with a rough crude shape of silver ore, as big as his palm. We smiled at each other, triumphant.


    Ealhstan held out his hand and I grabbed it, holding onto him as he guided me down the path he made. It was spacious enough for my tiny self, but I almost slipped on the sharp stones littered about. Ealhstan¡¯s other hand was on top of my head, protecting it from any falling debris.


    The new area was a marvel, smaller than the main one, but packed with precious ores. If I had a torchlight, they would glint like a river at noonday, or stars peeking through clouds.


    The ores were large; some were half the size of boulders, and some were clumped together. Others were tucked neatly out of place and some were even attached to the walls. The old pickaxe the villagers used could chip away the surface but not much deeper. The rich minerals hid in the center of an ore. Wilbur already had trace minerals, so maybe we should leave them to the villagers who would discover this new path. There were denzemond and rhodomentite and others whose names I forgot but features I remembered. I saw these ores balanced on Wilbur''s scales.


    ¡°Wilbur will be overjoyed!¡± I said. ¡°If we harvested half of these, it could last until our entire stay at Trushire. Could your cart carry all these?¡± As soon as I asked it, I knew that of course he would pulverise them into powder and put them in my many pouches.


    ¡°I think you should collect more for our stock,¡± Ealhstan said sadly. ¡°We were lucky to have found rare ores, but who knows when we would stumble into this sight again. I am afraid that the villagers will have to stick with silver ores and a good months¡¯ worth of copper and iron for now.¡±


    I dropped the shining ore that he gave to me. I did not like to leave them with nothing. ¡°Should we leave one rare ore, at least?¡¯


    ¡°No, take them all, Ryne. They would fight over it and they wouldn¡¯t know what to do with it, anyway. They''d just sell it to a merchant who would then sell it to a lord who would simply melt it into jewelry. Wilbur can do so much more with it.¡±


    He was right. My sympathy will go nowhere. Ealhstan proceeded to harvest. He tore ores from the walls, unearthed them from the ground, and smashed rocks to collect the rich center. One by one he pulverized them with his bare hands, some easy and quick enough and some with grunting effort. All of them fell to dust into my pouches. When we had emptied the place, Ealhstan stepped away from me, breathing heavily from his work, and opened his great flask. He opened it quickly and took several swigs, facing the stone as he drank. There were no common ores here, yet I thought I caught a faint whiff of copper.


    ¡°Sometimes I feel like my strength is wasted,¡± he said. ¡°That I am a hypocrite for not doing the best that I can. I try to make things easier for the villagers, but I know that I can do so much more.¡±


    He sat down and leaned his back against the wall. I joined him. ¡°We need to be careful, or else the kingdoms will rain down on us with their swords and spears. Strong as I am, I cannot take them all at once.¡±


    I patted his arm. ¡°You would build them such nice homes if you could. If we reach that bright point when people are more accepting, I know that you will build every single villager a nice home. Beggars in the street will soon be a distant nightmare.¡±


    ¡°I just hope it isn¡¯t too late. And they won¡¯t hate us for taking too long.¡± I squeezed his arm, soothing him. ¡°Tell me, Ryne¡­ if, say, we would build you a home, what would it look like?¡±


    He stared intently at me. I tilted my head to the side. ¡°I already have a home,¡± I said.


    He shook his head. ¡°Imagine a permanent dwelling, where one does not hurry with rituals and rites, of brothers looking down on you, and away from the suspicious eyes of villagers.¡± I¡¯ve never thought about it. Being without Wilbur was unimaginable and I would very much like to still help him with his gardens and his bright potions. He saw me struggling and he said softly. ¡°Dream big.¡±


    ¡°A place without Knox,¡± I chuckled. Then I described the image in my head like little Leila did. ¡°A warm cottage with two floors¡­ still connected to a monastery¡­ near the mountains¨Cor maybe an alpine monastery!¡± I stood up, the image overtaking me, my arms gesturing widely and touching the objects in that dream house.


    A wide porch to receive guests. A farmland on the rolling hills, vast enough for livestock to roam freely. A vibrant garden at the back of the cottage. And many, many rooms that can house them all except for Knox.


    He closed his eyes, listening. ¡°Beautiful.¡±


    We let the image linger. And then, quiet and serious, Ealhstan reached his hand out to touch my forehead. ¡°Whatever Knox says, Ryne. Promise me that it won¡¯t affect you. No matter how much he bullies you. Know that you are tougher than what he makes you to be. Do not believe his lies. Forget what he throws at you.¡± He stood up, nudging me back in the direction of the hole. ¡°You are one of the few good people that lights the monasteries we inhabit.¡±


    I did not disagree with him, because it would be disrespectful. Even though I only did a few good things, it did not match up to the miracles they had done. We returned to the monastery with a cart full of rare ores, some lesser stones, and timber for the villagers. Wilbur beamed at the sight of his new treasures, clapping Ealhstan at the back. We supped together; Wilbur smiling wide and Ealhstan returning to his good-natured self but just a tad bit solemn. His words sank slowly into my heart, etching themselves into my mind.


    I willed myself not to forget his words, not to forget Wilbur¡¯s words.

 Chapter 3 - Woodrow (Hollowed Fairstep Monastery) (Part 1)

    Hollowed Fairstep Monastery.


    Fairstep monastery was once a glade in an aristocrat¡¯s forest. Alder trees stood tall, and common flowers decorated the land. When we resided here, Abbott Blake ordered Ealhstan to cut down most of the trees. Without its shade, the flowers wilted. We chased away deer, foxes, wild boar, and geese. Fairstep became a shaved clearing of grass littered with stumps¨Cthe only testament to its once beautiful landscape.


    The thick clouds that blocked the sky were few at first, and only like a thin sheet that made a few rays possible to pass through. But then it grew darker yet did not rumble or streak with lightning. They were just there as if a giant sky sheep hung low. Without light and rain, the grains and other harvests withered. Without warmth, unnatural chills seized fragile bodies with strange sicknesses.


    As Ealhstan built the monastery, the skies turned grey with heavy clouds. Ugly, bruise-colored thick clouds hung low on the horizon, obscuring the mighty mountains and hills. With the absence of bright flowers, without the different patterns found in furs, the landscape was left dull. Finishing the monastery was uneventful after that. Working the land was uneventful. Raising the villagers was uneventful. Until it wasn¡¯t.


    ___


    When I stepped out onto the monastic grounds, there was nothing but quiet and the low rustle of dying activities. Boots sloshing through mud. The sound of wooden staffs bumping against one another. Crusted palms brushing against linen. It was different from former monasteries, where there were faint sounds of laughter or noise from the livestock. It was eerie.


    Swithin stood like a statue at the center of the monastic grounds, facing the entrance. Only when I was near enough did he turn around. He held out his hunter¡¯s bag to me, the dried blood of wild animals splashed on the cloth. ¡°Fresh catch. Not enough for the week.¡± It did look light, the shapes of fresh dead meat not even meeting the center.


    He turned his head back again to the dark trees far in the distance. ¡°The forest can give no more, little Ryne. The people would eat foxes and wolves soon. No more burrowing rabbits in the soil. No grunting wild pigs. Deer and bear is for king. The forest, she is warning us. But Knox told me to hunt for more.¡±


    Swithin¡¯s eyes were large; the iris had a curious shape like those of lizards crawling on brick walls. ¡°Many dangers outside, little Ryne. Men with no homes. Tribesmen abandoning their tribes. Wars against brothers. Sisters stealing from sisters. Children kept from playing. Shepherds carve their shepherd¡¯s staff into spears and hide in the shadows to ambush.¡±


    Before I could say anything, he placed the bag in his mouth, crouched down on all fours, and hunted, keeping to the shadows. He was gone in an instant, racing through rough terrain like it was nothing. He must be conflicted. Back at Trushire, he had strived to protect whatever wild animals lurked in the forests. I had a feeling that he escorted them to their new homes, too. It must have been pointless now that he was ordered to keep hunting. There wasn''t any balance anymore.


    The infirmary in Hollowed Fairstep was closer to the villagers¡¯ huts outside the brick walls. The huts were back to their small, humble state; made of dried mud and twigs instead of stone. From having seen more spacious dwelling places, these ones looked cramped and stuffy. At least the pigs and sheep settled comfortably in their pens. I suppose living without predators nearby was the only thing good to come out of overhunting. As I passed by those grey walls on my way to the infirmary, I noticed the twisted spikes glaring from above. The walls themselves were higher so that the people could not see the fields nor any one of us wandering within.


    Ealhstan was at the corner, adding more defenses to the walls. The men who were still working in the outer fields frowned at him. No children went to Ealhstan this time; he must ache to give them joy. From the beginning, the villagers of Fairstep did not like us. Even with provisions of food and medicine, they continued to be distrustful. They did not even attend Knox¡¯s masses during Saintsday.


    A farmer spotted me and nudged his friends nearby. I know them; the trio who always stepped forward with defensive stances whenever one of us monks appeared in their field of vision. They were often the figures on the night patrol.


    I pretended not to look, easier now that my long hood obscured my face. They grouped together, pitchforks and farm tools in hand, forming their own wall. Guarding their huts and people. One of them whistled a curious tune, and all the little children that were not working the fields hid inside and called their mothers, squealing; some with genuine fear and some with a tinge of excitement and curiosity.


    Ealhstan noticed and turned around. He saw me walking towards the infirmary. He watched over me until I turned a corner. I¡¯m glad he did not need to threaten them by crushing stones or lumber. He knew it would not help the growing tension. Before I turned around, though, I noticed him still looking at the villagers¡¯ quarters, at the tiny ugly huts and the clumsy fence made of spiked branches and sharp twigs. Knox had forbidden him to waste resources on them, to just give them all a small shelter considering the dwindling resources. Ealhstan slumped back onto his work.


    The Fairstep infirmary was built differently, too. Since the villagers did not dare step foot on our grounds, Wilbur had asked Ealhstan to build the infirmary at the border, where the high, spiked walls intersected it. The infirmary itself was part of the border wall, with half of its structure outside where people can enter, and half of it inside the monastery. The windows inside were at the ceiling, where Wilbur had used long rods to close or open them. There were also two front windows near the doors for people to peep inside to check on their sick loved ones. It was also directly in the line of sight of Brother Swithin¡¯s quarters; the one we affectionately called his den; a deep burrow connected to the crypts underground.


    I opened the infirmary doors and was glad for the blast of warmth and the hint of incense. I hoped that this familiar warmth and scent would always be present no matter how many monasteries have passed.


    I was eager to be rid of the young trio of farmers. I had forgotten that there were other stares waiting for me inside.


    As soon as I entered the infirmary, several of the mothers gripped their children and crossed themselves with the sign of the different saints. Danger away. Evil avert. Saints, protect us. Some did not even hide their suspicions and distrust. Their brows furrowed, their lips pressed firmly. A couple few simply stared. All of them drew closer to their sick children or siblings, hiding them from view.


    I did not like the image before me. Not because of the hostility. But because they were packed. Wilbur¡¯s infirmaries had never been this full. It shouldn¡¯t be.


    Wilbur was on the farthest corner of the room, tending to a boy whose cough was like a cannon. The boy¡¯s mother was whispering into his ear, but it was only when I got closer that I realized that she was praying. When she was done, her fingers kept pinching her clothes, fumbling around like worms trying to burrow away.


    ¡°I gave him the medicine you gave to me, Brother. But it did not make him better. It just didn¡¯t make him worse.¡± She said softly.


    I approached them. Her eyes were only for her coughing son, sparing not even a glance my way as I went to Wilbur¡¯s side. Wilbur¡¯s hands shook when he touched the boy¡¯s arms. Bruise-like patterns were on the boy''s arms, chest, and neck, like blotches of faint ink. It was like the one on the flower that long winter at Trushire. The boy''s hair was plastered on his forehead, his whole body covered with blankets. I wasn¡¯t sure if his bruise-like markings were painful, but I was concerned that he did not like Wilbur¡¯s cold touch. Especially with that burning fever.


    ¡°Wilbur¡­ could I do it?¡±


    The women nearby who had heard me protested. The angriest ones actually left their child and took a few steps towards us, momentarily forgetting themselves. When Wilbur, like Ealhstan, looked back, they stopped and warily looked at us, then frowned at the mother.


    Wilbur took a step back as I checked the boy. He said, ¡°He has trouble breathing and is extremely sensitive to touch, so be gentle. Keep him still and support his neck when setting him back down.¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes fluttered open, large and unfocused. They rolled around trying to make sense of the shapes around him. ¡°Mama,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°I am here, Joserson,¡± his mother said. She held his tiny hand in hers.


    Joserson did not protest or wince when I placed my fingers on the blotches around his arms. I checked him all over for lumps and felt none. Only rashes. He was sweating profusely, so I wiped his sweat off with a towel Wilbur had. I told Wilbur that I¡¯d be heading to his garden for fresh water.


    His garden was withering. It was vacant, the opposite of his infirmary, which was the opposite of what I wanted it to be. The flowers that remained were the common ones, and even they looked less vibrant. Gloomier. They needed sunlight, but the skies offered none. I washed the towel in a basin then took one of the plant dishes there, washed that too, filled it with fresh water, and went back to the infirmary.


    For once, Wilbur was at a loss. He was twisting the ends of his wavy brown hair, crinkling his nose. He paced around the room, lips pursed. I could not bear it. I knew he felt horrible because this was supposed to be his expertise, the one thing he is good at, he told me, and it hurt him that he could not heal them as quickly as his miraculous gift of rapid healing.


    I set the dish of freshwater on the table next to Joserson¡¯s bed, the bucket and towel under it.


    ¡°Please,¡± the mother begged me, holding my arm tightly. ¡°Please save my boy.¡± Tears were spilling in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything. I¡¯ll give you anything.¡±


    The wave of raw emotion struck my chest. I did not like it. Love was there, but so was anguish and despair and hopelessness. It was so far from the many smiling faces of those early monasteries. Shoreglass almost seemed like a pleasant dream that I was trying to hold onto. The villagers there were so confident they would be out in the world again after a brief rest in Wilbur¡¯s infirmary. We were so confident of our skills and status as healers of the land.


    I remembered who the mother was, as I looked at her tearful eyes. Not her name, but her youth. She was young and this was her firstborn. The other child she carried after Joserson died at birth. When we came into this village, most of all the children did not live past two years of their lives. And half of those who grew into young men did not live past thirteen. That''s why we understood their hostility. It was a miracle to live past their childhood. They were merely protecting one another, desperate to survive.


    Wilbur delicately assured her that we would not rest until we treated her son, but it was first important to discover the illness. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen this kind of sickness, before. And I think we would need thick curtains to¡­ to not let it spread to the others.¡± He grabbed the towel and handed it to the mother. ¡°Right now, we need to wash him.¡±


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    Wilbur added to the bucket of water a wonderful pink liquid that held fragrances of jasmine, lilac and rose petals. As she cleaned him, Wilbur and I went to the little room back at the infirmary, which was his windowless office. There was no light, but I saw him well enough. There was a table at the center of the small room, and he placed both hands on its edges, his shoulders sharp, rising and falling as he exhaled.


    ¡°We have no more space to admit another patient. They need to distance themselves from each other or risk infecting one another and the healthier people. I¡¯ve already had two mothers get sick and had to prevent them from entering the infirmary. The best that I could do for them was send them back home with medicine. One mother insisted that she¡¯d rather be sick and not take any medicine just to be with her child here.¡±


    He sucked a breath and spun around. He looked distressed, unraveling. ¡°I can¡¯t heal them, Ryne. I don¡¯t know what to do. My plants are dying and I have to only allow the crucial healing flowers like feverflukes in the soil with special garden fertilizer. And I have to put the basic fertilizer on the crops in our granges so that we can feed them and the animals. The ores you¡¯ve collected from Trushire are the only things that are keeping my medicines strong, but they won¡¯t last long if this sickness spreads. I don¡¯t know what it is! The medicines I give them just keep the basic symptoms at bay, but not cure it.¡±


    I reached for him but he shook his head. He slapped his open palm to his forehead, angry at himself. ¡°I had to dilute it all with spring water! Just so my medicines can reach everyone. I feel like a hypocrite.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re doing your best.¡±


    He seemed to not hear me. ¡°I need to collect their blood. I wanted to do it a week ago, but I wasn¡¯t yet sure. I need you to collect it for me.¡± I nodded, and he gave me many glass vials. ¡°I need just a few drops from each sick child.¡±


    He went away and told the mothers. Shouts erupted, with the most outspoken of them already charging forward even though Wilbur was the only option they had for a healer.


    ¡°Listen, you¨C!¡± One woman demanded.


    The infirmary doors banged open. Woodrow, his bright red hair and pale skin stood in the doorway. He used his powers, projecting his voice throughout the walled infirmary.


    ¡°Come now, let the good doctor do his work and let your children be healed.¡± Woodrow walked towards us and all the women looked at him like they always did when they thought no one was looking. He was the brightest flame in this sullen place now.


    While they were staring, Wilbur immediately pricked Joserson¡¯s finger and squeezed a few drops of the sick child''s blood onto a thin sheet of something transparent and quickly pocketed it. Woodrow glided around the room, making soothing noises towards the mothers and caretakers. He reminded them that we were doing good, that they were safe, that we would help them to get better; all the things Wilbur and Ealhstan and I kept saying.


    What surprised me is that he knows them by name. Each one.


    While he was charming them, Woodrow motioned for me to come closer and pointed to the sick children. He meant me to collect blood samples as he distracted them. Wilbur and he must have discussed this a long time ago. Without missing a beat, I took from Wilbur his sharp tools and set to work.


    Wilbur showed me how it was done. I placed a sharp thin needle with a hollow base and quickly pricked the arm of each child. They wondered what was going on with their grown caretakers, wrapped in Woodrow''s charming voice. They all sucked in a breath and winced and shut their eyes tighter but they never cried. They were too sick to cry.


    Once I¡¯d done the rounds, I went back to Wilbur. Suddenly, a slender pale arm reached from behind me and grabbed the empty basin from Joserson¡¯s table. Woodrow whispered to me. ¡°Those two harpies by the door? The ones that seem to resist my power and have been shooting daggers at both of you since we built Fairstep? Fill this basin with their blood.¡± I looked at Wilbur and back to him. Wilbur nodded. Woodrow made a shooing motion. ¡°Hurry now, before I lose focus.¡±


    The mothers and other caretakers were already slowly blinking away the daze of being charmed when I finished with the two women, their blood thick. There was a pleasure in nicking both their presented arms when I told them that I needed bloodletting. I covered the shallow basin with a thick lid and hurried towards the office, where my brothers rushed into.


    Woodrow shut the door and leaned against it. ¡°Just place the basin at the center of the table, Ryne,¡± he said. To Wilbur, he whistled. ¡°Good thing I came at just the right time, eh? Having trouble with your potions?¡±


    ¡°Not enough resources. And whatever strongest medicine I have won¡¯t touch this blasted new sickness.¡± He held out the object that contained a drop of Joserson¡¯s blood. ¡°I need to study this first and analyze his ailment and whip up something from whatever I discover.¡±


    "I meant to ask years ago, but how do you do that? To whip up something out of a sickness?"


    "I have no memories of my past life, save for the years of apparent knowledge I accumulated. I know that the sickness in the blood reacts to certain elements with flowers and minerals from ores," Wilbur explained.


    Wilbur also admitted to him that he had to dilute the medicines with springwater and make a lot of healing potions rather than a few strong ones to accommodate the growing patients. He waited for judgment and teasing but Woodrow merely nodded.


    ¡°That was wise. Though, right now I am struggling to charm them. Such is their fear of us. The sooner we can feed hungry mouths and the sooner we heal them, the easier it is to charm.¡± He cracked his neck and gave Wilbur a sympathetic smile. ¡°I had to dilute my power, too, in a way. I had to resort to granting small favors and domestic duties like sewing a torn rag or baking a fresh loaf in secret just to keep the peace.¡±


    He did look tired. He was going to say something else, and by the corner of his mouth, was about to say something cocky, but he shook his head instead. I had to resort to my natural looks this time around, hoping it was enough, is what I thought he wanted to say.


    What he did say was, ¡°It would be a relief to not use all my powers all the time. I noticed I¡¯m actually putting in an effort this time. I am actually feeling the strain.¡± There was genuine wonder in his voice, and then it fell. ¡°Swithin can¡¯t find good food to provide them, too. The animals are scrawny and few. He says that the forest is starving. Predators have become prey to something wilder. Man and beast are fighting for territory and food, even amongst their own groups. There¡¯s only half of what a wolf pack¡¯s numbers should be with so few wild rabbits and goats.¡± His eyes steadied. ¡°If we don¡¯t fix this soon, that will be Hollowed Fairstep.¡±


    It took three monasteries being built to remember the pattern of the way things worked. Wilbur fed them grains and healed them of their sickness so that they could learn to trust us, like how one tames wild dogs and rabbits. But this was not his primary motivation: Wilbur wanted to help, simple as that.


    Woodrow was to put to rest some disagreements and squabbles, to lull them with a pleasing voice and pretty face. There¡¯s a reason why Knox put Woodrow as the first ¡®defensive measure¡¯ inside our little communities.


    Brother Ealhstan can pulverize enemies carrying swords and spears with nothing but his bare arms, while Woodrow made sure we didn¡¯t get to that point.


    Swithin scouted ahead, looking for dangers and for tiny hamlets near rivers to build our monasteries nearby. He hunted meat to feed the villagers, so their livestock could replenish their own numbers.


    Knox¡­ I was not sure what Knox did with his illusions during Saintsday, but he would allow the villagers into the nave of the church, while I slept in the crypt with Wilbur watching over me. They would always come out more obedient, more docile.


    And Abbott Blake? I do not know what he looked like, but Knox was his eyes and voice. But we felt him, always.


    Wilbur was, to me, the core that made this pattern work, not our mysterious absent Abbott Blake, who I had never seen, but only sensed. But I suppose our brotherhood ranked each member according to power rather than overall contribution.


    Wilbur paced around again while Woodrow stood still. Both had their heads bent down, concentrating. Suddenly, Woodrow snapped his fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve got it. It might not work, but hear me out.¡±


    He focused on me and Wilbur. ¡°I¡¯m going to buy you some time. Instead of saving my power to fix squabbles, I am going to use it full force at the nearing harvest festival.¡± Wilbur stopped pacing and frowned at Woodrow. ¡°You¡¯ll be busy working on that new sickness, right? Ryne can help during the day seeing as he¡¯s the only one that does not burn into a crisp the moment the sun shines upon him.


    ¡°The plan is to charm their worries away at a time when they feel most festive and receptive to my power. While they¡¯re charmed, you work on the new treatment like hell. You figure out that sickness the Joserson boy has and encourage your plants to grow¨Cyes, I¡¯ve been to your garden looking for you. Shame what happened to the prettier ones, by the way. If not that, then at the very least make more fertilizers or potions or anything to help these poor folks. I only serve as a momentary fun distraction. You¡¯re the one that can target the root cause.¡±


    I liked how he was treating Wilbur now.


    ¡°People are dissatisfied,¡± he continued. ¡°The grown sons of fathers are turning just like them, hating on us but afraid to leave because they aren¡¯t sure of the dangers that lie ahead of them. If I play this right, my power can be cast at a wide range of people, and make it linger. But I need to invite them here.¡± Woodrow gestured around the place. ¡°I feel stronger when we¡¯re in the monastery grounds. With Abbott Blake. I think letting them be invited to Hollowed Fairstep might make it easier for me. We didn¡¯t need to do this before, but I think this would be the right call now.¡±


    ¡°But how will you get them to come on that day itself?¡± I asked. ¡°You said it yourself, they¡¯re putting up a resistance to your powers.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Use my natural charms, I suppose.¡± He flashed a smile and posed dramatically, his fingers delicately touching his chin and neck. Wilbur and I rolled our eyes. ¡°A wee bit of kindness goes a long way, too, and the influence of good food and beer to drink their worries away. Besides, I¡¯m only using my powers to improve what¡¯s natural.¡± Oddly enough, there was no hint of arrogance in his voice. He was merely stating a fact, no use denying it.


    Woodrow relaxed and composed his features, offering a small smile. ¡°There is still one constant thing that villagers crave especially during hard days. Community, and a day to allow some sense of joy back into their lives. Right now, they still have food, no matter how scarce. So they would still have reason to celebrate. And what more if we can offer them most of the food we grow here?¡± To Wilbur directly, he asked, ¡°Do you still have fertilizers enough to keep your grains healthy?¡±


    When Wilbur nodded, Woodrow motioned towards me. ¡°Good. This is where you come in, Ryne. Since dear Wilbur here would be busy analyzing that blood and making fertilizers, taking care of the garden, and treating the sick at night, you can help us in the kitchens and care for the sick during the daylight. I¡¯ll ask Knox to take a lesser portion of our harvests for storage in the meantime."


    ¡°I want to help, but they won¡¯t let me touch their children,¡± I said quickly.


    Wilbur thought a moment. ¡°They will if I tell them how serious it is. I don¡¯t like it, but if it means scaring them into letting you care for their children¡­ I can¡¯t believe we resorted to this.¡± He looked at Woodrow. ¡°That was actually pretty stable of you to think of that, Woodrow.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s tone was casual. ¡°My job was easy before this. Now it¡¯s making me plan a little.¡± He went to the table near Wilbur, their thighs resting on it. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about this since Ealhstan set the last brick in the monastery and noticed the people still not warming up to us.¡±


    There was silence then. We three looked at one another with a rough plan, surprised that we made one up on the spot. They looked at me without expression. Then slowly to one another. Then at the ground, then towards the infirmary. ¡°Hm,¡± Woodrow said.


    Then he sucked in a breath, sharply.


    I looked in alarm. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said, but then looked to Wilbur.


    Wilbur nodded. ¡°Ryne, if you could excuse us, please.¡±


    I went outside to the sight of caretakers and bedridden children, lingering just by the door to hear them. I wanted to know if there was an important mission they were trying to hide from me. Woodrow¡¯s voice was a soft whisper. ¡°What I am about to do¡­ I will need to feed after.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Wilbur said quietly.


    Woodrow lowered his voice and I had to press my ear close to catch what he was saying. Wilbur made a startled noise which made Woodrow speak louder. ¡°...stock up, brother. You know that. You know the frenzied state Knox warned us about when we go hungry. We can cause instant damage and lose years of hard work to keep them safe and our identity a secret.¡±


    I did not hear anymore, only the sound of the wooden basin being moved on the table. Just before I went to check on the other sick children and endured the stares of the mothers who hated me, Woodrow swallowed air and made an unpleasant noise. ¡°Like rotten meat. And something ickier that lingers.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Woodrow (Hollowed Fairstep Monastery) (Part 2)

    We had a fortnight before the festival.


    At the first crack of murky dawn, I harvested the grains in our granges. I used to run my fingers through the feathery stalks, admiring how golden they were, lit like torches under the sun. With a scythe in hand, I cut the base. I only needed a few stalks; enough to make bread for just a few workers in the field. When my hands could carry no more, I placed the oats on the kitchen table.


    Then I proceeded to the infirmary, where I met the daily opposition. The two harpy women crossed their arms and shielded me from their charge. Without Wilbur, I was left to fend for myself. He had already told them the night before that I was to deliver the patients¡¯ medicine yet they did not soften their stance.


    Woodrow accounted for this. I stood firm and said to them, staring right at their raised brows, ¡°Madam, I may be young and small, but I know what I am doing. I am learned in the ways of medicine from our scholar himself. But if it pleases you, I shall leave their medicines here for you to administer.¡±


    They looked at each other and rolled their eyes, relenting. Surprisingly, I heard Knox¡¯s words: something about authority. ¡°Put them in their place,¡± he said. ¡°Remind them of your position.¡± I silenced his voice in my head. I hated how awful it made me feel afterward; my words implied they were not as learned as we were. It did not matter if it was the truth.


    The rest of the morning passed by without further incident. I wiped the sweat from the brows of sick children and tipped the bottles Wilbur gave to me onto their mouths. I gave rose petals and jasmine to the mothers so that they could wash their children. Two of the patients seemed to be recovering and one was already awake. The child drank the bottle himself with his small hands. One was almost as sick as Joserson, but she did not have bruises on her small arms. Laura was her name, and she was simply sweating out whatever she drank and supped. Wilbur feared that she was sweating out the potency of the medicines.


    Joserson was still as bad as yesterday, still swathed in blankets. I touched his arm, only briefly, and it was as if I touched hot coals. The mother looked at me sadly. ¡°He¡¯s been mumbling and calling my name since last night.¡±


    Her eyes were dark and heavy. Wilbur expected this. I handed her a potion for deep restful slumber made from honey and some flower I forgot, with a sprinkle of an ore whose name also escapes me. My memory has been slipping away, further now that everything was bleak.


    Woodrow emerged from his cell at twilight. He winked at me. ¡°Here I go,¡± he said cheerfully.


    He liked to be out there. He was the opposite of Wilbur and I, both happy working together in a secluded space. The silence was where we were primed to work, our minds bristling with energy. Woodrow, meanwhile, thrived with company. He delighted in making people smile, at poking fun at them. It is interesting to watch how he turns their simple conversations into witty barbs and harmless japes.


    It took me this long to see that his projects were people; figuring out how to fulfill their most immediate wants, not the long-term cure that Wilbur sought. To think I just thought of him as a nuisance sometimes. Now we depended on him for distraction as Wilbur worked on the blood samples.


    I went back to the kitchens to prepare the flour, but Ealhstan already beat me to it. He had separated the grains and crushed them on the wide mixing mortar on the table. I pinched the flour¡­ soft as downy feather. I added a cup of beer from the barrels nearby and kneaded the dough, then shaped them into loose circles to place on the long paddles.


    As they were proofing, I grabbed the jars of honey that Wilbur had already collected from his garden, along with some garlic and herbs. To my surprise, there was a note saying that he had some of the healthier women churn milk into butter with the added herbs included, dotting the thick yellow slab, shining like a mound of treasure. All that was left to do was bake the bread.


    Once the bread was done in the oven, I sliced it in half and spread a generous amount of buttered herb on one side. I poeced both parts of the bread back together and drizzled dark gold honey on the top. I let it cool before emerging with Woodrow.


    I handed it to him. He closed his eyes and smelled the thick smoke, making a whoop of approval. Ealhstan and Swithin were both there, watching. I assumed they knew of the plan and watched in the shadows.


    The men were, at first, distrustful, but they were hungry, too, their harvest poorer than ours. So when one of the oldest and hungriest of them crossed the gap and took one single bread from the tray, Woodrow didn¡¯t waste his chance. He called out to them, raising the tray higher. ¡°Come, men, fill your empty bellies.¡±


    They looked at each other unsure. It was only when they saw their fellow farmer not dying of poison after a few bites that they slowly crept closer, like hares sensing a trap. Woodrow even offered to help them with their chores. Again, the men looked at one another, shrugged, and gave him the scythe and plow. As he cut and bundled, he did not stop chatting with them, until finally, one of the men actually laughed.


    A pure laughter that seemed to surprise him and his friends. Immediate silence followed, and his head sunk in shame. He said their farewells and retired for the night. Woodrow returned the tray to me, empty. We smiled at each other. ¡°Progress,¡± he said confidently.


    The next night, two more joined in. Then next, three. Woodrow began offering them ale with the bread. ¡°It isn¡¯t like we¡¯re drinking it, anyway,¡± he said. I felt the nights grow warmer as they walked closer and closer to our doorstep, dropping the farm tools back in their sheds.


    One time in the kitchens, Woodrow surprised me in the sunset. He was in the shadow, wrapped in his cloak, his hood covering his entire face. ¡°Ryne,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Woodrow!¡± I shouted, alarmed. There were no windows in the small, kitchen. We didn''t need it. ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡±


    ¡°I figured I¡¯d do the bread this time. Try something new.¡± I shrugged and gave him the finely-crushed flour. He pinched the fine powder and let it fall like snow between his thumb and forefinger, just like I did. ¡°Who needs a mill when you have Brother Ealhstan¡¯s might?¡±


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    As he poured liquid to make it into a dough, I cleaned the table. When he was done kneading the dough, he cut it into smaller sizes than the ones we usually make, not even the whole size of his palm. He rolled the remaining dough into longer logs. Then he crisscrossed the shapes together, making patterns on the surface with his nails. He produced from his pockets some eggs and a bowl of milk. He looked at me as if doing a magic trick.


    Woodrow poured the goat¡¯s milk into a bigger bowl and juggled the eggs in the air, white shells flashing. Then all at once, he cracked them with his fingers and let the yolk fall cleanly with the milk. He whisked it using a long wooden spoon and set it aside.


    He brushed each bread with the curious egg and milk wash. He even dipped some of them into the wash itself. ¡°Don¡¯t tell Knox,¡± he began, still brushing, ¡°but some nights, I go to just outside the monastery where Abbott Blake¡¯s influence is thin. Fairstep is close to a town, you see, down the slope past the few remaining trees. It¡¯s pretty small and heavily guarded. But from the distance in the hills, I saw bakers just outside the entrance.¡±


    He put the curiously-designed bread in the oven. He patted the empty space next to him where we could calmly wait by the fire. ¡°They were sleeping late, probably for the preparation of the harvest festival, giving stale bread to the guards. They were all so different from each other; fancy ones with different shapes. I memorized the ones they gave to the guards and tried to make sense of the smell and texture. But I couldn¡¯t be sure.¡±


    ¡°What if Swithin sees you?¡±


    ¡°I already told him,¡± he replied, poking the fire with an iron stick. ¡°I¡¯m not going to leave¨Cit¡¯s not as if I can, anyway¨Cand I was hiding beneath a great apple tree. No one will see me. It¡¯s just that¡­¡± he sighed and placed his chin in both hands. ¡°Some nights, it gets stuffy in our grand monastery. It was bearable with people wanting good cheer, good food, and drink almost every night. But the silence¡­ it makes one awful lonely, you know?¡±


    His green eyes reflected the flames. He was looking at me with an open face; a small genuine smile, eyes waiting for an answer. He was the only one allowed to mingle freely with the rest of the villagers. I did not realize that he had a desire to be out in the world.


    ¡°Woodrow¡­¡± I began, but the fire roared as he kept poking it absentmindedly.


    After the bread was done, Woodrow took the paddle out of the oven, the smell rich and new and mouthwatering. ¡°He tossed one in the air and winced, making comical gestures as he tried to juggle the bread like he did the eggs. ¡°Hot, hot!¡± He blew on it. I grabbed a wooden bowl from the table and caught it in midair. ¡±That¡¯s yours,¡± he said.


    Slowly, I took a bite¡­ and closed my eyes, blowing out steam. ¡°Soft,¡± I said. ¡°Maybe we could add butter to some of them, maybe honey?¡±


    ¡°What is bread without such flavors?¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°You seem to be at home here in the kitchens yourself. And you seem to work well with Wilbur, after all. When you aren¡¯t being annoying,¡± I allowed.


    ¡°He¡¯s so uptight. It makes it more entertaining,¡± he said.


    We heard footsteps approaching. Woodrow and I covered the bread tray with our bodies, sticking side by side, thinking it was Knox. Wilbur emerged from the doorway, hair wild and face sullen. He looked at us with tired eyes. His only response to our queries was heavy sighs.


    ¡°You look horrible,¡± Woodrow said. Wilbur mumbled and walked beside me, and then for no reason at all, he patted my head. Woodrow chuckled at that. ¡°You seem to forget yourself. You need to get some fresh air. Ryne, take him with you outside.¡±


    I grabbed Wilbur''s hand, leading him to what I hoped would be a welcome, comfortable place. His shoulders relaxed once he realized I was taking him to his gardens.


    He smiled and touched the flowers gently, admiring their resilience. ¡°Thank you, Ryne. They look healthy.¡± His smile faltered. ¡°Only wish I can say the same for the Joserson boy and little Laura. I¡¯ve analyzed their blood, but still have yet to find a solution for it. Though I think I¡¯m getting closer to curing Laura¡¯s. There¡¯s just one thing missing from the combination of ingredients.¡± He waved vaguely with his hand, clearing the cobwebs of his thoughts. ¡°Woodrow torturing you?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°He is very serious about our plan. He even taught me how to make new bread.¡± A thought occurred to me then, about how Woodrow wanted to be with people and how he felt sometimes dwelling within our brick-walled homes.


    ¡°Wilbur? It¡¯s silly to ask this as the world seems to not be getting better, but don¡¯t you get tired of the same setting? I know that you need the quiet to concentrate, but, don¡¯t you miss interacting with people outside?¡± Wilbur clasped his hand behind his back, listening patiently as I continued, ¡°I know that we shouldn¡¯t be seen, but, if you were to be discreet, don¡¯t you wish you could have had a life in some town? Away from the monastery some days?¡±


    Wilbur chewed his reply, looking thoughtful. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. I like being here with my plants and books, though I understand Brother Woodrow could never fathom the idea of staying still in solitude for months. Perhaps it is his nature, perhaps because his power urges him to venture outside. As much like Brother Swithin becomes agitated when kept in the grounds for too long.¡±


    He continued walking around the plants. In the middle of his inspection, Wilbur gave me the medicines he does have: the basic formulas for simple colds and fevers and cramps. He also gave me the bottles of basic fertilizer for our crops. Wilbur continued to observe each flower; stroking them, watering them, pressing their stems and buds and petals. Finally, when he was almost over, he said out loud, ¡°Hang on,¡± as he touched the last bulbous orange flower floating on a lily pad on the water. ¡°Maybe¡­¡±


    And then he grabbed the flower, and by his expression and stance, was already formulating a new plan. He looked at me, face renewed with inspiration, and said, take care of the weeping lily, Ryne.¡±


    And then he went back to his work; straight out of the garden and into the crypts. For two more days, he disappeared, while I continued to help Woodrow with his version of bread.


    Most of them men looked eagerly at Woodrow when he carried the tray outside. They smiled at the new scents and at the sight of the bread he carried. At some point, Woodrow waved over Brother Ealhstan from the darkness. He slowly approached them, unsure. But soon enough, after bread and beer had been downed, Ealhstan¡¯s booming laughter shook some of the fear away. Some of the women, too, joined.


    Wilbur came up behind me that second night and gave me a strange, orange formula. It was the same color as the weeping lily. This medicine looked like it was glowing. It seemed ethereal than his other medicines and I can sense its power and potency.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I held it as if it were a newborn babe.


    ¡°Something that could possibly help Laura. I¡¯m still working on Joserson, but at least managed to do this.¡±


    We hurried to his infirmary where the women still looked weary, but curious enough to see the orange glow emanating from his hand. Wilbur showed the medicine to Laura¡¯s caretaker, her older sister, and explained what it could do. Laura finished the potion, not a drop remaining on the bottle. Then we waited¡­ as a weak pink rose from her cheeks. Her soft eyelids fluttered open.


    The women crowded around her, even Joserson¡¯s mother. They hugged each other and for one temporary moment, the infirmary was light.


    Woodrow came in and saw the scene. He whipped around and returned with a bucket of warm milk bread for them and milk porridge for the sick children. Wilbur added his own basic medicines for strength to the milk¨Ca rare treat for them nowadays, and they fed, passing along bread and cups of milk. Woodrow hummed a lullaby, taking requests from the ladies and Laura, the ladies joining him, bringing life to the words with their own voices.

 Chapter 3 - Woodrow (Hollowed Fairstep Monastery) (Part 3)

    Woodrow was right. Good food and good company did wonders for sullen people. Each day that passed, more and more workers brightened the field with smiles. Some of the more receptive ones did not look at us with hostile eyes anymore. They even called out to their fellows back at the huts; those remaining numbers that were still wary and guarded, tempting them with bread and ale and laughter.


    Little Laura was the one who melted their hearts and chipped away the stubborn slab of distrust towards us. When they saw her playing with her siblings, making crowns out of flowers, some of them crossed the gap of suspicion. Then, Laura, a child with such a sweet nature, gave everyone flower crowns.


    The parents agreed to keep their children distant from each other until the sickness had stopped spreading, but seeing Laura walk again brought hope back to the villagers¡¯ quarters. The only downside was the sad faces of the children who couldn¡¯t be with their friends.


    Apart from this, I felt the gravity of another realization: that my brothers were all grappling under the constraints of the world, despite their powers.


    We had to be resourceful with limited tangible things like money, people, ores, plants, animals, and their produce. But we needed to be strategic about abstract qualities too, like people¡¯s trust and fear.


    We, by some miracle, were just given an advantage.


    Woodrow and I collected all the hops in Wilbur¡¯s garden. He left out a generous jar of honey for us to ferment to make mead; a drink stronger than beer as a special treat for the harvest festival. I¡¯ve not seen Wilbur since he gave me Laura¡¯s medicine.


    ¡°I know you miss him, else you wouldn¡¯t be kneading that dough into the dawn, but cheer up lad, you¡¯ll see him soon. Wilbur is anything but determined.¡±


    Woodrow and I planned on preparing batches of baked bread for the looming harvest festival. Only then at the night itself would we add the herbed butter and honey.


    ¡°What makes this harvest festival different from the others?¡± I asked. I stopped kneading the dough and watched him roll his batch into curious shapes.


    ¡°Happens only twenty-four years. They raise their cups to the pagan goddess of agriculture,¡± Woodrow replied.


    ¡°I thought the Saints didn¡¯t allow us to worship them anymore.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more about the celebration and community, Ryne. Half of them don¡¯t even know the origins of the festival. They just know that it¡¯s a special day that comes around once in a while. That¡¯s why it¡¯s our big chance to really rake them in. Good food and drink aside, there are table games and music.¡±


    ¡°Well, I hope I get to see all of them dance around the fire. I hadn¡¯t heard the music from this part of the region.¡±


    Woodrow stopped, eyes careful. He was about to place the baking paddle in the oven. ¡°Ryne, I swore to Wilbur that I will not let you see the festivities.¡± He put it inside the roaring fire and slowly turned to face me.


    I was crushed. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to see me when I activate my powers in full force. It is not for the eyes of a young novice to see.¡±


    Heat began spreading from my chest. ¡°I¡¯m not a child, Woodrow. I¡¯m thrice the age of the young men in the field. I could be their grandfather, their great-grandfather even!¡±


    ¡°Yet, you behave and think like a child, still.¡±


    ¡°But I know what¡­ I know what lovers do. I know how babies are made, Wilbur has already taught me these things.¡± Barely above a whisper, I added, ¡°I know what you do sometimes in your tent in the mess halls.¡±


    He did not respond, only looked at me differently, like he saw me as something strange. ¡°It¡¯s more than that, Ryne. We¡¯ve never revealed ourselves completely to the masses. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯ll act. I don¡¯t want to tarnish my image to you. If you have an image in your head about what I do behind my tent, then here is me blocking you from seeing the act that would lead to that.¡± He looked at me, stern, yet somehow caring. ¡°Wilbur may have taught you these things on paper, but to see it before your eyes¡­ you may not look at me the same way again. We are also afraid that you will be traumatized forever by how uncertain we are of how your brain works. You may be full-grown in years, but your eyes and the flush of emotion in your cheeks say otherwise.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it when you become this serious.¡± I felt strange. Angry, I think, and I felt like stomping my feet and throwing the wooden bowls and spoons on the floor. I surprised myself and looked down at the floor, then at my hands as Woodrow cleaned the kitchens, whistling a tune. His whistling aggravated me, too.


    ¡°I imagine having a pretty face would make life easier,¡± I muttered, the low voice surprising even myself. I did not even know where the words came from. I just spoke. ¡°Instead of having these hands and this face.¡±


    I showed Woodrow the veins on my skin. I jutted my chin forward to show him the features of my face. Woodrow stared, green eyes serious. I saw those green irises take in my appearance; veins and thin wispy hair, the color of dried grains. ¡°It must be nice to not have trouble convincing the rest of the world day in and day out that you only want to help.¡± I covered my face and arms again, turning around. ¡°Have fun, Woodrow.¡±


    ¡°Ryne, wait!¡± Woodrow called.


    The concrete floor became blurry. My nose was wet. I ran, steps echoing away from the kitchens. I did not care if it disturbed Knox.


    I was already at the entrance of the stairway leading to the crypts when I heard a sizzle and boom and Wilbur¡¯s echoing swear. Wilbur rarely swore, and that must mean he was truly frustrated. I must not disturb him. But I can¡¯t be here inside the monastery.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I sucked in breaths. Everything inside me in that instant made me forget all that I¡¯ve been taught, forgot fear and practical measures. For the first time in so many years, I felt like I was suffocating, but no matter how much I breathed in the open, I couldn¡¯t seem to take in enough air. Woodrow¡¯s hair emerged from the kitchens and I quickly fled from the gardens and out into the monastery, into the boundary where Woodrow told. The tree.


    I kept to the shadows, past the night patrol with their torches. Knox told me how but I couldn¡¯t figure out how to do it properly until now. I closed my eyes, crouched low to the ground, away from the fire, and focused on my steps, pulling the shadows towards me as how one snatches blankets during the cold.


    I was on the other side of the farmer''s fields before I knew it. There was Woodrow, neck craning to see where I¡¯d gone. Once the men drew closer, however, he put on his cheerful mask and carried on with the plan. I hated him, but how I wished I could do what he could do. Act fine, even when your chest tells you to break things. I took one last look at Hollowed Fairstep monastery, a black looming figure in the distance.


    Something about it caught me off-guard. Amongst the simmering anger, there was a flash of ice. That feeling again. I was unsettled. Is this how they saw us? I shook my head: no, not now. I continued to flee until I no longer saw the huts and no longer heard the men. I kept walking until the land before me was barren with no trees. No shrubs, no huts. The boundary, Woodrow said.


    It was then I felt the pull. I touched my chest as if I were a puppet with strings. It was only for a moment. I walked slowly, unsure, but then it was gone.


    The apple tree was an oddity; it was the only tree around a vast expanse of grass. It was bigger than average. In the distance was the town Woodrow saw, bakers lining the outskirts, bells and voices in the air. It was the most activity I¡¯ve seen. It had walls like ours, with flickering torches overhead, scattering light to the people entering the small opening.


    I turned my attention back to the tree and thought about climbing its branches. Before Ealhstan would make monasteries, we slept in abandoned towers or thick forests or sometimes even in caves. Swihithin had this habit of climbing on the top of the ceiling where he slept like a bat. I kept watch over all of them. This was the first time I slept under the boughs of one solitary tree. Boys younger than me can climb up. I wrapped my arms around its base¡­ and quickly fell back to the ground.


    I huffed and settled for laying my head on its bark.


    I went back there for two more nights. I returned to the monastery in the mornings to finish the routine and came back as soon as the light began to dim. When I did the rounds, I stared at the women who always looked at me, frowning. But I decided to not be bullied.


    ¡°Do you want me to heal your child?¡± Anger in my soft voice. I surprised myself when I heard it. ¡°I could leave if you want. I could give this medicine to you, and not return. If it would make it easier for you to tolerate one another.¡± I looked at them all. ¡°I want you out of my hair as you would mine. Now move.¡± A long breath passed as I stared them down, offering the medicines to them.


    They slinked back in retreat.


    On the day of the festival, one could feel the difference in the air. Almost free of hostility and suspicion. When I stepped out of the monastery, the men were already bringing out wooden tables and chairs, arranging boulders in a circle, and piling drywood at its center. I was guessing that is where the bonfire would be. They scattered ashes around their house¨Cmaybe some sort of pagan belief of protection.


    Woodrow¡¯s instructions were left on the table, to bake the bread with apple bits and drizzle honey and thick cream on them, his handwriting a scribble of loops.


    That sunset, I went to the tree again, the cool breeze hitting my face. My face was set firmly on the town. If my brothers didn¡¯t want me to see the festival in Fairstep, then I¡¯d see it far away from this distance. I¡¯d prefer watching it from afar, incomplete and obscured, than seeing nothing of it at all.


    But then I saw on the road some of the young men from my villager. Curious, I inspected them. I knew those features: tall and broad-shouldered and realized that they were the three friends who whistled a curious tune to warn the villagers. The trio who hated us.


    The oldest one was nineteen, already with plans to marry another girl in another town. I overheard his argument with Brother Knox one time. He was furious when Knox forbade him to enter any town. I knew some of the rules by now. Any villager depending on us was under our laws. From the town was a female figure separating from the crowd; a maiden wearing a long gown that seemed... to search for her suitor. Lad and maiden reached for each other. They embraced.


    The young couple did not go back to the town. They instead went to a miniature horse bearing a cart not unlike Brother Swithin used. The lad helped the maiden on the cart and pulled himself with her. He kicked the horse gently and they sped off, away from the town and into the shadows. The two friends had disappeared as I observed where the couple was going.


    Before long, the town became bright and the sounds of activity sounded raucous. The embers from within the city brightened. I let go of the anger I held for the past nights, eager to see what would happen.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± a voice demanded behind me. It was unfamiliar and very angry. ¡°Come spying on us, have you?¡±


    I froze. The hostility and proximity of the voice made my heart jump. I was a fool. These were the lost people Swithin and the rest of my brothers warned me about. Images of bandits and wooden spears and crazed eyes flashed in my mind. They reeked of sweat.


    And then a hand pushed me back to the tree, skinning my face as I yelped. But the pain was nothing to the shock I felt when they drew closer. This time, I sharply turned to face them. Something in me wanted to face my attackers.


    It was them. The two boys who had always distrusted me, who targeted me out of all my brothers. They did not once join in when all the other workers supped with Woodrow. They simply glared and turned away. I assumed they dined on their own. With Swithin gone hunting and Ealhstan busy with the walls and other defenses, they must have had a chance to seek a new setting.


    No, that wasn¡¯t it. From the desperation on their face, it seemed like they wanted more.


    They smirked. ¡°What a find. Did the red-haired one send you, grey child? Spying to get us into trouble?¡±


    The taller one raised his legs and my heart skipped thinking he was about to kick my face, but he was only close to my ear. ¡°None of your brothers to protect you now. We¡¯ve been planning to grab you for a while now. Lucky us, tonight.¡±


    But then the other boy pushed him aside. ¡°Don¡¯t come close to him, just look at him!¡± He made a face that was of pure disgust. He pointed to my veined face. ¡°I knew they were keeping a secret. He must be the one poisoning us so that we become sick. They mean for us to depend on them for the rest of our lives!¡±


    ¡°They will never let us go,¡± he confirmed.


    They had no weapons. They left their scythes and farm tools back at the huts. The hatred they felt was in their chests, voices, and eyes. They really wanted to hurt me.


    ¡°See our friend back there? He¡¯s giving us safe passage to that town. All we need is a license and he¡¯ll be getting that from that dame. We can leave town tonight or tomorrow and it will be too late for any one of your brothers to harm us.¡± He punched the tree hard. Despite his thin body, he can still punch and kick. ¡°But you won¡¯t be there to run your ugly mouth. You¡¯ll be staying here as we pack our things.¡± Then he paused and stood, planning something behind his eyes. ¡°Tie him,¡± he said to the other. To me, he said, ¡°but before we do leave, how about you tell us everything you¡¯ve been doing inside your blasted monastery?¡±


    The tree swayed, leaves rustling. I was preparing for the pain. I knew I would never tell them all my secrets. Can I bleed? Can Wilbur patch me up?

 Chapter 3 - Woodrow (Hollowed Fairstep Monastery) (Part 4)

    ¡°Now, that¡¯s not very polite. You could have at least said please.¡± From out of the shadows, Woodrow appeared behind them. ¡°Hail, fellows. Lovely night for an ambush.¡± His green eyes glowed. He looked firmly at the talkative one. ¡°You have a temper on you, don¡¯t you? And bullying one of the brothers that took care of your village? You should really calm down.¡±


    From being frightened, the youth¡¯s eyelids drooped as Woodrow''s words sank. His startled breathing slowed.


    ¡°Cover your nose, Ryne.¡± The familiar voice of my brother Wilbur. I covered my face with my long sleeves as the other boy whipped around, about to strike a smiling Woodrow. Wilbur appeared next to Woodrow and took advantage of the remaining youth¡¯s confusion. He blew dust to the faces of the men. They coughed and sputtered before colliding with each other, slowly sinking to the ground, unconscious. Wilbur and Woodrow caught them before they banged their heads.


    ¡°What on the Four Saints¡¯ miracles is that?!¡± Woodrow looked at the deep blue powder that Wilbur was holding in his hand.


    He observed the two sleeping villagers. Their heads lolled on their shoulders, breathing deeply. ¡°A sleeping powder, seems like.¡±


    ¡°You could have told me that before I charmed the lad.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know it would work.¡± Wilbur and Woodrow both laid them on the grass as they continued to speak. ¡°And it¡¯s costly to make. Three different nightshade berries and three different ores. A product of the many failed experiments to treat Joserson¡¯s illness.¡±


    ¡°They wanted to escape,¡± I said. ¡°Their eyes, their whole body¡­ it was as if they¡¯ve been longing for freedom. Are we keeping them here? I thought they didn¡¯t want to leave. I thought we just had to appease them.¡± Woodrow dropped his gaze and looked at Wilbur. Wilbur simply stared back at me. ¡°You¡¯re keeping something from me. You¡¯re keeping a lot of things from me. You all told me how to do things because you said these were how things are done, and I just went along thinking that this was just how the world works, but I never realized¡­¡± I looked at the two unconscious boys again, ¡°that they wanted something different.¡±


    There goes heat again, spreading from up my gut. ¡°And I don¡¯t know if I can handle that if you don¡¯t tell me what needs to be done, and if you keep hiding things from me. I notice these things now more than before, Wilbur. And you always told me to ask questions.¡±


    ¡°Told you he was throwing a tantrum,¡± Woodrow said. I was about to rage at him, but he held out a hand to stop me. ¡°Though you deserve this release. You¡¯ve been keeping it since... when... Shoreglass? If you want to let it out, then this would be the right moment.¡±


    Well, don''t mind if I do.


    All rational and order left me. It was as if I was possessed, and there was this anger in me that seemed to stretch and yawn and twist my insides.


    ¡°These veins are like a symbol of my curse! The only reason I am kept by Abbott Blake anyway is that I can stand the sunlight, but I can¡¯t do what you do! Try as I might, I can¡¯t charm or trick people! I can¡¯t lift stones as if they were pebbles! And even if I learn from you, Wilbur, I can¡¯t heal as fast as you! What if they corner me to the ground and I can¡¯t defend you? What then?¡±


    ¡°Defend me?¡± Wilbur asked abruptly.


    ¡°You saw what they would do if they really hated us. They could tie you up as you all sleep in your crypts and take you out in the middle of the field at sunrise. I don¡¯t have supernatural strength to stop them.¡±


    Woodrow was silent. Then, he said to Wilbur, ¡°We can¡¯t hide what we are from him forever. He has a point. And we need to prepare if ever any of our backup plans fail. We can¡¯t let him go down with us. I know--!¡± Woodrow said as Wilbur spoke, ¡°but even Ealhstan won¡¯t lay waste to the villagers, even when Knox tells him to. And I¡¯m not saying we should fight them. All I¡®m saying is¡­ we need to include Brother Ryne here and tell him what we know.¡± Woodrow leveled his gaze at Wilbur. ¡°And show him what we are.¡±


    Wilbur breathed. ¡°Soon. It isn¡¯t the time.¡± He looked gently at me. ¡°I promise. Soon. You will know. Whatever you know about us¡­ there is something else. A cost to our powers.¡± He laid a hand on my shoulder slowly, waiting if I would slap it away. I didn¡¯t and let him touch me.


    The he flinched and inhaled sharply. His eyes widened, grabbing his hand.


    ¡°What?¡± Woodrow and I both said. We had both jumped back in surprise. We checked my shoulder for anything sharp. I checked the bark behind me if there was a stinging insect.


    Wilbur touched me again, this time firmly. With the back of his hand, he checked my neck, then my forehead. It looked like he was checking my temperature. ¡°I thought you were burning up,¡± he mumbled. Then he relaxed. "Must have been my imagination.¡±


    The wind howled around us, and with it came the sounds of laughter from the town. ¡°This is where you escape to, Woodrow?¡± Wilbur asked. Woodrow mumbled a reply as we looked at the wild shadows dancing outside the city. The activities were louder now. I distinctly heard metal against metal, the clash of sharp stones against wood.


    Wilbur said softly, ¡°Woodrow told me what happened. From what we can tell, you possess both mature and childlike behavior and intellect. That, and many years of repressed emotions. I suppose, when it comes to emotions, his judgments on how to proceed are better than mine.¡± Woodrow made a celebratory noise. Wilbur continued, ¡°When we were reborn as this, we were fortunate enough to have our grown faculties. But you¡­ you¡¯re the only one of us that had to endure growing up. The conflict you must be feeling right now. And the multitude of questions¡­¡± He looked at Woodrow and nodded.


    ¡°We have come to an agreement. You can participate in the harvest festival for a short while. But when Woodrow activates his powers in full force, he would give us the sign to withdraw. You will come join me for a well-deserved supper. We are celebrating more things than the good harvest and Laura¡¯s good health, after all.¡± He smiled at me wearily. He and Woodrow, both.


    He held out to me a glass bottle, its contents a swirling glowing golden amber, like honey with a drop of sunlight. ¡°I think I developed the cure for little Joserson¡¯s curious illness. I tested it on his blood sample and it looked cleaner when I last checked. If this works on him, we simply need to collect his blood sample again. We would use that as the base component for this kind of strong medicine in the future. We wouldn¡¯t need the exact measure of ingredients.¡± He winced. ¡°It took a long time trying to figure out the correct combination of ingredients. I lost a lot when I finally made this.¡±


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    The trial and error of alchemy, Wilbur once said. It was the reason why so many alchemists rarely ever made new concoctions and so few of them celebrated if they ever managed to make one. Ingredients were costly and perilous to attain.


    I stared in wonder and clapped my hands. Wilbur took a mock bow. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s go heal Joserson.¡± I almost stepped on the face of the boy when I turned around. ¡°What to do with them?¡±


    ¡°Take them to Knox. Maybe he can fool them. Maybe even have the power to make them forget,¡± said Woodrow.


    ¡°He can do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He seems to think so. I¡¯ve overheard it sometimes when his illusions break. But I think it leaves the person confused for some time.¡± His eyes wandered to the town with their own merrymaking. ¡°Someday, maybe we¡¯ll be strong and careful enough for one of our villages to rise like these towns.¡± His eyes then wandered to the tree. ¡°Oh, how lovely. Apples!¡±


    We took half of the tree¡¯s gifts. I carried them as Wilbur and Woodrow carried the unconscious farmers to the monastery, avoiding the people and taking them to Knox¡¯s tower where we explained in detail what happened minus me escaping to the tree.


    ¡°Very well, I shall handle it. Tie their hands and feet and gag them.¡±


    ___


    Swithin appeared at the foot of the tower with wild goose and pheasant and duck. His mouth and hands were bloody. ¡°Where did you get that, Brother?¡± They did not seem to come from our village. I¡¯m not even sure they came from the wilds.


    He simply grinned at me, teeth sharp and bloody. To Woodrow, he said, ¡°Do you have time to prepare this?¡±


    ¡°With help? Yes, we can manage.¡±


    The kitchen was warm and messy. Flour was everywhere and so were trays, bowls, jars, and barrels of fermented mead. Wilbur and I helped with the organization. ¡°It¡¯s glad to be back in the kitchens,¡± he said. He cut small holes in the thick bread and placed a dollop of herbed butter into them, then spooned them with honey. He dipped the hardbread into the thick cream. The trays smelled sweet and warm.


    I offered one sweetbread to Swithin, but he refused, frowning. He didn¡¯t have a sweet tooth. I shrugged and threw one to Ealhstan instead, who just came in behind Swithin. He took one bite and whistled his appreciation. ¡°A rare treat this will be for the villagers of Fairstep.¡±


    ¡°Good, you¡¯re here. Grab a goose and pluck its feathers.¡±


    We were so near each other in one setting. Whatever fear I had starting tonight, whatever anger I felt for the past two nights vanished. Wilbur and Woodrow were close, moving in sync like how he and I moved when mixing his medicines. His auburn hair was such a contrast to Woodrow¡¯s true red. His lanky frame against Woodorw¡¯s tall, graceful body. But both wore similar expressions of concentration as they plucked feathers and smeared gooseberry jam.


    ¡°If only we had some oranges¡­¡± Woodrow murmured.


    ¡°And pears¡­¡± Swithin added.


    Wilbur stopped and looked up at me. I snapped my fingers. ¡°We don¡¯t have oranges and pears, but we can use the fruits Wilbur has in his garden.¡± We hadn¡¯t named it yet, but it seemed sweet enough for this. I sped off to his garden and grabbed one single circular fruit, dark red like an apple with curious orange spots in its skin. I also grabbed rosemary and thyme in his herbarium.


    When I came back to the kitchens, the activity was in full swing. They bumped against one another, sliding between spaces. I realized as I handed Wilbur the fruit that they did not sweat, unlike me who wiped away the moisture from my face. The air was a mixture of flavor and delightful scents. My stomach growled. Unable to resist, I picked up a bread and closed my eyes to its warmth and flavor and hoped the children would be able to taste this.


    ¡°Can we take some back to the infirmary?¡±


    Immediately, Woodrow, Ealhstan, Swithin, Wilbur, and I, grabbed bread, one in each hand, and placed them on a basket for Wilbur to carry. ¡°We must be off,¡± we said and waved goodbye to our brothers. Ealhsatn grabbed two barrels of mead, while Swithin and Woodrow carried one.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see you on the grange,¡± Woodrow called.


    For once in Fairstep, there was music and laughter in the air. The inaudible voices of men and women mingled; giggling, shouting. I felt a rush of energy in my steps even as we were going to a somber place. We knew that our brothers had revealed the barrels when the villagers cheered and erupted in unified applause and laughter.


    The infirmary was warmer. Wilbur was glad to see half of the beds vacated. Two of the children looked up and smiled at him. ¡°Brother Wilbur!¡± They said and by the mention of his name, some of the children and mothers smiled weakly at him.


    ¡°Look at all of you, stronger than when I left,¡± Wilbur smiled. He presented the basket he was holding, their eyes widening. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t miss a taste of the festival. Here, for those of you that can stomach warm milk and bread.¡±


    Tiny squeals erupted, and even the angry women warmed their stone-like faces. They passed bread amongst each other, their fingers glistening with honey and butter. They licked them first before biting into it. They sighed and smiled and offered thanks. They even chatted and giggled amongst themselves, the children¡¯s voices telling stories.


    The only boy that was silent was Joserson and his mother. Wilbur gently placed his palm on the mother¡¯s shoulder and placed the last of the bread and cup of milk on the table. He showed the medicine to the mother while the rest were distracted. He told her how it was to be administered.


    The mother carefully placed her hand under her son¡¯s neck and slowly raised him up as Wilbur tipped the bottle down on the corner of his lips. The boy coughed and whined, but Wilbur, firmly but gently, poured all the amber liquid until the bottle was half full.


    We waited, but the child merely groaned. I checked his temperature after moments of silence. I smiled at both of them. ¡°His temperature¡¯s going down. Here, feel his head,¡± I said, taking her hand and placing it on her son¡¯s forehead. She almost cried as she did.


    ¡°The medicine tastes horrible,¡± Wilbur said. Its beauty was to conceal its taste, then.


    ¡°At least he¡¯s groaning. He hasn¡¯t spoken at all since the delirium.¡± I offered warm milk for her and warm bread. ¡°Please, you must also keep your strength.¡±


    She looked at us. ¡°I am thankful for you both.¡± I believed her when she said it.


    We stayed, with Wilbur absorbing the scene. He breathed in a deep satisfactory breath, smiling a little as he took in his infirmary. I touched his arm, welcoming him back to his station. Selfishly, I hoped that little Joserson¡¯s fever would break. That his spots would fade, so Wilbur can be with his flowers again, his hands touching soil and leaves. I looked at his hands. I knew his experiments involved burns, and his gardening involved cuts. But they were smooth, unscarred, thanks to his healing powers.


    Wilbur smiled at the sight of women touching the children¡¯s cheeks, even if they weren¡¯t their own. They fluffed their pillows and attended to the caretakers who looked visibly tired. Bursts of noise from the harvest festival disturbed the soft chatter.


    ¡°Mama¡­¡± a frail voice called. To us, it was louder than all the noise.


    Joserson¡¯s eyes fluttered open, and the mother enveloped him in her hands. Wilbur and I stepped back, Wilbur holding out a hand to all the women just as they were about to crowd us. ¡°I am here, my son,¡± the woman cried, tears leaking, lips kissing pale round cheeks. ¡°I am here. Hush now.¡±


    The women sighed and crooned. The harvest festival wasn¡¯t just a distraction, but there was cause for celebration, after all. Joserson slept, soundly this time. His mother held his hand as one reached for the bread, dipped it into the thick milk, and brought it to her mouth.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t even tasted it, shame,¡± she said softly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make some more for when he gets better,¡± Wilbur promised. As of now, he can only tolerate soups. Plain ones with bone broth, not even an appetite for small grains and crops.


    Before we left, Wilbur thanked the women for caring for each other. He left them with words that I knew they would remember. ¡°Medicines may cure your children, but there is no substitute for community.¡± He even locked eyes at the two women. ¡°You need tough people to protect one another. Good night.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Woodrow (Hollowed Fairstep Monastery) (Part 5 - END)

    When we rejoined the festivities, I felt Wilbur hesitate beside me. We were approaching the villagers of Fairstep, silhouetted against a great roaring fire at the grange. Knox must be absolutely livid watching from his tower. Some of the folks were standing close to the fire, and others were sitting on the boulders or on logs.


    ¡°Are you nervous?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been one to participate in such manner of revelry.¡± Wilbur gulped and clasped both his hands behind him. ¡°But Woodrow and I agreed that most of the monks should make an appearance tonight. It only happens every once in a while, anyway. And, look, the moon is out.¡±


    Indeed, in the night sky, just enough clouds parted to reveal a gibbous moon, its light bright against the concealed shadow.


    The path towards the main granges was lit with torches. The villagers had placed them on the ground, leading a loose trail to the open area once full of our grains. Woodrow was already at the center of it all, his red hair glowing like a halo, shouting for everyone to make themselves warm.


    ¡°Near the fire, all of you!¡± he said. He belonged up there, brimming with energy from all the attention. He was using a little bit of his power, coating his words with subtle honey, sweetening the air. ¡°Tomorrow there will be rest. Tonight, you shall make merry through the gloom. Drink your fill! Relish the taste of your hard work!¡±


    Wilbur and I quickly offered them trays of sweetbreads and mead. He was right, with them biting onto the sweetbreads and already intoxicated, it aided with Woodrow¡¯s words. Whatever remaining worries they faded away. Finally. The men clapped us on the back, thanking us, even honoring us.


    ¡°And what good is a harvest without a proper goose and boar! Brothers, if you please.¡± Woodrow waved his hands around. Ealhstan and Swithin appeared from behind him, carrying the boar, goose, and duck. The crowd applauded at the sight of it, whistling and cheering as my brothers skewered them all using a thick log. They placed it over the fire to cook. The men''s eyes widened. The women squealed.


    As the meat roasted over the fire, the villagers gathered in different places. They played games that I did not know of. Some played an older version of children¡¯s games, where they held hands and jumped over twisted arms and legs. Some of the women braided their hair with flowers from the meadows. Some of the men, in the light of the great bonfire, strengthened by liquor, presented themselves to the many maidens, and danced under the crackling flame, their skin washed red by the glowing fire. It even illuminated Woodrow¡¯s pale face and arms.


    One maiden was alone, looking somber and uncertain, smiling at everyone and tapping her feet to the music. Woodrow was next to her in a second, smiling warmly. ¡°I¡¯d offer you a drink, but it seems you aren¡¯t interested in mead. Come then, won¡¯t you lead this brother into the light of the moon and dance?¡±


    She blushed and covered her lips, shying away. Woodrow did not use his power yet, only his natural charm. He was patient, his hand stretched as an invitation. ¡°Brother, forgive me for my admission, but you are rather handsome. I might not behave well.¡±


    Woodrow smiled. ¡°Not to worry. I will.¡±


    She grabbed his hand and Woodrow gently took her to the middle of the fields, joining the others. Men and women cheered as they danced. Their hands were on their own waists and their legs stomped giddily about. Then they gestured wildly in the air, palms opening and closing, a show of goofiness and harmless banter. She seemed to shake away her shyness with each step and swirl. At some point, Woodrow and the maiden went opposite directions and caught the vacant arms of those standing nearby. More and more villagers joined in, their arms looping over one another. The music sped as they leaped across the grounds. Those who were old and had bad knees cheered and clapped in sync with the dancers.


    Woodrow disappeared to play his flute amongst the men. His playing itself was curious, and I thought that his eyes glowed green for a moment.


    Then, at the last note, they tumbled to the ground, and something happened to Woodrow. He struggled and touched his head. He seemed to lose his balance. Wilbur and I attended him. He gave Woodrow that familiar wooden flask. Woodrow turned away from me as he drank the bottle in one big gulp. He looked at the night sky, wiped his lips, and smacked them.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Wilbur asked, taking the empty bottle from him and pocketing it.


    Woodrow smiled. ¡°The plan is going well. We did good.¡± He looked at me. ¡°Well, little brother? Are you having fun?¡±


    ¡°Indeed I am,¡± I said. They both smiled at that.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s keep at it.¡±


    Woodrow led us to the group of men gathered around a large table. When they noticed that we had seen their gambling, they became at once solemn. But Woodrow took one look at the objects they were using to place bets on and arranged some of them in an order that made all the men cheer. He was handed a sack of grains and fruits¨Chis winnings. Upon receiving it, he quickly gave it all back to them, save but one curious slice of apple pie that they just baked over the fire.


    ¡°Who knew you had a mind for strategy,¡± Wilbur murmured.


    ¡°Stick around for more surprises,¡± Woodrow said.


    The night went on, the warm orange hue glowed even brighter as more and more drywood was added to the flame, sparks flying as the fat from the animals dripped down. And then finally Woodrow climbed up at the center of the great fire and thanked them.


    The goose and pheasant were done, leaving only the boar in the middle. Woodrow, Wilbur, and some of the men and women carved portions for the whole village. ¡°Don¡¯t be shy now, there¡¯s enough for everybody. Eat your fill!¡± Wodrow called.


    Ealhstan was watching if the mead had made the men violent. But they were at peace; greed and hunger abated. They did not jostle or cheat. They actually pushed the thinnest among them first in line. It was like the first monastery all over again, and it seemed like the world was getting better.


    More laughter; some of the women and even a few of the men wanted to dance with Woodrow. Some even made their way to Wilbur and kissed his hands. Some even pinched my cheeks. Their eyes had become hazy, their cheeks flushed and wet. As they dined and talked, we found ourselves leaning against a quiet spot near the wall. I hadn¡¯t realized that I hadn¡¯t yet supped and was munching on the apple pie slowly. Swithin and Ealhstan joined us not long after.


    ¡°It feels right, to eat together like this. Wish we could have more nights like this one if Knox and Abbott Blake would keep us together,¡± Ealhstan said.


    ¡°Knox joining us and Abbott Blake finally revealing his face? I am terrified, brother. Don¡¯t spoil the fun.¡± Woodrow said.


    They joked around and talked about the people they observed. And then the conversation drifted away. We looked at each other and thought the same thing: we did not know each other¡¯s lives that well, apart from what we do every day. Woodrow stood and walked up back to the bonfire that was slowly roaring.


    ¡°And now I¡¯m afraid we need to put the little ones to bed.¡± It was made to be a joke, but Woodrow looked at me. Wilbur patted my shoulder and took me home. I stood, smiling at Ealhstan and Swithin and Woodrow, and all the villagers.


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    ¡°We feast on the boar!¡± Woodrow announced. With a nod to Wilbur, he added another bottle to the mead discreetly as all the heads turned to the fire. I knew then that he would use his power. Wilbur hurried away with me, back to the torches, back to the monastery.


    Still, Woodrow¡¯s voice echoed. ¡°Dance. Dance until your feet tire. Dance until the dawn. And once the dawn comes, this bond we forged tonight shall weigh in your hearts and sink into your blood. And as we provide you with food, so will you provide for us in turn.¡±


    Wilbur did not count on Woodrow¡¯s powers being this strong. I felt a wave of heat and wind as Wilbur stumbled. ¡°Close your ears,¡± he said to me, and I did. We hurried to the infirmary, where oddly enough his voice still carried. Some of the women looked out the window, and a few of them were outside, curious at the fire and beckoned by his voice. They followed him like curious sheep.


    Amongst those remaining were Joserson¡¯s mother and some young caretakers, already sleeping. Wilbur took me to his gardens, instead. The laughter was louder, wilder as we closed the garden doors.


    Wilbur then played from a simple flute made out of a goat¡¯s horn. A light melody that I instantly recognized. It was the one villagers often whistled to call the wind, to pass the time. It told the story of a simple farmer girl left alone in a farmhouse to collect the milk and the eggs and make supper for her whole family.


    I hummed along with him until the orange glow of the fire from the distance faded. Wilbur stopped playing. It seemed the whole world fell silent. He swallowed and took another flask from his pockets. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    I hugged my knees and watched him go, noting that this was yet another mystery to my brothers¡¯ plans. Moments passed and I hummed the song Wilbur played again.


    Chuckles and playful growls approached the garden. I stopped humming. Some of the villagers have found themselves here, drunk. I saw from the garden window, the shy maiden who Woodrow asked to dance with, holding the neck of another man. They kissed each other. Then Woodrow came into view, pale and not like himself. His eyes were glowing in an unpleasant way, much like his smile. His finger, when he brought it to both their faces was long, his ears pointed.


    ¡°Lost are we, my sweet? Naughty, you know you shouldn¡¯t be here. Come, come, and let me take you back to the fire where it¡¯s warm.¡± And then he grabbed their necks tighter. He kissed them. I stayed silent. Woodrow kissed them both in the mouths and then, lower below the ear. They closed their eyes and shuddered, but clung to him. And then I heard footsteps hurrying towards them.


    Woodrow stopped. ¡°Ah. We have been found. Run my darlings.¡±


    ¡°I thought Ealhstan had a grip on you,¡± Wilbur huffed, emerging from the shadows. He watched the other two stumble away, mumbling, back into the granges.


    ¡°He did. All throughout the dance. But then he had to retire, drained of his energy to keep me from having too much fun. Still, I am proud of myself. I did not drain them.¡±


    ¡°Here, finish it.¡± Wilbur gave the bottle to Woodrow.


    Once he had drank that curious draught, Woodrow smiled coyly and touched Wilbur¡¯s cheeks. ¡°You¡¯re so adorable, brother. Take care of me, yes? Like you take care of the rest.¡±


    Wilbur grabbed his wrist and slowly pried him off. His face was soft and stern. ¡°Of course. And I will make sure you will not hurt anyone, as you made me promise. Let¡¯s get you out of here.¡±


    They sounded like two drunkards caring for each other.


    <h3 style="text-align: justify">___


    The morning after, Joserson was breathing fine, his fever broken. His mother was already celebrating. Such was her joy that she swept the whole infirmary and helped launder the blankets and pillows.


    No one fixed me with an angry look. When I went outside the granges, the villagers all had pleasant smiles and were too eager to let me collect their blood. The next night, it was still the same vacant smiles. It wasn¡¯t until the third night that I noticed that something was wrong.


    On the third night, Joserson was smiling and was actually standing up. From losing the color of his body to now being a fair-faced cherub with dark curls, he was beaming at us with rosy cheeks when Wilbur checked his pulse.


    ¡°No spots, no fever.¡± Wilbur smiled warmly at him and at his mother. ¡°You¡¯re free to go. But make sure you keep him close when he plays outside and never past the monastery boundary.¡± The mother nodded and Wilbur stopped, and his face grew serious once more. ¡°I need now only to take a sample of his blood, if you please rest your arm on the pillow, Joserson.¡± Joserson saw the sharp needle and grew stiff for a moment but looking at his mother, at Wilbur, and at me, he laid his head back and closed his eyes. ¡°It will only be a moment.¡±


    Just as he was about to prick the skin, a dark man barged into the room and pointed an accusatory finger at Wilbur. ¡°Get away from them!¡±


    His tone was menacing. He seethed with such anger that he frightened Joserson. It was him--the last remaining member of the trio who hated me. The one who wanted to marry the maiden from the nearby town.


    ¡°Oh, not this again,¡± Wilbur muttered.


    The man, taller than the rest, was already halfway towards us when Joserson¡¯s mother, to our surprise, stepped forward and blocked him from harming us. ¡°Calm yourself, Ansel. What has happened?¡±


    ¡°Away, let me through! They have drugged them all! Your friends! Those of you who were foolish enough to listen to that red-haired incubus¡¯ voice. Don¡¯t let him touch your child!¡± He struggled with her, and she was still trying to prevent him from reaching us when Joserson started crying and screaming.


    ¡°They have healed my son! If you have problems with Brother Woodrow then it is him you should storm.¡±


    ¡°They are hiding him!¡± Ansel sounded frustrated. ¡°But these two! These two were there. They were always there. My friends¡­ they¡­¡± He whimpered and then he gave us such a hateful look.


    Ansel pushed Joserson¡¯s mother aside. Such was his strength and rage that I was too late to catch her. ¡°You,¡± he said to me and he was about to kick me in the face when Wilbur pushed him back and threw him to the floor. They wrestled as Wilbur rummaged through his satchels and dropped a puff of his sleeping powder on Ansel, just like his friends. ¡°No¡­¡± he said as he slumped back to the floor.


    It was only then that loud thunderous footsteps came, flinging the infirmary doors open. Knox and Ealhstan entered. They drank in the scene, Ealhstan with wide eyes and Knox with an impassive face.


    As Knox spoke, Wilbur smudged a little of the sleeping powder on Joserson¡¯s nose and the boy quieted down. As I helped the mother up, Wilbur smudged a little on her nose as well.


    ¡°So this is the Ansel I¡¯ve been looking for. He¡¯s been hiding lately, refusing to mingle with Woodrow. He¡¯s been sneaking into the town with a damsel, I hear.¡± He looked over at him and told Ealhstan to gag and tie him. ¡°Send him to the crypts. Brother Woodrow is positively famished.¡±


    ¡°Knox!¡± Wilbur shouted, startling me.


    ¡°Do forgive me, Brother Wilbur. I seem to have forgotten myself.¡± Though his smile was anything but genuine. As Ealhstan picked him up, Knox looked back at the other two sleeping on the bed. He asked Wilbur with his eyes, to which Wilbur shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of them.¡±


    He nodded and went off with Ealhstan. ¡°Should we leave early, or are you ready to fight the people you have made merry two nights prior?¡± Ealhstan did not respond.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like doing this, but it¡¯s a good time as any,¡± Wilbur said as he picked the needle off the ground and wiped it clean. He readied the small glass vial and pricked Josersen¡¯s skin, letting the blood flow until it was half-full. He stoppered it with rubber and wrapped it in fabric. He arranged both their clothes before leaving them.


    The next night, for the first time since we arrived, the infirmary was empty. And so were the expressions of some of the men and women. The children called their names, but they were slow in turning their heads, and even slower to respond in speech. They seemed confused and prone to laughing and snickering by themselves as they worked silently in the fields. Three of them were hacking the air with their scythes, quite a ways off from the grains. By the fourth night, the children were crying, and some of the adults who had recovered tried to slap the others from their stupor.


    The next night, they were humming the songs in disharmony, and they became paler and paler. A few of them were standing outside the monastery walls, simply looking. When I approached them, the only thing they said was, ¡°Where is Brother Woodrow?¡± I led them back towards the huts. But not before I continued with the bloodletting, seeing the dark red liquid flow freely. I was not collecting them with wooden bowls, but into tiny wooden jars that Wilbur gave me. I hadn¡¯t seen Woodrow and the three young men who attacked us.


    By the seventh night, Woodrow was standing outside on the grange. I was actually glad to see him, but when I came up to him, his whole face was devoid of his usual smile.


    ¡°Woodrow?¡± I touched his arm. He did not look right; though his features were back.


    It took a few seconds before he said anything. ¡°What have I done?¡± His eyes were fixed on the shouting people in the huts, telling them to snap out of it, to wake and care for their children. ¡°What have I done?¡±

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 1)

    I slept for months, Knox said. After our time at Fairstep Monastery, I fell into a deep slumber. Wilbur had asked what was happening, fearing that a sleeping sickness had struck me, but Abbott Blake had silenced him, insisting that there was nothing wrong. I did not burn hot. I did not sweat. I did not feel cold. I simply did not open my eyes. They all watched over me, checking if I developed bruise-like markings on my skin. There were none. But Knox told me Wilbur never left my side until daybreak.


    On the road to the next monastery, they had no choice but to bury me with them underground. Ealhstan had made a comfortable coffin for me; a small one with layers of wooly blankets. Swithin scouted ahead for forests or caves, anywhere that people were afraid to venture. Then come nighttime, he dug deep in the earth, the depth of a grave, and made sure to cover all of us within, leaving enough space for him to crawl upwards.


    Then just as Ealhstan finished Saint Korbin monastery, I awoke.


    The first face I saw was Knox''s. I looked around, checking to see where Wilbur was. All around me were Knox''s things; books and scrolls and quills. I remembered that he was our scholar, though what he studied was not clear to me. He waited for me to stumble outside my coffin and gather myself. That was when he told me what had transpired.


    Knox accompanied me to walk around the grounds, just so I could get my bearings. ¡°Where is Wilbur?¡± I asked him. Why was I in your tower?


    ¡°Predisposed,¡± he told me. ¡°Walk on.¡±


    We were ghosts haunting a soulless monastery. It wasn¡¯t even built like the ones before, save for the church and monastic granges. I wasn¡¯t even allowed outside. The cloister garth was so small, that I wasn''t sure there was any division between the common herbarium and the physic garden. We passed by the kitchens, the door bolted from the outside. There was no sound, but our steps.


    I hesitated when he walked me back to his tower.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be staying here from now on,¡± Knox said. I did not reply, nor did I move. Knox made an impatient sound. ¡°Get inside.¡± he made to pull me by the arm.


    ¡°Do not touch me,¡± I said and stepped back firmly. Knox bristled. He stared at me as if he was willing my body to move. There was something there: a commanding pull. I pushed back against the force and raised both my brows.


    He seethed but released the force. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. He snapped his fingers. ¡°Capture him.¡± Swithin came from out of the shadows, looking uncertain. I was surprised to see him there when there was no sign or trace of the rest of my brothers. His eyes were wide, uncertain, looking at Knox and at me. Knox, impatient stomped his foot. ¡°I said capture him, you daft mongrel.¡±


    Swithin winced. He quickly dropped on all fours and leaped towards me. ¡°I am sorry, little one.¡± Before I could say anything, he forced my arms behind my back and pushed me inside the cold tower. I wanted to punch Knox¡¯s smug face as we passed him. Swithin softened his hold on me as we climbed the circular stairs. He released me inside and whispered, ¡°Just do what he says. He knows what¡¯s best for you.¡±


    ¡°Swithin, where is Wilbur? Where are the others?¡± He made me sit down gently.


    ¡°In the dungeons by my den. I sensed Ealhstan was at the far end of the cloisters and I smelled Woodrow at the kitchens. We are kept separated. We cannot break the commands from Abbott Blake.¡±


    Knox barged in and Swithin withdrew. Knox jerked his thumb out the door. Before Swithin went away, he pleaded silently with his eyes. Knox shut the door and looked at me, curious. They cannot break the commands from Abbott Blake. So does that mean they can''t break a command from Knox as well, seeing that he''s directly below him in our hierarchy?


    Knox locked the door and proceeded to a desk with a thick stack of books. His tower was spacious, bigger than Wilbur¡¯s garden. I was glad. I did not want to be cooped up so close to him. There were no windows here, just a small hole, the size of my hand, near the ceiling. He kicked one book at me and said, ¡°Read.¡±


    I picked it up and read the passages he highlighted. ¡°For humility under the night brothers ensures safe passage into the light.¡±... ¡°One shall put their trust to the brothers of the night, they who preach the Saints¡¯ teachings under the cover of moonlight¡±... ¡°Be not afraid of the blood you shed, for it will ensure full bellies for your families¡±. I closed the book and scanned the cover, brow frowning.


    ¡°What is this? It¡¯s like a twisted version against the Saints¡¯ Scriptures.¡±


    Knox smiled. ¡°It¡¯s the newest edition.¡± He took the book back and wiped the dust off its surface. ¡°We will reshape its teachings to suit our lifestyle. We will preach it to the poor peasants that don¡¯t know what to believe.¡±


    "I do not follow."


    "Abbott Blake feels that you might need further instructions on the deep reason why we do our great work," Knox said. His tone was light, but his face was impassive. "One of the deep reasons is that we are here to reshape the world by reshaping their beliefs. What efficient way to do that than already tying it to the Saints'' Scriptures that they know by heart, passed through the generations? And look at us. We fit the part, yes?" He dismissively showed his monastic habit in the candlelight.


    I stared at him. "Abbott Blake wants me... to listen to you... about how to trick people into believing a different version of the Saints'' stories?" When Knox nodded, I said, "They would never believe us. Not with your illusions and Woodrow''s charms."


    ¡°Who are they going to believe, Ryne? The Saints and their powerless religious sectors? Their own numbers are dwindling. They are at their wit¡¯s end trying to come up with cures that don¡¯t work against the new illness spreading around. The Saints can¡¯t save them. I¡¯m not even certain they truly have faith anymore, just believing for the sake of believing.¡± He saw me surprised. ¡°Oh, yes, Wilbur may have saved one poor boy, but the symptoms have spread. There will be none to cure them but your Brother Wilbur. They will flock to our monasteries and beg us, just as we planned. They would abandon their towns and cities and their lords and pledge fealty to us.¡±


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    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°As I said, Abbott Blake stresses that you are to be trained and lectured to our ways, no matter how many times I express my concern that it is pointless,¡± he sighed.


    ¡°Why keep me in this tower like a prisoner? I can read this by myself or with the rest.¡±


    ¡°Distractions,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve had more than enough time playing with plants and peasants. Abbott Blake seems to think that it is crucial that you move on to more serious matters in the long-term.¡±


    ¡°I need to know that my brothers are safe.¡±


    Knox sounded exasperated. ¡°They are fine. Every supper, I shall carry the food Wilbur has prepared. I will leave you here alone, and sleep in my own tower adjacent to yours. This door will always be locked.¡±


    ¡°Then what? What if I finish the revised book, what then?¡±


    ¡°Then there are other books to learn. Matters of trade and commerce, of authority and the general way of how the world works.¡±


    I wanted to say something else, but Swithin¡¯s voice warned me. Perhaps not this night.


    <h3 style="text-align: justify">___


    I had to endure the brutality of Knox¡¯s viewpoints. I now understood why he was so cruel. He thought himself better than everyone else. I had thought that Wilbur and Woodrow were the ones to reveal our ways. I much preferred it from them. Knox was matter-of-fact, tone curt, and cutting.


    I learned from our lectures together that his main plan was for our monastery to be like its own city. With its own rules and brainwashed people.


    He told me about the history of the region, how after the Four Holiest Saints came the rule of the region, the Saint-King, one descended from the bravest of them all, Saint Oswald of Goldborough. Though he was not gifted the greater miracles, he was still blessed with the Radiant Halo, an artifact, the crown he wears that can only be put by the other descendants of the Saints. Under his rule, all the clergy was considered part of the ruling class. Monks, nuns, and priests.


    ¡°Parading as monks was the perfect cover to fool them all,¡± Knox said. ¡°The lands granted us power over the villagers, and they dependent on us for almost everything. Their homes, their food, their health. The plan was to construct monasteries and trick them into thinking that we are trustworthy, then do it all again across the region until our order is the most dominant one.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡± I asked. Their plan, after all these years, was to live amongst them, take care of them for a while¨Cin Knox¡¯s case, tolerate them as he lounges about in this tower¨Cthen lord over them all.


    ¡°Then the rest of the world, small Ryne.¡±


    ¡°Let it not be said that you are impatient.¡±


    ¡°When you have all the time in the world, one can be lenient.¡± He fixed me with a funny-mocking look. ¡°Besides, aren¡¯t you hungry to be out there in the world instead of hiding? You have not seen the magnificent mountains of my land, nor the rolling hills and glen and kingdoms of your other brothers.¡±


    I stared at him. ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    ¡°My memory is more intact than the rest of you lot. We are the opposite, you and I. You are a blank slate with no life before, while I¡­ well, there¡¯s a reason I kept my memories whole. And it is to help Abbott Blake¡¯s cause.¡±


    ¡°If Abbott Blake has such power, then why can¡¯t he reshape the world by himself? And why haven¡¯t we seen his face? While you¡¯re at it, how about you start explaining what we are instead of the management of villagers.¡± He made a sound as I charged on. ¡°Where did he come from? Why did he choose us? Why aren¡¯t the Saints themselves intervening, or is this a part of a higher plan that you keep spouting every Sunday?¡±


    He looked to the night sky, the clouds once again obscuring the moon and stars. He looked at me and kissed his teeth. ¡°Well, I am glad that your brain can think after all. Our Abbott is powerful, yes, but his power is not infinite, or else he wouldn¡¯t need us to make that future possible. We need people to believe in our story, to believe in Abbott Blake as part of that story. That is all you need to know. For now.¡±


    Belief in religion or in something or someone powerful can spur action. It can inspire change. It can cause wars and end them before they happen. Does Abbott Blake get power from belief, then? From worship?


    ¡°We don¡¯t know what we are,¡± Knox continued, ¡°but preaching this nonsense and molding it into our own image, showing our miracles little by little, why would simple-minded peasants know if it¡¯s true or not? So long as they¡¯re mindlessly docile and content. The point of Wilbur isn¡¯t to help heal. The point of Wilbur is that we are the only ones that can heal them. People will be clamoring for his little miracles, even the angry and distrustful ones.¡±


    ¡°And if people catch onto us, like they have done before?¡±


    ¡°Ealhstan and Swithin can dispatch them quickly enough.¡±


    ¡°What about the Saint-king? What about all the nobles who know better, those who you say are scholars and advisors? Won¡¯t they see through our farce?¡±


    ¡°As Woodrow has demonstrated, we can grow our powers beyond simple parlor tricks. That¡¯s why Abbott Blake and I approved your little projects in the first place. Do you not comprehend the power we could wield?" Knox suddenly became animated. ¡°What if Ealhstan could do that on a grand scale? What if Woodrow can charm all the nobles even with the protection of the Saints? Or at least charm the important ones. Maybe he can influence the courts, the king¡¯s soldiers, the king himself! Who knows what our powers can do?¡± He sucked in a breath, awed at the image he was imagining. ¡°We will choose to be clean and careful, of course. But if things become bloody¡­? Well, whatever outcome, we come up on top.¡±


    I wanted to say that Wilbur and Woodrow and Ealhstan won¡¯t stand for this, but remembering how Swithin, physically stronger than Knox, ranked below Ealhstan, quivered at his mere words, I¡¯m not so sure they have much say.


    ¡°The world is getting worse, Brother Knox. Even Wilbur isn¡¯t sure if he can keep up with all the demands. You said it yourself, a new sickness is spreading, and it took a lot of us three just to make one cure.¡±


    ¡°Then we become wiser of your plans. Your mistake was charming the whole village, though I¡¯ll allow that mistakes are part of any experiment. You could have used Brother Ealhstan or Swithin to put their powers to use. Assert dominance rather than become pathetic pacifists." Knox scoffed. ¡°As for your other concern¡­ the kingdoms are closing down, yes. And the villagers of this monastery seem the worst of the lot.¡± He made a disgusted face. ¡°They look like scraps for the dogs. Victims of war and rebellion. But this is the best time to spread our own agenda. People want to be healed and fed, and if Wilbur can¡¯t help feed and heal them all, then we follow nature¡¯s way; survival of the fittest, and may the fittest survive.¡±


    I processed what he said. I stared deep into his face and it unnerved him. At last, the road to truth. ¡°I really thought that we were monks. All this time, I thought we were doing good. It¡¯s just one big farce. Do the others know? Were they part of this from the start?¡±


    ¡°I am trying to inspire you, boy. Make you see things differently because whatever happens, it is that future you are on.¡±

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 2)

    For the first time in my life, I was invited during Saintsday inside the church; the only time the villagers were allowed in the monasteries. I could not contain myself after being so alone with just Knox for company. Every evening, I ached to see Wilbur, but all I had of him were the meals he prepared. I relished each bite, and each bite was delicious.


    I was eager to welcome the villagers, even if they hated me. All I longed for was another face apart from Knox. When they entered through the great doors, I saw that the villagers of Saint Korbin were dressed in tattered, faded clothes, all huddled together and afraid of being inside the cold stone walls. But, where are the statues? I heard them whisper. They were looking for alcoves where the Saints usually stood; the traditional layout of churches from the books Knox gave me. During the day, I read the real scriptures and compared them to the ones Knox was writing. I was not allowed to read history books or any texts about raising livestock or craftsmanship. Each night, Knox taught me and questioned me about what I¡¯d learned. I didn¡¯t like it; my memory was filling up fast and my storage was limited. I was beginning to forget Wilbur¡¯s plants and ores.


    The things that occupied my mind now were stories of the chaotic world before the Saints. Much like our story, they simply were gifted, seemingly randomly, with dominion to fight this Great Chaos. Saint Esmond of Highvault made the dry earth fertile, spreading flowers and encouraging crops to grow. Saint Cerelia of Vlue calmed the turbulent rivers, and then the seas that made trade and transport possible. Saint Oswald was the mightiest, harnessing the power of light and hope itself to vanquish most of the Great Chaos.


    Then, finally, Saint Gaelmar of the River Rae, whose powers were abstract, kept the Great Chaos from spreading. He prayed and chanted constantly, sang songs to lift the spirits of his companions. He was titled the Lock and Key. He was the blueprint of all other clergies; the one thing that they all have in common though they pray to different patron Saints. All monastic orders and nunneries took inspiration from Saint Gaelmar''s quiet servitude, devotion, and humility. He vowed to never marry and never have children, only loyal followers to spread the Saints¡¯ teachings. In doing so, we may keep the chaos at bay.


    His sermon started out harmless enough. But by the end, he was introducing our ways; of bloodletting and servitude, rather than emphasizing humility and generosity. The main lessons in all of his sermons were, I would learn, that monks know better, and to trust us in how we would run their lives. I looked around the church. They were lost souls; poor and hungry. They would believe anything if it meant that they had homes to return to, to have food in their bellies.


    It was in the middle of his sermons that Knox showed me a taste of his powers. When I locked eyes with him, he made a motion as if to lift my hood off my face. Then, I saw it: the church was brighter than before, and on the sides of the church were alcoves with faceless saints in their mighty poses. I looked around to see the villagers intent on listening to Knox, calmed by this illusion. Knox belonged at the pulpit. It was an art form in itself, his words, like Woodrow and Wilbur. His eyes did not glow, but it was the way he used his gestures and his words. I can feel this wave coming from him.


    In the end, they returned to their work outside the fields. I ached to be with them. I wanted to run up to them and tell them to flee, to cover their ears and not believe their lies, but they didn¡¯t even notice me. I was ordered to be lurking in one corner of the wall where the candles did not reach me, but I was sure that at least somebody would glance in my direction.


    I wanted to ask any one of them, ¡°Have you seen my brother Wilbur? Have you seen a giant building the walls, building your houses? Has a fair-faced, red-haired pale elf brought you your supper?¡±


    All of them closed the door of the church and stomped slowly to their quarters. In the silence, Knox called, ¡°Lock the doors, Ryne, and go to your tower.¡±


    ___


    After weeks or months of this routine, I grew impatient. I slammed the book onto the wall and screamed, my voice echoing inside the tower. Knox merely waited for my outburst to calm. ¡°Are you quite finished?¡±


    ¡°I want to see Wilbur!¡± I demanded. ¡°I won¡¯t listen to any more lectures until I see that my brother is doing all right.¡±


    Knox sighed and snapped his fingers, looking away. I knew it was Swithin that would come. He opened the door and looked at me with frightened eyes. Knox revealed a metal chain that slinked on the floor. ¡°Subdue him.¡±


    Swithin didn¡¯t even put up much of a fight this time. He recoiled a little, but ultimately, his body bent to the ground and once more leaped behind me. The breath was knocked off my body. ¡°Ryne, please,¡± he whispered. ¡°Behave yourself. He¡¯ll only hurt you more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Brother! I need to see Wilbur! Just let me see him!¡± I was angrier than last time when Woodrow didn¡¯t allow me to join in the harvest festival. I hated that he was seeing me cry.


    ¡°Well, I was planning on giving you a free day on the cloisters this Saintsday during my sermon, but alas, the privilege is revoked.¡±


    ¡°Liar!¡± I spat. This was his way. I now knew how cruel he was. ¡°This is how they torture the desperate to keep their hopes up. You can¡¯t fool me.¡±


    ¡°Well, look at that, he learns still.¡±


    Exchanging words was pointless. Swithin chained my torso to the walls. My hands and feet were free, so that I may read books and eat my supper. Knox dismissed Swithin and turned the book that I threw to the correct page. ¡°Read.¡±


    ___


    There was a familiar scene playing out in the church after mass. A young farmer has sought an audience with Knox. I stood in the dark corner, watching them. His head was bowed, his hat clutched near his chest. He was asking permission for marriage.


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    ¡°How many animals do you own?¡± Knox asked, bored.


    ¡°Two, brother.¡± the young man¡¯s shoulders had already dropped. His voice shook.


    Knox tutted, relishing in the man¡¯s misfortune. ¡°That won¡¯t do at all. Wait until they grow to at least five, and give us three sheep in exchange for your maiden¡¯s hand in marriage.¡±


    The lad bowed. He did not raise his head as he left the church. ¡°Yes, Brother.¡±


    When the man had left and I locked the doors, I shouted, ¡°You know very well that their animals are dying and Swithin can¡¯t hunt for more food. We don¡¯t need the animals, Knox! I haven¡¯t even seen any of you eat that much except for Swithin, and I could do well with just broth.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about food. It¡¯s about appearance and principles. I told you. We are the laws of this land and part of our masquerade and office is to enact the law. Besides, peasants know to ask us for almost everything. Conducting business, marriage, and festivals. We are part of it all.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you at least reconsider? Just give him four animals.¡±


    He weighed the outcome. He shrugged. ¡°Very well. Just this once. An act of leniency from time to time. But if anyone else asks to loosen my grip, I shall be firm.¡±


    I nodded. Then, another thought suddenly came. ¡°Won¡¯t they remember our faces? Surely, even when we outlive them, they can recount stories of our countenance?¡± I immediately thought of Ealhstan and Woodrow. The giant bear and the breathtakingly beautiful sprite.


    ¡°Disguises are simple enough to make. We can fashion beards, dye our hair, wear wood stumps to change our height. We do what we¡¯ve always done. Make ourselves scarce until we grow too much influence that we won''t need to hide anymore. Besides, I have my powers to protect me. Or lest you forget what happened to the two young men, and friends of those Ansel.¡± He let out a small chuckle. ¡°I did not mean for them to be like the walking dead. That was my mistake for exceeding my power.¡±


    ___


    I was making candles out of beeswax that Knox handed me when he blurted out a lecture on control and authority.


    ¡°We¡¯re hardly the first to use these tactics as control, you know. The other brotherhood of monks, and sisterhood of nuns, use them in their own ways. Whatever Wilbur taught you, forget it, child. The ones on top will always subdue those at the bottom to ensure their survivability and position.¡±


    ¡°But what if they know better?¡± I asked, scrubbing the floors now. ¡°What if instead of teaching them how to be dependent, we teach them to actually live? Help them until they can help themselves.¡± Like I thought what the original plan was.


    At that, he grew serious and actually stood to his full height and stepped closer to me. ¡°We will not let that happen.¡±


    ___


    It was the third week of his mass when I noticed a new presence in the nave. He was a tall figure with different clothing than the villagers. He wore animal fur with his linen jacket and a small basic sword at his hip. An actual sword. Even the peasants stared at him as they entered.


    Then it hit me. I used the word, peasant. I caught Knox¡¯s eye as he was turning the page of the scripture and he began to speak. As he drawled on, my knees wobbled.


    I was more like Knox¡¯s novice than WIlbur¡¯s. It didn¡¯t feel right. It didn¡¯t feel good at all. I hated it. The books I used to draw on were confiscated, of course, and only allowed once a week, but with my faulty memory, even if it was my own handwriting and diagram, I had already forgotten the names of the plants I once held. Even my memories of Wilbur when I wrote them were like something out of a dream. Did that really happen?


    Every service, the words he changed were becoming more and more, but the villagers did not notice. They only listened and absorbed.


    ___


    Knox handed me a scroll of parchment. I did not understand the words, but he taught me how to pronounce them. It sounded like chanting, like prayer, but felt wrong.


    ¡°What good is saying it out loud if I don¡¯t know what it means?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to know what it means. Abbott Blake wants you to memorize this. He says you would use this soon enough.¡±


    ¡°What, are you going to make me as a one-man choir?¡±


    Knox did not respond. I can tell that Abbott Blake did not disclose his plan to him this time. What he did do was force me to recite how the prayer worked. The first time I heard him sing, I held my arms and stepped back. The chant was definitely different than the prayers that mothers used to lull their children to sleep. Never mind the words, the notes were somehow wrong, as if it was calling for something instead of offering praise or thanks.


    ¡°Keep practicing the lines,¡± he said. ¡°This scroll would be the first of many.¡±


    I had an urge to clean myself in a nearby river. It left a bad taste in my mouth.


    ___


    ¡°Woodrow can be put in my office, you know,¡± Knox said as we prepared for the sermon. We¡¯re thinking about it, except his powers of seduction might not activate when preaching.¡±


    I wiped the cobwebs off the benches. ¡°I saw them looking at you, even the soldiers standing about. They are almost mesmerized.¡± The soldier from before always came, sometimes by himself, sometimes with some companions.


    At that, Knox actually fixed me with a genuine smile. I did not want to see it again. ¡°Imagine if a whole army defended us because of what they believe what we stand for. Soon, maybe we won¡¯t even have to resort to using Brother Woodrow or Ealhstan¡¯s powers for protection.¡±


    I was chanting the prayer for Knox every night until I had it memorized. There was that nasty feeling again, like the buildup of bile. After he had left, I summoned the faces of my dear brothers as I slept. I sang a different tune that night: the songs of Saint Gaelmar and how he calmed himself using his own words. I prayed for rebuilding brotherly bonds, of being steadfast amongst great adversaries. I swore to myself that I wouldn¡¯t forget Woodrow and Wilbur and Ealhstan¡¯s faces. I tried speaking to them in my mind before I went to sleep. In my heart, I tried to remember their lessons. Shame that I wasn¡¯t close to Brother Swithin, but he was wild and needed to roam, anyway.


    I remembered Ealhstan¡¯s houses. I remembered Woodrow¡¯s charms and wits. I remembered Woodrow¡¯s compassion and dedication to his craft. If they were here, what would they say to me?


    Oddly enough, it was Woodrow¡¯s voice that spoke to me, his eyes serious, his smile crafty: play along, plan ahead, wait for an opening.

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 3)

    It was the night before preaching day. Knox and I were standing near the opening of Saint Korbin''s, illuminated by torches hung on the walls above us on either side. The walls were built higher now than it was before, twice as thick, too. I felt as empty as our granges, the grains short and scarce. A thick mist blanketed the night, obscuring even our vision. Then, we heard it; the unmistakable clopping of a horse steadily approaching the monastery.


    The borders have been opened temporarily, Knox said, and he had contacted a trader from a faraway town for business. I made sure that my face was covered, resisting the urge to shrug off Knox¡¯s cold hands hovering nearby as he cast his illusion over me.


    ¡°Hail, traveler,¡± Knox said, as a man with a feathered cap emerged from the mist. He was dressed like a villager but with a dyed-blue scarf on his neck and wearing a thick leather jacket over his old jerkin.


    ¡°Good evening, Brother,¡± he said, alighting his chestnut-brown horse. It was the common horse used for travel, or for galloping in the fields of a lesser noble. Knox nudged me to get the reigns. The man looked at me kindly and then at Knox. ¡°It is all right, brother. I can send Klep here to the stables myself.¡± He was already looking around, peering through the mist.


    ¡°No, let the novice do it. Time is of the essence, trader.¡± Knox made a move to catch the reigns himself.


    It was then that the horse whinnied away from Knox¡¯s touch. ¡°Hush, Klep. Hush.¡± The trader stroked the horse¡¯s mane and gave him an apple from his pocket to quiet him, but Klep shook, beating the ground with his hooves. He was trying to turn away, tired legs retreating. His face was strong enough to push me back. That is when he stopped. Klep''s eyes were black and round and wide. I saw myself reflected in his fear. When I reached for him, Klep stilled. I could feel his heartbeat loudly as my hands patted his neck. I placed my hands on his face and to my surprise, he nuzzled close to my chest.


    I¡¯ve never seen a horse up close. Only once, when we were on the path to Trushire. ¡°You are magnificent, Klep,¡± I said.


    The man patted Klep''s back, smoothing him down. ¡°A fine breed enough, courtesy of our lord Robert. Though I take it you have not seen finer breeds in your time here, eh, little monk?¡±


    I shook my head and proceeded to hide under my cowl. I was not used to being treated as if I were a normal person by a villager. Instantly, Knox¡¯s words hit me. What if you did not need to hide anymore?


    I took Klep to the stables and tied his reigns to a post. He was watchful of the mist, looking through to see his rider walking with Knox back to the church. I took the apple that fell from the ground, wiped away the dirt and offered it to Klep. He sniffed and bit into it slowly. I grabbed a bucket and filled his trough with clean water. Knox had told me how to do it, not knowing or caring that Wilbur had already instructed me how. I gave him some fresh oats that the trader handed, and when Klep was settled in, I looked at the stables itself. I touched the beams and looked at the overall design. Ealhstan had never built a stable before. Knox must have given him the blueprints, and he must have cut trees nearby. I wondered if we were near a forest. I closed my eyes and imagined breathing in the smell of bark and loose earth. Klep was beating his hooves impatiently, and I sensed a presence nearby.


    ¡°Brother Swithin? Do not bully the horse. You¡¯ve had your fun.¡±


    Just outside the stable, Swithin appeared out of the misty shadows. Klep immediately became agitated and stomped his feet. I blocked his view of Swithin as he chuckled. His appearance somehow looked altered, much like how Woodrow was after the harvest festival. He was behaving oddly, too. Relaxed and agitated at the same time, wearing the same drunk expression that Woodrow had when he crept up to the couple in the garden.


    ¡°I was simply guiding them and protecting them from outlaws,¡± he said.


    ¡°What did you do to the outlaws?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Whatever Knox told me was necessary. I am so awake, little Ryne. The forest is silent but my heart thrums with a new voice. Here, let me show you.¡±


    It almost looked as if he was dancing with himself as he ran about like a dog chasing its own tail. He spun around, then leaped towards the top of the wall. Swithin turned around and flashed a smile, teeth glistening sharp as Klep protested again behind me. He flipped like a coin outside the monastery. Knox gave me no instruction to follow or return to the tower, so I stayed with Klep. Frightened as he was of everything, he was better company than Knox and his books. I also hoped to glimpse Wilbur and Woodrow as I waited for Knox and the trader, but they were kept far back inside the monastery, still. It seems that we were all trapped in each of our sectors. Except for Swithin, the lucky prick.


    ___


    There was another traveler, then another. I took care of their horses, each meeting taking longer than the last. Each time they came, I waited in the stables. I didn¡¯t mind. Swithin was still behaving oddly, and I still preferred the company of horses to the silence of the towers and those neverending books. There was a sickening sensation beginning to rise in my mouth whenever my eyes landed on the strange texts. The traders thanked me as I handed them back their horses. Klep¡¯s rider even gave me a penny, to which I gave Knox.


    ¡°You can keep it if you wish. It might prove useful.¡± I shrugged and pocketed it.


    After the traders, there came a merchant, feathered cap vibrant and leather jerkin fine and polished. He had pouches on his satchels and he jingled with loose coins. His belly was big, and it surprised me that there were people who grew to his size with more than enough meals to eat.


    His horse was strong, decorated with a simple cloth and fluttery things that hung from its ears. But just like the rest, he startled when Brother Swithin came near. This night, Swithin looked like his usual self. He looked behind him, checking that Knox and the merchant were in the middle of business, then handed me a scratch of paper. I almost made a joyful noise when I saw WIlbur¡¯s neat handwriting as I unfurled it:


    ¡°We are well. Knox forces us to give all the good grains and best quality produce to the traders. He intends to make Saint Korbin known as a stable monastery for business. We miss you. Keep safe. Burn this letter.¡±


    I held it to the flame and watched it turn into ash. I stomped the evidence of correspondence away just as Knox and the merchant came back. Swithin had disappeared as I read the letter but was now helping to load the produce onto the horse. The merchant flipped a coin at me. I caught it squarely on my palm. I was getting good at catching coins. I looked at the covered jugs smelling sweetly of honeyed milk and the clinking bottles of what I knew were Wilbur¡¯s finest medicines. I glared at Knox.


    ___


    Knox paused our lectures. He began to scribble each night on his desk as I continued to read. It was pointless; despite his assurance that I would remember this, the words and their stories were collecting in a senseless pool in my mind.


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    I¡¯m just glad that Knox was preoccupied with his nightly correspondences. He was writing to his main connections, no doubt, and building the path he wanted for himself. I looked at the chains lying about and I remembered Woodrow¡¯s words of going into towns. I had since learned the truth; we were prisoners. He used Swithin as his messenger. Some nights, it was his usual self, some nights, he was wilder, eyes wider and snarling excitedly.


    Swithin had been discreetly giving me messages from Wilbur, detailing of the events of Saint Korbin monastery.


    More than half of the villagers¡¯ crops are dying, and though Wilbur didn¡¯t include it in his letters, I¡¯d guess that the same was happening to the villagers themselves. A quarter of their healthy yield was being given to the monastery as tribute, just for show. Knox had a point, after all. They hated us, but they did not suspect. Their hatred was the common hatred towards all the nobles who were still healthy and living well inside strong, warm homes. The food that was grown here in the granges, nurtured by Wilbur¡¯s fertilizers, was supposed to feed the villagers here. Instead, it was sent off to the traders and their lord.


    The villagers of Saint Korbin had also given up on life; they¡¯d rather let the sickness swallow them than live in a gloomy, hostile, hungry world. It made Knox happy to hear that; it meant more medicines for the other villages or townspeople ruled over by a lord. Those that can afford them, anyway. My blood boiled. Wilbur¡¯s medicines aren¡¯t for sale. But I regained my composure when he said that they traded it for resources like ores and fish for the few remaining people who chose life. The traders did not just take, after all.


    I realized why I was tucked in the corner of the nave, near the entrance, and only summoned when it was during the middle of Knox¡¯s sermon. It was due to the simple reason that I could not see their faces. So that I wouldn¡¯t know who died and who remained. What helped his plan was that the villagers I saw on the pews had actually doubled. These came from the banished villagers of other lords; those who were sick and those who could not pay rent or taxes.


    Knox put them to use.


    After the service, he ordered several of the newest additions to Saint Korbin monastery to earn their stay on top of their tributes. ¡°Clean the pews,¡± he told them, not even looking them in their desperate eyes. ¡°Scrub the floors, there are brushes and buckets for you. Make sure everything is spotless. The children should never be noisy and must work in the fields, else, they should keep to themselves.¡±


    I helped them as much as I could before Knox forbade me. I wanted to help them during the day, but I was still locked inside. Reading and forgetting, chanting the prayer that Knox had me memorize, the words having no meaning to me.


    ___


    There were more soldiers now at the entrance of the naves, their helmets on their sides, watching the pews, and watching Knox deliver his sermon.


    ¡°...and so, we must swear fealty to those who are better. Those who the Saints themselves have blessed with lands, with knowledge about plants and medicine. Were it not better to serve the clearest sign of the Saints and their miracles, who feeds the hungry, clothes the naked?¡±


    After the sermon, the soldiers offered their swords to Knox. This was new to me. I was hiding in my spot in the corner of the nave and watched as Knox collected coins from them and put them in his pouches. He has been storing them in his office back at the altar. The first soldier that I met standing on the pulpit was now stationed there. When he was gone, I assumed another would stand in his place.


    Then that very night, I heard the sounds of metal echoing through the empty monastery. After about a year of silence, it was a welcome disturbance. It was a steady rhythmic clang, of stone against metal.


    ¡°Brother Ealhstan is using his raw strength for another use,¡± Knox explained. ¡°Since the monastery is finished and there are no more walls to build, we have decided to put him into repairing weapons with Woodrow¡¯s aid. Our red-headed brother knows some basics of swordkeeping and weaponry, you know.¡±


    I did not know. Woodrow never mentioned anything. The only ¡°weapon¡± he carried was his short dagger which he only ever used for hitting barks of trees and cutting the skin off apples.


    The next night, it was silent, and I missed the sounds. It was the only thing that made me happy, apart from Wilbur''s nightly meals. Every sound was an assurance that might Ealhstan was still there, that I didn¡¯t need to see him or hear him talk to know that he was still all right. And Woodrow was with him. I ached to hear them again.


    The sound returned the next Saintsday. My heart leaped when I saw the soldiers again, with their old rusted weapons. Swithin carried their polished swords and I saw the handles were cleaned and the blades sharper, glinting in the candlelight. There was always a group of them, but the one who inspected the blades¨Ctheir commander¨Cwas the only one who talked to Knox. The rest were looking around, frowning, holding their arms, and whispering amongst each other. They urged their commander to hurry.


    I listened to it as if it were the sweetest music. The next Saintsday, though, it became slower and softer. The Saintsday after that, I was surprised that Knox walked me around Wilbur¡¯s garth again, not too far from the light of the nave. He told me to inspect his gardens and found them healthy enough. This, too, was a sign that Wilbur was still working. Yet, when I touched the flowers, I sensed something was wrong; a yearning and of tedious boredom, like I was in my tower. Simply doing what was asked of me. There was a sharp noise from within the cloisters, but Knox called me back before I inspected them.


    ¡°Your brother has been getting weaker and thinner, refusing to feed.¡± Knox was counting the coins in his office, arranging copper and silver in his many pouches. ¡°I let them see you from their offices, so they would feel motivated.¡±


    Sure enough, after I retired to my lonely tower, there was that same sound again, clanging into the night.


    ___


    One of the elders wanted his son to be learned somewhat. He had hoped that he could be taught how to illustrate the scripture books. Without warning, he pointed at me. I was startled by the attention.


    His voice shook. ¡°Teach him how to be a novice, just like our young brother there, please. We agreed to it. We would give you everything we have; our house, our clothes, our livestock, the small fortune we have.¡± he handed Knox an iron hammer passed down from his father.


    The boy meanwhile knew the answer before Knox gave it. He was small and shy like me. He probably has no mother, no siblings left, and no future tending the fields. Our eyes met, and I knew he would hate me. But he just looked at me, absent of feeling, and then he tugged his father back to their huts, the elder¡¯s shoulders shaking.


    Knox would never grant anything that would give power to the villagers, so long as he was the sole responsible one running this monastery.


    ___


    I had gotten used to Swithin¡¯s shifting appearance, from being himself¨Cor at least a docile version of himself¨Cand the wilder image, with longer unkempt hair and bigger eyes.


    Knox was drinking from a wine of dark red liquid near the fireplace, inside his small office behind the altar of the church. The odd wine he was drinking smelled sweetly enough, though something about it made me feel wrong. He saw me looking and smirked. ¡°Stick to ale and soup for a while. You can taste wine when you get older,¡± he said mockingly.


    Knox smacked his lips, turning the glass container against the fire. ¡°I do not know if you remember with your mushy memories, but I heard the news that the once-children of Fairstep monastery abandoned their homes with some of the younger children because they do not recognize their parents anymore. As if they aren¡¯t themselves.¡±


    I remember. Was his questioning meant to hurt me tonight? He sipped on his strong wine, downing the whole bottle and shattering the glass in the fireplace. I didn¡¯t know we could get drunk. Woodrow never showed any sign when he drank barrels of ale before. Nor did Ealhstan.


    ¡°Swithin and I make sure the peasants will never abandon this monastery. I¡¯ve learned my lesson for being lenient. They will never escape their fate.¡± Then, for no apparent reason, he looked at me, swaying a little, his smile taunting. ¡°Wilbur¡¯s flowers are blooming again, isn¡¯t that nice? His plants are being fed, after all. Plenty of fertilizers to go around.¡± Then he hicked and retired for the night, making sure Swithin carried me up the stairs to my cramped tower prison.


    ¡°Brother?¡± His chest had a dark mess to it when he released me. ¡°Be careful with your hunting. You¡¯re a mess.¡± I frowned. Swithin was never a messy hunter. On the contrary, he was always precise and made sure that the killing blow was final.


    He covered his chest. Abruptly, he said. ¡°I forgot to give you this three nights ago. Knox orders me. Run to other towns, he says.¡± He gave me a parchment, and I deflated when I saw how small it was. I guessed this was the final one. ¡°Leave us,¡± it said in WIlbur''s desperate handwriting. ¡°Run, Ryne. Escape.¡±

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 4)

    I will never leave them. Not for long, anyway. My plan was to reveal myself to the traders or to anyone I saw. One look at my ugly veined body and they could... well do a number of things: they could only be suspicious, taking away their business; they could question Knox; they could run; or they could attack. I have to do it on Saintsday when everyone would be there. I would abandon my dark corner in the church and run up to Knox, remove my cloak, and shout vile things. The villagers of Saint Korbin have begun to become superstitious now, anyway. I saw it in their faces and heard it from their whispers. They have become fearful of the world, and docile and dependent on Knox. I''d scream that we were all using them. I''d scream that there was another sickness brewing and it started with me. I''ll chase them away and pretend to be rabid if I have to.


    I just have to escape this blasted tower, first.


    As soon as Knox left before dawn, I punched the doors. I kicked with as much force as my thin legs could. If only I could¡¯ve grabbed a knife from the kitchens or anything to chip at the wood. I did the next best thing; the metal encasing in one of the scripture books. It may be blunt, but it would have to do. As each splinter of wood flew apart, I felt free.


    But I had to rest after several hard knocks left me shaking and breathless. This went on for hours; chipping away and resting, until the light from the small hole in the tower faded to a pale ember. I had to work fast. With one last desperate shove, a large chunk of the door finally splintered away, and all I had to do was make it bigger. I kicked again, breathless as I was, finding the strength out of desperation, until there was a hole big enough for me to fit into. I crawled outside, wincing as sharp wood scratched my skin.


    I hurried down the tower, where there was only a wide opening for an entrance, and stepped outside. I swallowed mouthfuls of air, my weak limbs falling to the ground. Then froze. The light had faded completely from the hills.


    It was already too late. There was a sound from the other tower and knew that Knox was already on his way down. I ran towards the church which was the only path outside to the granges. I was supposed to let the villagers in, but they were probably still cleaning themselves off the sweat of labor back in their huts. And then I heard Knox swear and whistle to Swithin. I passed the pews, noticing how my arms and thighs ached, my heart once again in my throat.


    I did not possess super speed or strength, so what chance did I have but surrender to the fastest brother in the monastery? I had already opened the church¡¯s entrance, the wall already in sight. But Swithin¡¯s steps crossed the distance like it was nothing and pounced on me again as Knox appeared on the far end of the nave. Swithin had slipped on the polished stone floors and upon impact with me, rolled outside to the grass and rocks.


    ¡°You little¨C!¡± Knox began but stopped when he saw what I was holding. It was a sharp stone, hovering over my cheek. I had already drawn a little blood and Swithin, momentarily confused, started sniffing my cheek as if he was a dog. I felt his hands tighten around my shoulders and back. He had changed drastically again, more beast than man, with his hair longer and with sharp teeth protruding from his lips. I thought that I shouldn¡¯t have bothered with the stone, with this beast near me.


    ¡°What has happened to you?¡± My voice did not sound scared. It sounded as if Wilbur was simply checking in on one of his patients. I touched his cheek like I did with all the horses. Swithin''s eyes widened and he blinked. He gasped and withdrew, away from me and Knox.


    ¡°Come here,¡± Knox said to Swithin. ¡°I said, come here¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him! Fight him, Swithin. He is not your master.¡± I challenged Knox and put my hands over Swithin¡¯s ears.


    ¡°You dare¨C!¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up!¡± I shouted. My voice echoed in the empty grounds. I hoped the villagers would check in on us.


    Knox was fuming. I was challenging him again, and for the first time I¡¯ve ever seen him, Swithin was actually resisting. He dug his hands into the earth and shook, his features changing back. Knox was about to say something else, when, from behind him, a sack appeared and covered his head. He scratched at it, but Woodrow had already tied it from behind.


    ¡°You heard the lad, brother. Shut it.¡± Woodrow kicked Knox''s legs from under, causing him to fall onto the ground, screaming. I heard him whisper, now''s a good time as any, before he cupped his hands over his mouth. ¡°Ealhstan, make some noise!¡± Woodrow shouted over the walls of the monastery. Nothing happened.


    "Now? Are you sure?" Elahstan''s voice was uncertain beyond the walls.


    "Yes, now!"


    Suddenly, a giant bell rang through Saint Korbin. Ealhstan''s booming voice echoed, ¡°Run! Now! All of you in Saint Korbin, run!¡± Bells usually announced the start and end of mass in other monasteries. But this one was a clear sign of warning. Men and women started screaming, children started crying over Ealhstan''s instructions. "Pack your things! Get out! We''ve already cleared a path for you down the mountains! Follow your elders!"


    Woodrow stepped over the still-screaming Knox like he was nothing but a rock and walked closer to me. He winked at me, smiled, and took in each other¡¯s appearance. He looked weary. Thinner, too. The red of his hair looked dull, the strands dry. He, meanwhile, stopped in his tracks, dropped the smile, then stepped back.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?" He was staring at the blood from the scratches I received from the broken door. "It¡¯s nothing.¡± I was about to ask where the rest were, when Wilbur--my brother Wilbur--appeared from behind him, stepping over Knox as well, and let out a soft, surprised sound when he saw me.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± he breathed, ¡°wipe the blood away. Let go of Swithin and wipe the blood off and throw it away. Over the wall, there¡¯s a small river. Throw the cloth you used over it. Now.¡± I did so, using an old cloth hanging on one of the posts in the stable. I washed the blood off using a water bucket nearby, and flung it over the walls, away from Ealhstan''s voice. I arranged my robes, so that they didn¡¯t see the wounds. It was only then that they all regained their composure.


    ¡°Oh, Ryne,¡± Wilbur said. Woodrow was helping Swithin up. Knox was still untangling the sack over his head. Wilbur approached me, arms wide. We hugged. We were rarely this affectionate, but it did not matter. He felt cold, but he was warm in my mind. His hand was around the back of my head, and the other steadied my back. His chest rose and fell, as mine did, breathing in the moment. But then, it sharply rose and fell. Alarmed, I looked up at him and saw that he was crying. I have never seen him cry before.


    But as he was about to explain, a giant of a man appeared from the monastic grounds. It was Brother Ealhstan, and I smiled widely, already running up to him.


    ¡°Step back!¡± he yelled, his voice booming. The shock of his fury stopped me in my tracks. I felt the earth quaked around me. Ealhstan¡¯s eyes were wide, scared. He muttered through clenched jaws, ¡°Wilbur. Ryne. Get away!¡±


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    He was grabbing his head and his legs skewered. He fell to the ground and screamed. When he raised his head, it was calm. When he opened his eyes, the blacks were a sinister glowing red. He pounced on Wilbur and pinned him to the ground. Knox had removed the bag from his head. He was enraged, mouth already open for assault, but when he saw Ealhstan, Knox bowed his head in reverence.


    ¡°Abbott Blake,¡± he said.


    The air became cold, colder than winter. And empty. Woodrow, Swithin¡­ all my brothers except for Knox clutched their chests and fell. Ealhstan smiled. It was not him. ¡°Ryne.¡± He simply said. It was not Ealhstan¡¯s voice. Deep. Ancient. Empty. Wilbur stopped resisting by this point, and I thought the worst. But Ealhstan¡¯s body released him and stared around at all of them. ¡°Inside the chapter house. Now.¡±


    As one, Wilbur, Woodrow, Swithin, and Knox went back to the monastery. Even though my entire being wanted to pull most of them away. Ealhstan''s eyes looked at me calmly. ¡°Come now, before I do any more damage with his strength. The villagers are outside, bones brittle and soft.¡±


    ___


    It was the first time I stepped foot in the chapter house, the only building whose cloistered path I did not trespass. Ever since, that part of each monastery was colder and darker, even when the sun was out. Daylight did not warm the stone columns. Every time a monastery was built, we felt the source of our power fill the cloisters and the nave, out towards the granges. It was how we knew that Abbott Blake had blessed the land, and we are now tied to it. Tied to him. My brothers consulted with Abbott Blake for three nights with new instructions before we began ruling over a monastery.


    I was blind, the sight accustomed to the darkness did not work here. Then, with a flick, a single candle was lit. My brothers were standing in a circle with me at the center. They looked wildly about as soon as the light flickered to life and all eyes landed on mine. Ealhstan was also there, now completely himself. But my eyes were fixed in one area of this boxed room.


    There, in the shadow, was a being darker than darkness, with gold and red eyes and whose smile was the dagger shining with moonlight. ¡°My brothers, look at you all,¡± Blake said.


    Abbott Blake was small, barely above Wilbur¡¯s shoulder. His face was of a regular man¡¯s, lined with age, like an elder of a village. He had salt-and-pepper hair, his skin wrinkled and pale. But then he passed through a candle, and he became middle-aged, with a strong stature and firm jaw. He passed through Knox, passed through him like he was nothing but smoke, and re-formed in front of me, back to looking like an elder.


    ¡°You will never do that again,¡± he said to me calmly, confidently. And then the reds of his eyes glowed sinister again. My brothers, even Knox this time, fell to the ground with their mouths wide open and eyes rolling back to their heads.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± I said grabbing Blake¡¯s face. But my hands only held smoke, his smile still pleasant as my brothers silently screamed.


    ¡°I can do much worse if you don¡¯t behave,¡± he warned. He became corporeal, pushing me aside. I fell to the floor as my brothers recovered. Ealhstan was unsure of how to proceed, but Woodrow readied his stance.


    Blake turned to smoke and materialized behind Swithin and Ealhstan, opened his arms wide as if to embrace them, then dug into their necks as they both yelled. The scream was so agonizing that it made us all jump back. He pulled back his hands¨Cno¨Chis claws and, as if held by strings, made their limbs move. He was a puppeteer pulling the strings.


    Blake flicked his fingers. Ealhstan grabbed Wilbur as Swithin grabbed Woodrow. Swithin has his own claws pointed at Woodrow¡¯s neck, already slicing a bloodless thin line on his neck, while Ealhstan locked Wilbur¡¯s head. All were protesting against each other, eyes wide, screams yelling to stop.


    I knelt down, raised my arms up, and looked at Blake. ¡°Let them go! I¡¯ll do whatever you want, I promise.¡± The voice inside me was high and pleading. I locked eyes with Wilbur and Woodrow, at Ealhstan and Swithin.


    ¡°Truly? Do I have your word to listen to Brother Knox¡¯s lessons? To not escape into your dear brother Wilbur¡¯s study and garden?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I pleaded, looking at how Wilbur was closing his eyes, as Ealhstan tried to pull himself away, his arms and hands and legs shaking, while Knox pointed Woodrow¡¯s own dagger onto his neck.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± Woodrow said to Knox. Though Knox frowned and touched his face and neck, clearly confused as to why Blake needed to force his power upon him as his loyal servant.


    Blake retracted his claws and all my brothers except for Knox fell to the floor, gasping and retching. Ealhstan pulled Wilbur up and quickly backed away from us all, fearing what Blake would do with his body again. Swithin cowered before Blake and behind Woodrow. Woodrow stood up and tried to regain his composure, eyes flitting from Knox to Blake. And Wilbur? Wilbur wanted to quickly go to me, but Blake held one finger at him. Stay put.


    ¡°Good. All would be well, then. Humility, my dear, brothers. We need to¨C¡±


    The crash of the chapter house door. Outside the monastery there were voices. ¡°Burn everything! Loot them for all their worth! Take back our treasure from that blasted monk!¡±


    Knox looked at Abbott Blake, alarmed. Abbott Blake, the first time I¡¯ve seen him, frowned, then snarled, and snapped his head to all of us, his neck cracking and moving in odd angles. Finally, it rested on Woodrow.


    Woodrow smiled and let out a breath. ¡°Took them long enough. We¡¯ve been planning this for a while. Had to escape and charm a few soldiers and a fine fledgling trader. Convinced them to place wool and wax in their ears from being fooled by Knox¡¯s words and illusions.¡±


    Blake slapped him, throwing him across the chapter house where he collided with the door, revealing the chaotic scene outside. Roaring fire and heat swept inside but chilled quickly in Blake¡¯s presence. Woodrow, realizing he was outside, jumped to his feet and called to the soldiers. ¡°Get out!¡±


    ¡°Get him!¡± The soldiers said. The hostility in their voice told me that they were not our allies. They wanted us to burn along with the monastery.


    Abbott Blake roared and turned into his younger stronger self. He turned to smoke and flew outside. The smoke that trailed behind him looked like snakes and bat wings. What I didn¡¯t see was that those tendrils grabbed each of my brothers'' waists, including mine, and dragged us outside with him where we rolled to the ground.


    The soldiers screamed. ¡°By the Holiest Saints!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Blake said, tone cold and distant. ¡°There are no Saints here. Only hunger and blood.¡±


    I felt it again; the pressure, the force. All of my brothers buckled under it. Woodrow and Ealhstan shouted at them to run, but the soldiers only raised their torches and weapons higher. Some of them threw spears at Abbott Blake, but blinked and screamed, pushing each other away when they saw how the weapons went through his body. The flames near him sputtered out. Furious, Abbott Blake looked around at the monastery, and I felt anger coursing through him. I also saw how he was straining beginning to be incorporeal, the smoke turning solid.


    Then, Abbott Blake took one last look at me, opened his mouth, and said softly, ¡°So close. But I will not let this monastery fall without the truth. The truth that you¡¯ve been asking for. Brothers, let us show him how we feed.¡±


    All at once, my brothers buckled. Then, slowly, raised their heads, then their bodies, up from the ground, still as water.


    Then they attacked the soldiers, their eyes glowing red. Woodrow did not charm them. Knox did not cast illusions. Instead, Swithin hunted them like they were prey and vaulted into the soldier with the lightest armor and pinned him to the ground. He tore his neck and the man¡¯s screams died in his throat full of blood. Ealhstan crushed the one with the heaviest plate armor, probably one he fixed, and smashed his head. Wilbur, knowing where to cut, sliced clean the mid-neck of one terrified soldier and pressed his lips to the spilling blood as if kissing it better.

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 5)

    ¡°That¡¯s it. Drink your fill. Show little Ryne here what fuels your power. Show him what happens to all your precious villagers. Show him what we are and what we¡¯ve been doing and what we plan to do.¡±


    The fire roared even louder and one side of the cloister collapsed, thick smoke joining with the mist. More soldiers appeared through the smoke and saw my brothers feeding on their brethren.


    Some of them ran, some of them avenged their fallen comrades, screaming their names. Those who ran were quickly dealt with by Swithin, who always loved a good chase. Those who stayed battled with Ealhstan, avoiding his big swings.


    As I witnessed the bloodshed, it was as if I was held back into myself. It was as if I was viewing the whole thing as if time slowed down. I did not know if this was Blake¡¯s doing or my horror as my brothers continued to slice them, crush them, drink their blood the moment it was spilled. Boisterous, laughing Ealhstan who was always careful around every villager. Charming Woodrow who admired the natural beauty, the sunburnt skin and the common brown eyes of men and women. Gentle, nurturing Wilbur¡­


    So this was what my brothers are and what they were meant to do. Wilbur, it turns out, was stronger than he looked, able to disarm and subdue a taller, bulkier man with nothing but his bare arms. His lips were on his neck, and a trail of blood flowed from where he gave his dark kiss. The man screamed, though noiseless as my heartbeat drummed in my ears, flailing away until his arms went limp and his eyes stared into the night sky. Wilbur had gone down to the ground with him, draining him of his life. The man jerked, one final move, and he was still.


    Wilbur, when he stood, wiped the blood from his lips like he had simply drank from a cup of water. He then looked around, leaping onto another man. The soldiers hacked at Swithin but he was too fast, and with his claws, sliced the necks of the three men in front of him. Worse, villagers started flooding into the monastery. Or maybe they were going out, too late to notice the chaos. This was the moment I moved.


    ¡°No, get out!¡± I yelled. I waved my arms to get their attention. ¡°Run away! Run away!¡±


    Their hands were full with the tributes they paid Knox. Pouches of coins, sacks of grains. A few of them even fought for the resources; punching, then clawing their eyes out. One of them stabbed his neighbor. He was familiar; the boy whose father begged Knox to become an illustrator. He had grown, all skin and bones, fighting for a sack. He had a pocket knife¨Chis last remaining treasure¨Cand stabbed a bigger man in the chest. He left through the flames, leaving the bloody mess on the grass.


    Then Swithin came into view, running on all fours. He chased after the soldiers, tripping them, snarling and howling, smiling and laughing. Woodrow beckoned them towards him. He kissed them full on their mouths, before twisting their heads and sinking his teeth into their necks. When Swithin was done with the soldiers, he pounced on the villagers. He attacked anyone who was in sight, who was near him. He slashed through the women, their hair flowing in the night sky. He tore through bodies, both young and old.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t fed for a long time,¡± Knox said calmly. He was nearest to me. I jumped back and braced myself, but he was simply looking at the scene; fire and blood and screaming. ¡°They did not feed because of you. They wanted to see you, and they hated what they¡¯d been told to do by Abbott Blake. They must be ravenous.¡±


    Wilbur drained another man, then another, slicing with his small knife. His was the cleanest kill. The people who finally witnessed what they were doing fled or fought, depending if they had any weapons. Ealhstan and Swithin made quick work of them.


    ¡°Wilbur had not taken any lives before." My tone was level though my hands and knees shook. I was helpless. What can I do? I have no powers, and I was unsure why I was not attacking them like my brothers were in a frenzied state. ¡°Knox, what are we?¡±


    But it was Abbott Blake who answered. ¡°The last surviving trace called through pleas. Chaos fueled by desperate prayers. Creatures of the night, the bane of the holy Saints.¡±


    Knox, upon hearing this, himself looked horrified. ¡°But I thought you said¨C!¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± Blake said, as he pushed Knox away, into the flame, where he screamed a horrible scream, his shadow disappearing into ash. I jumped away from Blake as he turned towards me next. But he simply bowed and spread his arms wide, covering the land in icy darkness, tendrils formed from smoke and shadow circling him.


    Then a horrible scream from Wilbur. I whipped my head around to see where he had gone. He was on the grass, a sword plunged through his chest. Blood was dripping from him, the first time I saw my bloodless brothers bleed. I fell to the ground, shock and horror numbing my limbs. This is how everything ends, I thought. No reason, no explanation, no justification.


    But Wilbur spun around and pushed the soldier aside. He screamed again as he lifted the sword off his back, where it thudded to the ground. The soldier¡¯s eyes widened, and he screamed to the rest: ¡°There¡¯s no killing them!¡±


    Blake said, quite calmly, ¡°Of course not. We¡¯re already dead.¡±


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    Wilbur¡¯s open wound started to heal, closing as if it were stitched by invisible threads. He ended the soldier who attacked him, and when he was done, turned to look right into my eyes.


    Furious, bloodlust eyes, he had.


    Then, recollection.


    Ryne, he mouthed. Confused, he stumbled back down and while on the ground, looked at all the mess and the blood and the bodies and the flame. He saw my brothers and what they were doing. He slowly looked at me. I backed away. I did not mean to, but everything was happening all at once.


    It had come to me, then. The bloodletting, the wooden basin, the looks he traded with Woodrow. Ealhstan was about to pummel a soldier to the ground near him.


    Their commander, the one who was always conducting business with Knox, ordered, ¡°Sound the alarm. Let it rain down arrows. And tell the Holy Crest that monsters hide under the cloaks of monkhood!¡±


    The Holy Crest was unfamiliar to me, but even in this time of horror, I remembered some ascended knights were stationed around key kingdoms, protecting the most important nobles.


    The commander pulled out a miniature club from under his cloak and threw it at the one who was fastest. The messenger ran through a tight passage of the ruined cloister, ducking under debris. I saw the soldiers who remained look at each other, then nod, blocking Swithin¡¯s passage. They were ready to die so that their comrade could deliver the message. At that moment, one side of the cloister fully crashed, along with Knox¡¯s high tower. We all scattered away, Wilbur running towards me. I let him carry me by the waist.


    Blake roared through the dust and flew high in the air, his tendrils turning into bat-like wings. He dragged us along once more, like chains attached to our torsos, knocking the breath out of us as we dangled from him.


    ¡°It flies!¡± The commander cried.


    We were dragged in the air, over the cloisters, over the church, and into the granges. Blake threw Swithin with one of his tendrils at the man but missed. Swithin yelped in pain, scattering rocks and dirt and debris. As he recovered from the impact, the messenger whistled at his horse¨Cwhich was waiting in the far meadows through the mist, along with the other fallen soldiers¡¯ horses¨Cand galloped through the night. Thunderous hoofbeats faded away.


    Swithin was out of the walls when we heard from the mist a loud horn. And then silence, and then Swithin¡¯s yelp as he returned. Balke roared and was about to chase the messenger himself when he banged into a force that prevented him from escaping the monastery grounds.


    ¡°He cannot escape,¡± I said softly. Then repeated it loudly. ¡°He cannot escape! He is trapped!¡±


    Blake turned sharply at me and growled, his fangs and claws growing sharp. He let us all fall to the ground. By this point, my brothers had recovered themselves and were released from the bloodlust, all looking at me. Knox was there, clothes singed, skin burnt, but otherwise fine.


    Wilbur called out. ¡°Look at Ryne. Only look at Ryne!¡±


    I did not understand him, but when Blake ordered them to charge through the grange walls, they did not move. Even Knox was looking at me. Blake from up above snarled, and to my horror, flew down to Wilbur and choked him.


    ¡°You dare challenge me?! I who granted you your existence! I who answered your pleas to save your pathetic mortal life!¡±


    ¡°Wilbur!¡± I screamed and ran towards him. I did not know what happened, but all I felt was rage, and then a spear-like sensation through my chest, and I leaped, farther than I could ever have managed, and pushed Blake away, holding onto his tendrils. It turned to smoke, but I held onto it wildly, feeling all leather and slime, and then¡­ it turned to fire in my hands.


    Blake howled, injured, and the voices of so many wounded souls erupted from his mouth. He dropped Wilbur and choked me next, his hands twisting around my neck. I braced myself but did not close my eyes. I was not afraid of him.


    He yelled angrily again, withdrawing his hands, like how Wilbur held his hand as when he touched me that night when I ran away to the shade of an apple tree back in Fairstep.


    Ealhstan boldted towards us and punched Blake, right on the stomach, the impact sending him high into the smoky sky and back onto the cloisters. He helped Wilbur up but backed away when I approached him. He was bloody and torn, and if I did not know him, it would look like he belonged in battle.


    This time, I approached Wilbur. The bruises on his neck were rapidly healing. He touched them gingerly and sucked in the night air. ¡°Blake. He said I prayed to him,¡± he choked.


    ¡°We all prayed to him,¡± Knox said. He looked at all of us. He seemed lost now that Blake had easily disposed of him. Good. Now he felt the sting. But he did not elaborate. ¡°We have to escape.¡±


    ¡°How? We¡¯re tied to him! We¡¯re trapped just as much as he is,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°The monastery,¡± I said. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s tied to the monastery himself.¡± I described the feeling of being anchored to the ground once he set dominion in the chapter house. And that I did not feel the pull as strong as them.


    Swithin growled. From far behind us. ¡°There is no escape, you fools.¡± It was Blake¡¯s voice from his mouth.


    It was at this moment when some remaining soldiers and villagers looting the premises ran from the cloisters. Swithin, controlled by Blake, hunted them down. He sped through us with so much speed that we all flew apart from each other, helpless to save the people from him. I lay on the ground, scraping my bare arms. I closed my eyes as I saw him rip a woman to shreds. The screams were horrendous, chilling my insides. I only opened them again when the last scream begged Swithin to spare his life, and then a curious whipping noise and a soft thud near me.


    I opened my eyes just in time to see a flaming arrow hit the ground. One arrow. Then another, and then several of them rained down all at once. Wilbur and Woodrow ran towards me, shouting my name, and shouting at everyone to take cover. Ealhstan grabbed Swithin aiming at the church door, but then paused, and instead threw him far in another direction, out into the fields, away from Saint Korbin monastery.

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 6)

    <div>


    The church itself remained intact, though the benches lay scattered and broken. The fire from the cloister garth hadn¡¯t touched the church yet, but the glow was spilling onto the floor. And then, we heard it, the sound of the horn and many hooves stomping the ground. I thought for a moment that reinforcements had come, as the message said, but the hooves stopped just outside the church doors.


    <div>


    ¡°And so am I.¡±

 Interlude

    <div>


    ¡°How could you?¡± The pained voice of a woman betrayed echoed in the blinding light. ¡°We were supposed to be better!¡±


    ¡°There is no defeating it, don¡¯t you understand that?¡± The prayer stopped abruptly, replaced by the angry voice of a man, deep and shouting over her. ¡°It will only grow stronger as we grow weaker and as our bones turn to ash.¡±


    ¡°But we can never grow old so long as it still roams,¡± another man said, calmer but pleading. Then there was a clash of metal against metal. ¡°We were meant to serve and fight!¡±


    ¡°I am done fighting! I am tired of serving!¡± More sword fighting. The angry man¡¯s voice sounded wounded. ¡°How many of our friends died? How can you keep fighting when the men and women that you¡¯ve shared meals with die right in front of your eyes?! I haven¡¯t even returned to my home to bury my own parents, my brothers and sisters! This is not a blessing, it¡¯s a curse! And I plan to end it.¡±


    ¡°By siding with the Chaos?¡± the woman screeched. The light pulsed and a wave of energy blew around. There was a sound of a great whoosh, like air and water combined, and then a splash that shook the light.


    ¡°By controlling it! Think! It can never truly end so long as there¡¯s harmony, so I¡¯m going to absorb it and use myself as a vessel. Absorb it into blessed flesh!¡±


    ¡°Oswald, please.¡± A gentler voice this time, A voice so familiar it almost felt like it could have come from my own throat. The light softened, and warmth echoed.


    There was nothing but silence, and then the man, Oswald, said firmly, ¡°Stand down.¡± Then the light turned sunset-red. ¡°I thought you were far away, by now, why did you come back, Gaelmar?¡±


    ¡°We can still make it together. It lies to you, Oswald. That¡¯s what the Chaos does. It lies and sucks on hope. It will twist you into its image until there is nothing left of you.¡±


    Then a feeling came, like a hand reaching out for friendship, a hand that could have shared your burdens if you only let it. But another feeling came: a rebuke of friendship.


    ¡°I am stronger than all of you. I can handle it. We¡¯re so near the end, I can feel it. Don¡¯t you want to go back home to your families¨Cto your wife, Edmund? Yours is the city that we¡¯ve been building for the people, the promised kingdom, people say.¡±


    ¡°My wife is very much capable of managing a kingdom. It seems my time as your companion isn¡¯t over yet. Listen to Gaelmar and cease.¡±


    ¡°I will not.¡±


    ¡°Then, so help me, Oswald.¡±


    Then a calm voice echoed and wrapped around the light. ¡°Esmond, Cerelia, stay far away.¡±


    ¡°What are you¡­ no! No, Gaelmar! Stop!¡±


    There were sounds of a scuffle, with a man and woman being hurried away. Their screams of protest grew distant. Gaelmar prayed calmly, while Edmund told him to stop. I heard him beg him and the sound of gagging and punching. But Gaelmar kept the prayer, whispering it over and over again. And then, a piercing sound, and a scream of pain.


    ¡°No¡­ no what have I done. I¨CI didn¡¯t do that! I didn¡¯t¨C! Gaelmar!¡±


    Gaelmar spoke with his last breaths. He had finished the prayer. ¡°I will keep you all in my heart.¡± The sound of weeping and of clothes being torn. ¡°I will be with you, brother. I will keep you close.¡±


    ___


    The light bursts brilliant white again, then fades away, reintroducing darkness. A darkness that seems all so familiar to me, too, a coldness colder than ice. It was quiet, sleeping, biding its time. Total darkness but for one soft light, shaped like a little seed setting on its belly.


    So close, it thought. Someone must awaken me. Then, a pain, a searing flashing pain through the darkness. Get out, you stain! Get out of me!


    But the seed of light did not leave.


    I felt time flowing through. Then a chanting, the one I¡¯ve chanted all this time, from out of the blackness. A crack of lightning and a landscape had formed from the darkness, like curtains parting. There was a cragged mountaintop, a storm howling overhead. In this storm was an old man who was raising both his hands.


    The darkness spoke to him.


    There are others. Desperate for their desires. Find them and include them in your fold. A churning happened, a sickening, painful churning, a splitting of souls. A howl of pain, like all the shadows of all the ancient boulders and trees collided with one another. Take this filth and carry him with you always. Use him to fuel the sacrifices. Do this until I am strong enough. And then, we shall create the world you envision.


    Then I felt power and prayers and other lives. I felt might. I felt dedication. I felt alchemy and hunting and greed. One by one they were introduced to the darkness, each with their own prayers, their own desperate pleas.


    Yes, they will do. Build the monasteries in honor of me, Abbott. Let the world know of my influence yet again. The time of Saints has gone. I will make sure that it will never return.


    But remember this warning.


    Until I am strong enough, do not cross Rothfield.


    <div>


    Do not bring that boy back to his birthplace.

 Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 7)

    My head pounded, voices and words receding, fading away into nothingness the tighter I held onto an obscure dream. I never dreamt. I only knew them from the countless stories children told before they were replaced by nightmares. When whatever dream I had completely slipped through my grasp, the pounding stopped.


    Immediately, I looked around for my brothers. Wilbur and Woodrow were a crumpled mess on the floor, still slumped in their respective corners. Knox was nowhere in sight; there was a space in the stone mound that buried him where his body should be.


    Slowly, they began to stir awake. It was still nighttime, the smoke going out the huge church doors. Wilbur and Woodrow mirrored each other; hands grasping hair, wincing. I helped Wilbur up, surprised that I could lift him. We stared at each other for a moment, helping his eyes focus on me. Then I dropped his hand and offered mine to Woodrow, who was sitting patiently.


    We all silently regarded each other.


    ¡°Well, shit,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Wilbur said.


    ¡°Hm,¡± I said.


    Their ears were pointed, their teeth sharp. Their nails were longer, sharper, and their skin paler than before. Their eyes glowed in the darkness. Woodrow¡¯s green eyes and Wilbur¡¯s hazel ones had a hint of red in them. The veins on my skin were evident, dark purple against the paleness. We all had dark shadows under our eyes that did not smudge away when we rubbed them.


    Ash blanketed the stone floors, stirred up by the wind. We were all touching our bodies and looked like we were about to retch. Blake was inside us, and we were not sure what that meant. Was he in our brains, in our hearts? Did he reside in our thoughts?


    ¡°I heard him,¡± I said.


    Woodrow and Wilbur looked at each other, nodded, confirming that they too heard Blake inside them.


    ¡°And I heard another voice.¡± I closed my eyes before losing consciousness. ¡°Different from Blake¡¯s. Male. Warm and¡­ oddly friendly.¡±


    Woodrow raised a brow. ¡°How many voices do you have in you? Is this something we should be worried about?¡±


    ¡°What did it say?¡± Wilbur was about to check my temperature. I saw his hand twitch.


    ¡°That he would always be here so long as Blake was.¡±


    ¡°How comforting,¡± Woodrow replied.


    ¡°No name? No other message?¡± Wilbur asked.


    ¡°I feel¡­ freer? I can¡¯t sense Blake¡¯s pull anywhere. Which is quite strange knowing full well that he¡¯s in all of us.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Wilbur¡¯s shoulders fell. His hands hovered over his chest. ¡°But not quite as tight as before. Not chained, more like a loose ribbon wrapped around.¡±


    ¡°Come to think of it¡­¡± Woodrow¡¯s hands hovered around his neck, too.


    I closed my eyes, and felt this gravity, this force, wrapped around my heart. I could almost touch it, like I could twist the thread they mentioned with my fingers, and pull.


    Wilbur and Woodrow¡¯s surprised grunts made me look up at them. They scuttered forward, arms outstretched as if they¡¯d just tripped.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± Woodrow asked.


    ¡°Nothing¡­¡± I released the sensation from my fingers. They stood back and arranged themselves. I explained to them what I felt. Woodrow scratched his head and Wilbur merely looked.


    ¡°So, we¡¯re tied to you now? Is that it?¡± He groaned, massaging his temples. He spun around and paced. ¡°My head is pounding and I¡¯m tired of thinking and wondering. From the way my head is getting stuffed with cotton, I¡¯d say we have about an hour until sunrise. How are the crypts? We should go there.¡±


    So we did. It remained mostly undamaged. Wilbur¡¯s equipment wasn¡¯t here. There was no lab, just an empty space of stone.


    ¡°All right¡­¡± Woodrow again started pacing around getting antsy, nodding to himself as he listed points. ¡°Thinking about our existence is a waste of time, because, where do we even begin? The only ones who know are deranged lunatics. One¡¯s away somewhere and one¡¯s a demon inside us, and I doubt any of them would be kind enough to shed some light on our past.


    ¡°How are we certain that we won¡¯t get possessed again.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t. That¡¯s another thing. But something about Ryne makes us calm. This opens up a ton of questions about why Blake kept him around."


    ¡°There¡¯s also the prayer that Knox wants me to recite.¡± I squirmed remembering it. ¡°Somehow it felt wrong. Like I was blaspheming instead of praising.¡±


    ¡°What prayer?¡±


    I sucked a breath and recited the words.


    Then it came; a dreadful feeling that was colder than ice. It was chilling the air, but suddenly, in a strike of ice to my gut, I felt oddly strong. Wilbur and Woodrow felt the same and both shushed me. Then what sounded like laughter in the darkness of the crypts, in the caverns of our minds. We hugged our arms.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never do that again,¡± I promised.


    Woodrow pondered over something. ¡°Wilbur, how many times have you remembered ever leaving the monasteries?¡± Wilbur was about to answer, but then, his lips just quivered, and looked at Woodrow helplessly. ¡°Me too. I¡¯ve never remembered. Except a feeling of ice kind of like that.¡±


    ¡°Each time we left, the world seemed to get worse.¡±


    Woodrow snapped his fingers. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Wilbur considered this. ¡°I wish I¡¯d spend more time outside the dungeons and infirmary. You¡¯re right, I didn¡¯t piece that together.


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    ¡°You were kept docile,¡± I said. ¡°Knox planned that. And he has the power to take away memories if he¡¯s strong enough.¡± I told them what happened to poor Ansel and his friends back at Hollowed Fairstep monastery. ¡°If not him, then Blake.¡±


    ¡°They were all using us. But what¡¯s so special about Knox?¡±


    ¡°He seemed more aligned with Blake¡¯s ideas. Knox seemed desperate about maintaining a new order and an ideal society where we could roam. But I think he also didn¡¯t know what was truly going on. Blake cast him aside, just like that, along with all of you. Maybe he was being used as well.¡± I don¡¯t know why I said this but, ¡°Maybe Knox was an outcast in his past life and wanted a society where he could be on top.¡±


    Wilbur and Woodrow considered this. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re too kind.¡±


    Woodrow breathed in. ¡°Yet another mysterious thing to add to the mystery box.¡± He shook his head. ¡°So¡­ cover¡¯s blown¡­ soldiers would probably track us down, but thankfully, none of the villagers apart from the ones we¡­¡± he did not finish the sentence, ¡°most of them don¡¯t know us. The survivors might, but I¡¯m not sure they¡¯d be willing to find or fight us again after Blake¡¯s whole flying-as-a-gigantic-demon-bat spectacle.¡±


    Wilbur and I listened to him rant. I had almost forgotten that he had a mind for strategy, and we liked how he condensed information regarding the outside world.


    ¡°They will most likely warn the nearby towns, along with that commander¡¯s words. Thankfully, we were kept scarce and trapped in our respective stations, and always had our hoods covering our faces. At least Knox did something right. But the commander himself saw us¡­ in a most barbaric manner. He will insist that there is a real threat to whoever is higher than him. One of those knights, I suppose. Then again, they¡¯re busy protecting the kingdoms, and everyone¡¯s out for themselves.¡±


    I remembered the elder¡¯s son charging his neighbor with the knife. I remembered that there were outlaws hiding about.


    ¡°They¡¯re probably off, treating the wounded and finding new settlements for survival. We should be safe for now and flee while they¡¯re busy,¡± Woodrow finished.


    ¡°Up north,¡± I said immediately. They looked at me. I did not know it myself, but it was as if the answer sprung from my lips. I went along with it. ¡°Maybe we should continue up North, far from here.


    ¡°Swithin did bring good news there. He said the air felt calmer where the mountains were. Maybe it¡¯s worth checking out. In any case, it¡¯s far far away from here, and their horses and men will have trouble climbing the path.¡±


    ¡°As for the sun¡­ then we¡¯ll just bury ourselves like we used to? Or should we¡­¡± Wilbur inclined his head in my direction. Oh. The coffins. They could make coffins and bury themselves deep in the earth every night as I sleep on top of their mounds in the mornings.


    We all agreed to it. It¡¯s a risky move, but better than staying here. After the planning wore off, we melted.


    ¡°It has been too long,¡± Wilbur said as he smoothed my hair. Woodrow approached, and then, as one, we hugged.


    I wish I could have hugged Ealhstan and Swithin. Wait. I concentrated again on the ribbon in my chest. Yes, I felt them! There were more threads than us three. Four... five¡­ six.


    I looked up at them. ¡°We¡¯re all alive.¡±


    ¡°Knox could be trouble,¡± Wilbur said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll avoid him. Can you sense the distance, Ryne?¡± Woodrow asked.


    I closed my eyes and nodded. Then another question. ¡°What about Ealhstan and Swithin?¡±


    ¡°I think that it¡¯s better for us to stay apart, Ryne. Blake¡¯s¡­ essence targeted Ealhstan and Swithin the most. And I have a theory that Ealhstan knew that Blake¡¯s power would be weakened if we split apart. That¡¯s why he threw Swithin away rather than back here with us. Our powers did come from Blake, after all.¡±


    ¡°But if reuniting is the way to keep him away, does that mean we will never get to see our brothers?¡± I did not like being apart from Ealhstan.


    We looked at each other. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ryne. But you can feel them, can¡¯t you? You can sense if they¡¯re fine and in trouble?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Then maybe for now, we stay away from each other until we figure out what¡­ what just happened. Our entire existence¡­ and we haven¡¯t seen each other for so long. Woodrow¡¯s right, it¡¯s too much to handle.¡± He breathed and hugged me. ¡°We must stay safe for now.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Woodrow suddenly said, stepping back. ¡°It had suddenly occurred to me, my dear chaps, that if we get there, what would we do? Matter of fact, as we get there, how will we sustain ourselves? How about Ryne?¡±


    It was a serious question. Uncomfortable as it made us all, we need to address it now.


    Wilbur asked, ¡°Can you still use your powers?¡±


    Woodrow sensed it within himself. ¡°I think so,¡±


    ¡°Good. I think I can use mine as well.¡± Wilbur looked at me, and I saw from his gaze that from here on out, I was included in their meetings. ¡°We¡¯ll scour the remains of Saint Korbin. Ryne, as we sleep, start making bread, then collect all that needs to be collected from each place. Start with the infirmary. There still may be bottles there. Seeds and ores.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing that you are never without your satchel,¡± Woodrow observed.


    Wilbur patted it, opened it up, and looked into its contents. He sighed appreciatively. ¡°I have the latest medicines here with me, along with some basic medicines as a precaution.¡± He gave me a summary of what he has been up to.


    He had invented a new medicine after the one from Fairstep.


    The one he named Kinbrow was a direct cure for the weird sickness that struck Joserson; that strong fever with black bruise-like marks on the skin. While Nest was for the loss of vital fluids in the system. They accompanied each other to heal and replenish. He showed me the bottles; one bright blue and one bright pink.


    ¡°Do they taste horrible?¡± I tapped them. ¡°How many of these did you make?¡±


    ¡°Three Kinbrow and one Nest.¡± Wilbur stowed them away. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that maybe we would encounter several households that need medical assistance. I can give them my wares as you charm them. If ever there are little ones, Ryne, it¡¯s up to you to distract them.¡±


    ¡°So back to the usual game, then?¡± Woodrow sighed. ¡°Fine, what better way is there?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an exchange that I do not take lightly. But, yes. What choice do we have? We have to feed lest we turn into ravenous beasts.¡± He winced as he touched his stomach. ¡°I feel the hunger now, to be honest. It¡¯s more insistent than before. Part of me thinks that we¡¯re fulfilling Blake¡¯s plan yet again.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not. We¡¯re just surviving. Like the rest of the people in this world,¡± I said.


    Woodrow made a mocking surprised face. Then, both of them yawned. They looked at me. I nodded. It won¡¯t be long until they collapse onto the stone floor.


    Wilbur blinked and reached for my hands. ¡°I know we have a lot to process, but how do you feel that you witnessed what happened?¡±


    I blinked back. I knew what he was referring to. ¡°Fine. It¡­ It¡¯s fine. You weren¡¯t in control, and you¡¯ve already prepared me for what a body looks like dissected. It¡­ I don¡¯t think it has affected me as much. Either that¡¯s a problem in itself¡­ who knows? I¡¯m just shocked or I¡¯m actually just old and I can handle it. Or something in me is protecting me from the full impact of what I saw.¡± I looked at Woodrow. ¡°You don¡¯t need to hide it from me.¡±


    Wilbur sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ryne. We should have told you before, but, I was scared, and I didn¡¯t know that it would ever lead to this. I would never have imagined that this is what would happen to us.¡± He made to retch, reeling against the oath to not harm anyone, fill him with darkness. Woodrow soothed his back. ¡°All those people¡­ I healed some of them.¡±


    ¡°It was a cruel thing Blake did. To hurt all of us. Move on, Wilbur. It will only get worse for you if you carry this. It is not our fault, yet we need to survive.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°So, is that what all the bloodletting and feeding was all about?¡± I knew, but wanted a confirmation.


    ¡°We can¡¯t use our powers properly without feeding first. We tried not using it at all, but then we just wilted and starved and turned into a frenzied state. If famished, we would enter a bloodlust state where we forget friends from foes. I do not even remember what truly happened, All I knew was,¡± he winced, ¡° was life dripping into me, sweet nectar flowing into me. It¡¯s better if we feed slowly than not feed at all.¡±


    Then they both yawned deeply, their eyes getting hazy. Wilbur whispered my name, and then he lay down, their arms protecting their chests.

 TRMORM Chapter 4 - Knox (Saint Korbin Monastery) (Part 8 - END)

    A thought occurred to me; maybe it would be an added protection if they slept in their own coffins once we found our new homes, and stowed away somewhere. Whether that was deep in the ground or under locked spaces like these. Places where people would not disturb.


    I left them, bracing myself against the remnants of my brothers¡¯ frenzy from last night. I kept my head down and walked slowly across the rubble, through the smoke. The layout was more or less the same in each monastery, so I knew where the infirmary and kitchens were. The problem was avoiding the torn bodies. When I saw limbs starting to enter my field of vision, I stepped aside, crossing over other stones and fallen pillars until I reached the kitchen doors.


    There was nothing there. Tables and wooden bowls lay splintered across the floor. The walls and floors were streaked with flour and something foul and decaying, along with scattered grains and bloodied whole oats.


    The infirmary did not fare better. All the mattresses were gone, if not torn. But there was no blood here, at least. The doors to WIlbur¡¯s office remained barred. There were attempts to break through it; signs of splintered wood where a weapon was used, but they ultimately gave up. Maybe that was when the fire started. When we¡­


    No. Push the thought aside.


    I fumbled with the lock until the door clicked. I breathed a sigh of relief to see the whole place intact. There on the table were his equipment; old rusted scales, empty glass vials, wooden bowls, and some flowers and ores inside jars. It was not much, and I knew that these were the more common ones, but it¡¯s better than nothing.


    It was when I saw my tower, still standing, that it hit me. I save up some coins myself up there.


    I stowed Wilbur¡¯s ingredients near him and hurriedly climbed the stairs to my tower. I searched under the blankets of my coffin and found the purse that I¡¯d been keeping my coins in. My clammy fingers untied the knot and counted the coins falling onto my palm. Five hundred coppers.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I knew from Knox¡¯s itinerary that this was a week¡¯s worth of pottage for a week if I ate three meals a day, but could be stretched out to a month if I rationed. Or if we can find food on the road.


    Pocketing this small treasure, I scoured for more things I could take from this place. The books I left, except for the real scriptures of the saints. I did not know why it only took me this long to be curious enough, but I leafed through the publication date and version of this book. It was the fourth version and was published the year we were at Trushire.


    Knox told me once of a rumor that the Saint-Kings either approved or denied revisions to the original texts of the scriptures¨Cthe recordings of his ancestor King Edmund himself. He told me that each Saint-King had their own agenda in choosing which passage in that scripture was tweaked. I closed the book, pondering if I should take it with me. I held it in my hand when I walked out of that tower.


    ___


    When Wilbur and Woodrow woke up, I told them what I saw. They were disheartened that there was not any food left in the kitchens but were glad that at least some remaining ingredients survived. I showed them the money I had and agreed that we should save it until we reached our destination. There was one thing that we had to do before we set out, however.


    ¡°We should bury them properly,¡± I said. ¡°They do not deserve to be laid out like that. For the crows and maggots to eat.¡±


    Woodrow said nothing. Wilbur nodded. ¡°Let us give them decent rest.¡±


    To our surprise, digging with their bare hands was easy. Their fingers clawed through the earth of the granges like it was nothing but soft sand and not long after, had dug graves for each of the corpses lying about. When it was time to drag the bodies onto the graves, Woodrow told me to wait in the crypts. I heard the soft thuds and soil burying the bodies while I was there.


    ¡°Ryne, it¡¯s time to go,¡± Wilbur called me not long after.


    We stood there on the granges, observing the freshly made mounds. I felt like we should say something, and something inside me wanted me to speak.


    I stepped forward and said, ¡°We¡¯re so sorry. You did not deserve what happened to you.¡± I was about to turn away when more words spilled from my mouth. ¡°I¡¯m going to do my best to keep this from happening. May you forgive us, and may you find rest in the Great Beyond.¡±


    There was silence. Then Wilbur and Woodrow both placed one hand on each of my shoulders and pulled me through the walls of Saint Korbin and out into the world.

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 1)

    ---Ryne---


    My back ached as I helped my brothers dig their graves on the lowest slope of a hill. Woodrow had already scouted ahead under the cover of twilight, making sure that Rothfield was far beyond. They conversed under the blanket of a still night, the moon and stars faintly lighting the world below. Occasionally, a gust of cold wind blew through us, sending the edges of our robes flapping.


    ¡°We¡¯re safe,¡± Woodrow huffed, scooping up coarse earth and throwing it over his shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s a farm nearby, though.¡±


    ¡°How are the crops?¡± Wilbur asked immediately. Failing crops meant poor harvests, which also meant sick and hungry townspeople. Another sign of restlessness that we should be wary of.


    Woodrow shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t get a closer look, but I¡¯d say not healthy. The wheat looked dry. The oats and barley look brittle and drooping. Animals seem fine, though. Sheep grazing in this meadow near us. Some pigs and hens. I didn¡¯t see anyone, but there was a faint light from further ahead. With that wide space, there¡¯s probably a family of farmers there.¡±


    He heaved larger stones away from his side of the mound, the smell of undergrowth thicker now in the air as he proceeded to claw the earth with his bare hands.


    ¡°Are you strong enough to charm them?¡± Wilbur asked. He too used his hands as he dug. He was slower than Woodrow, his pit smaller, but he stopped now to check if the hollow was deep enough. His concern was for me. He wondered if I had the strength enough to let them outcome the next evening.


    Their coffins were laid on the slope of the mound we were digging on. I was near Wilbur¡¯s coffin, making sure that no dirt went inside the closed lid. We stole it from a gravedigger who had died on the road. Woodrow spotted him ahead, face-planted on the ground. We dug him with his own shovel at the edge of a forest, just under the cover of trees.


    The coffins were made of thick hardwood from some ancient oak tree, but through many moons have collected scratches and stains. It could still hold him inside, but I often wondered for how long. Unlike my more capable brothers, my bare hands were not built for digging into the earth. I shoveled mounds and would cover them both once they were underground.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right. You can dig deeper, I can handle it,¡± I assured him. Wilbur looked at me softly, his eyes scrutinizing my small frame and my thin limbs. I gripped the shovel in my hand and nodded, urging him to continue.


    They needed to be low on the ground and rest undisturbed. The plan was to let them rest for a full night before we went to where we were supposed to go, wherever that was. I touched my heart; the calling was still there. My heartbeat was slow, but strong, anxious but sure of the path. Sometimes, now that I dreamt, I heard words of encouragement, as if my own heart was speaking to me. Be steadfast. We are almost there. You have done well. Onward.


    But my brothers come first. They need to sleep.


    We¡¯ve been traveling for months, passing small villages in the cover of darkness. Thankfully, hiding in the shadows did not cost any of my brothers their powers. It was a natural ability we were all given, like our eternal youth. The first village we saw had wooden borders, sharpened like large stakes. Some men were stationed at the entrance carrying simple bows and arrows. We heard them as we hid in the thick trees nearby; the survivors of Saint Korbin had already warned them about the nightmare that happened. But they had nowhere else to go and no kingdom to receive them, so they just added whatever defenses were available to them.


    It wasn¡¯t until the fifth village that people were more receptive to travelers. We spotted people out in the fields harvesting or picking flowers. Wilbur traded his skills and his medicines for accommodations in a small inn.


    I stretched on the mattress on the floor, my legs singing with delight to lay on soft fur. When food was taken to our room, I was grateful for each bite, though I missed the flavor of Wilbur¡¯s herbs. There weren¡¯t even bits of meat on it, only bits of vegetables floating on the top. When I looked outside the window, I noticed that all the children were thin. Then, when the night came and the young ones were put to bed, Woodrow charmed the healthiest villagers for him and Wilbur to feed on. I stood watch just in case they couldn¡¯t control themselves.


    We did this all the way through marshes and hills and mounds. I buried them as soon as one of them yawned, sleeping in their coffins as I slept nearby. I would help them emerge from the ground and Wilbur would carry me on his back when it was my turn to sleep. We never went into towns, only villages. If any of them needed our help, we would stay and we would feed them. If weeks passed without any villages, then my brothers hunted in deep forests for me; usually rabbits and pheasants, cooked over a fire.


    Finally, when the air grew cold and fresh, I knew that we were near.


    I just woke up from my slumber feeling refreshed, and a pleasant burning lingered in my chest. Wilbur and Woodrow noticed, not even questioning that I was leading the path forwards without any map. We walked until we saw the mountains, and walked further still until we saw from atop this view, a grand town. To its right was a curious set of thick dark trees, darker than any forest I¡¯ve seen, and to its left was a wide landscape that seemed to stretch forever. That was probably the main road leading to other villages and kingdoms.


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    My brothers were awed by the view, and I knew we were all thinking the same thing: whatever horror that has happened, it hasn¡¯t reached this place. Yet. And so we sped off, eager to see what Rothfield had in store for us, and, deep inside me, thought about what we could do for Rothfield.


    ___


    ¡°We should avoid the farm. We haven¡¯t entered any towns before. I¡¯m not sure if they¡¯ve been warned about what happened back at Saint Korbin,¡± Wilbur insisted. He smiled at me and thanked me for helping. ¡°I think this is deep enough.¡±


    Woodrow stretched, cat-like and graceful. He yawned and looked at the inky black sky. No hint of morning was there yet, no call of dawn from roosters, but dawn was coming. ¡°Are you sure? They may need help.¡±


    For a moment, Wilbur considered it. He touched his satchel around his waist, always a part of him, like some additional limb. There were still bottles of medicines clinking softly inside. His hand hovered for a moment, fingers twitching, before he secured his satchel.


    I can see Wilbur strain against practicality and morals. Another burst of cold wind barreled towards us. Our cowls flapped away from us.


    Woodrow shrugged. With a flourish, he winked at both of us, kicked his coffin to the dirt where it landed with a soft thud, and bowed. ¡°Well, gentlemen, it¡¯s been a long night.¡± And he fell backward to the ground. There was a final sound of a wooden lid opening and closing.


    ¡°Will you be all right? You know to run when the people appear, yes?¡± Wilbur was firm.


    He had made me promise to flee if townspeople or outlaws grew wary of a little monk child guarding over a freshly made mound. I only nodded to placate him, but I would never abandon them. They¡¯re all that I have left. They¡¯re all that I know.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help dig you out once it¡¯s nighttime.¡±


    Wilbur nodded. We pushed his coffin down the hole where it slid gently to the ground. We shoveled back earth to Woodrow¡¯s coffin first before he looked at me, face serious. He always hated this part, sleeping in his coffin as he left me to an uncaring and superstitious world.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I reassured him.


    He held my gaze, and nodded firmly. Dark shadows were under his eyes. He slid down to his coffin, and lay at its center, his bottles always with him, clinking softly inside his satchel. He closed the lid and I shoveled.


    My arms ached, my knees wobbled underneath my robes. Finally, I patted the mound as if I just planted a root plant and cast the shovel aside. I did not notice that there was an apple tree farther up the mound where I buried my brothers. I climbed up towards it and slumped against its bark. It was my turn to nap.


    The nearby mountains breathed the deathly chill of early autumn. There, in the distance, was the first crow, the first sound of morning, a tinge of normalcy in a world that was snapping. News of odd snow had already covered some of the saint-king¡¯s realm. Weird frigid snow that snaps the life of every noble, knight, and peasant. Snuffing their lives out. Creeping snow even to lands where snow has never fallen before. It will come to this town, too.


    I sighed. What a curse it was to never change, to be weak and fragile and dependent on others for the rest of my nights.


    ---Claude---


    ¡°I can offer you this much, and no more,¡± Gabriella said as she handed me tiny feverflukes pressed upon the clean napkin I handed her earlier.


    They have begun to lose their color, and these flowers are widely known to lessen fever. I remembered them being bright yellow and orange, with soft powdery black seeds at their center. I remembered them growing nearby, brightening the fields and hitting my eyes like the flare of warm sun in the afternoon. And when it was sunset and the winds swept through, it felt like a pleasant sea of flame.


    My mother had sent me here inside the town proper of Rothfield to her friend, Gabriella. They grew up together in this very same place back when Rothfield was still turning into a town. I¡¯ve seen her many times when she would visit our farm, back when days were warm and good. Back when neighbors were kinder. Ma and her traded gifts. Gabriella was known as a lover of flowers and so had kept a tiny garden connected to their cottage. They looked so vibrant then. Now she looked old and withdrawn.


    ¡°I¡±m sorry Claude. I am truly sorry.¡± Gabriella¡¯s eyes were downcast. She looked apologetic. Her hands touched the hem of her blouse. She tucked loose strands of hair back onto her coif, the cap worn by some wives and workers.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said quickly and removed my own hat. ¡°This is more than enough.¡±


    Her sad eyes met mine. She knew it was a lie. ¡°If only I could spare some, but you see¡­¡± she pointed back to her miniature garden, a spit of land not much larger than a cow.


    The flowers and herbs there have dried, starved of sunlight and fresh water. These would be the last things that would grow in her garden, I thought. Just as the wheat on our farm would be our last harvest. The flowers looked like her, the petals drooping, their once bright faces downcast.


    ¡°You should preserve them all now while they¡¯re still in that state.¡± Then I recited a prayer I heard once. ¡°Let all sickness not enter your doors, let it not seep through your windows.¡±


    She looked at her garden. She nodded. ¡°Tonight. I¡¯ll press and store them.¡± Inside, her young children were arranging the table for supper. Her husband was with them. When he saw me, he coughed to catch Gabriella¡¯s attention. She waved a hand at him. ¡°How is Annette?¡±


    I wanted to be honest. ¡°Not well.¡± I placed the napkin inside my tunic to protect it from any sudden gusts of wind. ¡°But these will help.¡± I thanked her again just as her husband took her arm and pulled her inside, closing the doors and windows.


    Then another door closed from one of the houses. Then another, and another until most of the cottages and huts here in Rothfield shut themselves off for the night. I pressed the napkin further into the pockets of my tunic and headed home.

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 2)

    ---CLAUDE---


    The air was still in my house but the walls seemed to stretch. But there was a pleasant flavor wafting near the fireplace in the kitchen. I peeked and saw onion soup bubbling in cream. There were even bits of meat in there.


    I found my mother where she always was now. On the bedside near my sister¡¯s pale and burning body.


    It hurt to look, yet I was comforted that Annette was still breathing. She was still with us. Even though the sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead and cheeks, even though the pink of her cheeks and lips had been taken by this sickness, even though her eyes strained to flutter open, she was still fighting.


    ¡°My brave girl,¡± my mother whispered. ¡°My sweet brave Annette, won¡¯t you hold on for me?¡± She wiped the sweat off her face with a towel and applied warm water to her arms and chest.


    I stood on the doorframe of her room. She hadn¡¯t noticed me yet, and I wanted her to finish caring for Annette before I disturbed her. When I knocked, she turned to me, eyes hopeful.


    I shook my head and showed her the napkin with the dried flowers. ¡°This was the last she gave me. They all needed remedies for themselves.¡±


    She nodded and smiled. She stood and kissed the napkin with the flowers, and then kissed my cheek. I felt her heart sink through her smile. Still, she said cheerfully, ¡°My good friend, Gabriella. I should send her some loaves if we can bake them.¡±


    My mother hurried to our kitchen downstairs where she would add the flowers to boiling water. I walked closer to Annette, her chest heaving with an unnatural sound. It was like a cat¡¯s purr deep in her back and belly. I imagined this sickness clawing at her lungs and fur tickling her throat so that she would cough. The flowers would not be enough.


    ¡°She told me to be brave too, you know,¡± I whispered to her. Ma forbade me to touch her for fear that the sickness might latch onto me. If all her prayers failed, she meant for me to inherit the responsibility of caring for this land under lord Bahram and his bully of a son, Harlan Bahram. ¡°Every day, my bravery seems to slip by. May I borrow yours?¡±


    I wanted to kiss her soft cheeks, and so hovered there for a while. When I heard Ma returning upstairs, I went back to the doorframe.


    ¡°She gripped my hand when I was sleeping,¡± my mother told me as she spoonfed Annette some soup. ¡°I could be imagining it, but it made me remember the nights when she waddled into my room and gripped my hand to wake me.¡±


    The bowl was barely half full. Every day, Annette had less of an appetite. I hoped that she could finish this one. It was then I saw yellow petals floating on top that I realized I was wrong; she didn¡¯t add it to boiling water. She added it to supper.


    Ma knew that the herbal remedy would not even be close to effective with so few petals, so she just added it to the soup for us three. Perhaps she hoped we would build resistance to the fever.


    I felt hot around my eyes. I excused myself and headed out of our farmhouse. I needed something to do. I hated feeling powerless. I stomped on my boots and walked on the empty field, looking at the dry wheat whipping in the wind. The light was low on the horizon, clouds rumbled above. Rain would be good, but with this weather, I just hope the crops won¡¯t drown.


    There were buckets nearby for collecting milk. I placed them just outside the porch for collecting and storing rainwater. And then, without a thought, I walked through the brittle harvest. The wheat scratched my skin and face, almost biting me. They used to be soft and ticklish, you could almost taste the good harvest. I timed my frustration just right, bellowing as a loud thunder boomed.


    I let the field consume me, wishing that I could become one of them. Or the grass from the meadows beyond. Emotionless. Far away from here. Content to sway with the breeze. Sleeping under a blanket of snow. Anything but hopelessness and helplessness. Anything but looking at Annette¡¯s sickly pallor and hearing her coughs and my mother¡¯s weeping.


    I wondered how my brothers were doing. What could they have done? How are they now being trapped in separate walled cities, unable even to make contact with each other? I looked to the clouds for answers, and as another wind swept the land, I thought for a moment I heard my father¡¯s voice.


    The feverflukes.


    There could be yet flowers like them on the outskirts of Rothfield! I stood up, the idea giving me a sudden surge of strength and what felt like a spark of something bright in my heart. I grabbed my jacket from where I left it on the porch, hands grabbing anything that made sense as I thought of a plan.


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    Lord Bahram forbade all of the townspeople to go outside the Rothfield borders: this farm being one of them. Night guards patrolled these areas, but there wasn¡¯t anyone assigned to this part yet. I could go out now and be back before anyone notices.


    But then there were other dangers beyond. Outlaws and thieves, common people and farm folk like myself who once had homes and families but now scoured the land hunting, looting, and killing for food.


    Ma begged me to not step a foot outside the farm for fear that whatever sickness struck my sister would strike me too.


    Then there was the chance that there would be no more wildflowers in the meadows, and I put myself in danger for nothing.


    I shook my head. It doesn¡¯t matter, I have to take the risk. Even when there was no reward waiting for me. At least I did something before Rothfield would be ravaged by something worse before it closed itself off.


    I passed the fields of wheat, rye, oats, and barley on my left, passed the farm buildings and animal shelters on my right; ducks, pigs, goats, and of course, sheep made sounds after me. It was only then, that I felt and saw what was on my hand: my staff. I grimaced. They must have thought that I would let them out. I hurried off towards the fence as some of them squealed and snorted and bleated. Then, when I turned around to check if my mother spotted me outside the cottage, I saw a thick white cloud bobbing fast towards me on the path.


    ¡°No! Go, shoo, home!¡± I said, voice barely above a whisper. I raised my staff and pretended to hit her. ¡°Home with you now!¡±


    But this sheep knew I would never harm her. She bobbed steadily towards me, sliding and settling herself between my legs. I looked down at her and sighed.


    Belle was her name, and she had a limp when she was born. One of her legs was shorter than the others. I knew that she would be bullied by the rest if she did not grow strong, so we kept her in a separate makeshift wooden pen. Ma, Annette, and I took turns caring for her. When we let the whole sheep out to graze, I softly nudged away the ones that nipped at her legs and ears until they knew well enough not to bother her. Ever since then, Belle was closer to us, and we were closer to her than the rest of the flock.


    I nudged her with my leg one last time to make her go home, but she wouldn¡¯t budge, so I looked at her soft beady eyes, and said, ¡°Fine, then. I suppose you can come in handy.¡± I raised my staff and poked the ground with each step, her head bobbing and shaking as she followed me. She was a classic Petalfolk sheep, a breed of sheep useful in finding medicinal flowers.


    Back when feverflukes sprouted everywhere, we would just let them snack on those flowers along with their main diet of grass. Now people began using them like pigs sniffing for truffles.


    The animals weighed heavy on my heart, too. If we closed off and couldn¡¯t pay our taxes, if the food was short, the animals could all be slaughtered and their meat preserved. They would likely be taken to a more high-ranking noble as payment to absorb little Rothfield into its fold and prolong days of survival. The high walls would be built to protect the townsfolk, hoping to shut themselves off from sickness and war. Half of the preserved meat will go to the noble families and half of it will go to the common people as we endure.


    And if the food ran out¡­ well, I heard that one walled city had already fallen on the inside when all the peasants and lower-ranking knights revolted and stormed the castle, killing the entire noble family for mismanagement of food.


    I hope it scared people like Bahram. At first, we thought that meant the lords would learn a lesson to not abuse their power. But of course, their kind only knew to preserve themselves further. Once word reached the golden families that desperate, hungry people could topple them, they only employed more knights and raised inner brick walls that divided them from the populace.


    ---RYNE---


    ¡°What a brilliant blood-red sky!¡± Woodrow yawned, stretching his hands out to the air. He dusted himself off, specks and patches of earth scattered easily to the ground. Even deep earth rejected us.


    It had rained. I had to take shelter under the apple tree while I waited for twilight. One moment it was gloomy and cold, then when the lightning tore through the clouds and released the torrent, the sky thinned enough to cast a shade of deep red.


    If the clouds were thick enough, sometimes twilight was safe for my brothers to emerge. They woke early tonight. Once I heard the knocks and soft digging from underground, I shoveled them out, thankful that the rain made the earth soft.


    Once I finished helping Wilbur up, Woodrow pointed to the coffins. ¡°Should we carry those now, or¡­¡±


    ¡°Quiet, I hear something.¡± Wilbur held out a hand.


    In the distance, there was a bleating. A sheep. We hid behind the apple tree, Woodrow climbing to the top. A shadow emerged from the distance, holding a staff in the air. Indistinct murmurs followed, too high to be an adult man. When he came closer to the meadows, we saw that he was a boy. Small but firm, he guided the sheep and let it graze on the dried grassland.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Woodrow whispered. ¡°Why on earth would he let out a sheep at this hour? Is he mad? Can the sickness turn people mad?¡± Woodrow arched back to ask Wilbur, but the branch he was sitting on was soft and rustled the leaves. The sheep¡¯s ears caught the noise and it slowly walked towards us, sniffing the air.


    ¡°Woodrow, shut up,¡± Wilbur and I both mouthed.


    The sheep continued on its way, eyes alert to the tree. Slowly inching towards us. The boy followed, looked at the tree atop the mound, and whistled. The sheep turned back and bleated once more, and gaily hopped onto the main grassy areas out of the main dirt path.


    Wilbur whispered close to my ear. ¡°It¡¯s a petalfolk sheep. He¡¯s searching for feverfluke flowers in the field.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s dangerous,¡± I said.


    ¡°He¡¯s risking it,¡± Wilbur answered.

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 3)

    ---RYNE---


    The sheep hopped around the meadow, trying to sniff out the flower. I noticed it walked awkwardly; a clear sign it had a limp or malformation. Her fleece disappeared in parts of the meadow where there were tall blades of grass and reappeared where it was shorter. It hopped frantically like dogs sniffing scraps of meat. Then on a patch of grass near us, she stooped low and considered. Then, she called for her master.


    The boy ran towards her and patted her head, slowly circling around the area, parting the short grass with his staff, and knelt. He shot up, whooping, holding the sheep up in the air, and cradling the animal close to his chest.


    ¡°Good work, Belle! Good work!¡±


    For some strange reason, I was glad for the boy. It was such a rare sight to see true happiness in someone¡¯s face. As he twirled the sheep in the air, laughing, I heard relief mixed in with his joy. It was the way his breath caught after each laugh. Once he was done, the boy bent down again and carefully picked a flower. I saw in the dying light the familiar yellow-orange color, the purple-red sky giving it a cool hue.


    The sheep, Belle, having been praised, leaped around the boy and started searching for more in the meadow. She came closer to the mound.


    ¡°I should have brought a torch,¡± the boy said as she followed Belle.


    My eyes darted to the bottom of the mound. Since we traveled at night and my brothers were occupied with carrying their coffins behind their backs, we did not see the surrounding areas of the slope.


    There was a decent growth of feverflukes on one spot directly below the tree.


    ¡°This might be a problem,¡± Woodrow said, knowing he can¡¯t charm him.


    The sheep bleated for her master again, and with her teeth, plucked one from the ground. It was a decent size. A strong gust of wind snatched it from her mouth and blew that freshly picked flower towards us. Without thinking, I stepped on it to keep it from getting blown further. We were caught, anyway. The boy and sheep stopped a few distances from the feverflukes, his staff raised awkwardly in the air. Our robes flapped behind us.


    We revealed ourselves fully, me first, and then Wilbur. The boy whistled to the sheep and she scuttled back to his side. We were just thankful his companion wasn¡¯t a dog. Dogs hated us. Which was a shame, because I liked them. I valued their loyalty. It was a wish of mine to touch one.


    We regarded each other, eyes wide and wary. He might have run then or questioned us or fought. But he looked at our monastic robes and his brows met. Wilbur wanted to meet him down the mound, but I tugged on his sleeve. I shook my head. Wilbur was lanky and the boy might be scared. Woodrow was still hidden in the leaves, the darkness concealing his bright features. His red hair was hidden under his hood.


    I showed the flower to him, my hand raised high, as a sign of good gesture before I made my way down. I made sure that my hood hid my appearance as I walked slowly towards him, not speaking a word. When I was close enough, I offered him the flower. I was afraid of what he might do, but the arm that gripped the staff relaxed and with his other free hand, made to grab it. I thought to drop it onto his open palm so that we would not touch, but two fingers closed around the stem of the flower, one warm finger on mine.


    I tried not to startle. Then he let go, hand empty of the flower.


    ¡°Keep it,¡± he said. ¡°It might come in handy.¡±


    The strong voice did not suit the small boy. The grass rustled all around us, waiting for my response. He did not call his friends hiding in the nearby landscape like my mind told me. He simply stood and stared right back. At least, I think he did. His thick, curly dark hair hid his face like my cloak concealed my veins. The staff, I now saw clearly, was almost his size. He struck the soft ground with it, causing the sheep to hide, peering cautiously between the gaps of his legs.


    A confirmation. A shepherd boy. A farmer.


    A softer breeze passed through the branches of the apple tree, knocking a single apple, which thudded from up on the mound and rolled close to my feet. The sheep sprung from her position. She moved through the boy¡¯s legs and sniffed the air. I picked the fruit, showed the red skin to the curious animal, and kneeled down. Belle was not shy. She bit hard into its core. The sound was delicious in the air. I almost tasted its juice.


    ¡°That would be your supper,¡± he told the sheep. Back to me, he asked, ¡°Do you need help?¡±


    We must be a strange sight. The wind had made his curls fall over his face. From behind those dark locks must be eyes that darted quickly, confused as to why two grown monks appeared out of nowhere with their young acolyte. I shook my head and did not reply, only insisting that he take the flower. My voice was soft, my palms had begun to sweat. ¡°It was you who found it.¡±


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    He did not know that we carried a more potent version of the flower as a syrup in Wilbur¡¯s satchel. We needed to extract plenty of them to get the nectar and powderize the petals for one bottle. By themselves, five to fifteen feverfluke flowers may reduce fever for a few hours. But using alchemy, Wilbur can cure it in a night or two.


    I motioned the flower back to him again. ¡°You¡¯re very brave to wander alone on these paths this late when danger could be anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I could say the same to you lot. Pardon me, but¨C¡±


    The wind once more picked up; a powerful gust that lifted the dark locks covering his eyes. His eyes were as dark as his hair, like the color of rich earth. Long lashes framed them and upwards still were thick brows. Those eyes widened in surprise. I saw his lips part. I felt my own hair free in the breeze; the one that blew away my cowl.


    The boy saw my veined face.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± Wilbur caught my shoulder. Woodrow dropped from the tree and hurried to me, stopping a few steps behind Wilbur. The boy blinked at him before returning his gaze to me. He composed himself; closed the parted lips, turned around, and ran to retrieve the hood lying pathetically on the ground some distance away. His reaction was to be expected. Still, I felt light-headed.


    In all my years of protecting my identity, I never thought that a stray wind would reveal our well-kept secret in front of the first villager we met on the road. Wilbur¡¯s hand shook. I can feel them look at each other, then at the boy. I was thankful that he had the good sense to walk away. Wilbur¡¯s hand was already rummaging in his satchel.


    He had seen my face. My face. My hands flew to my cheeks when the boy returned. I closed my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not a sickness. You are fine, you won¡¯t ever catch it.¡± I repeated the lines that I hoped would reassure him.


    ¡°My name is Claude,¡± the boy said, handing me back my hood.


    I immediately wore it and tied the string to the rest of my robes so that it wouldn¡¯t fly off. His eyes were staring at the ground, but as I fixed the knots, I saw them dart towards me. His mind must definitely be racing now. For a fraction of a moment, he was surprised, but he kept it from growing into terror, which is much more than I can say for most grown men and women. I realized then that his gestures afterward were not unlike my own. He was trying to be polite.


    As I secured the last knot, I thought, would he have been kinder even if I wasn¡¯t a disguised monk? Would he treat me the same if I were nothing but a commoner?


    He placed his hand on his chest. ¡°I won¡¯t do you any harm.¡± How odd and how comforting that he said it. ¡°May I say the same thing for you three? You won¡¯t hurt me?¡± His long lashes swept us all.


    It was Wilbur who spoke, almost like an oath. ¡°We are but traveling monks, off to find their next home. We will leave these premises without taking anything.¡± I thought to myself: and without harming anyone. I did not notice that I was still holding onto the flower when Wilbur took it from my hand and turned it around in the purple light. He said to Claude, ¡°You would venture in the middle of the rain to collect so few?¡±


    ¡°I would,¡± Claude said firmly. He picked the remaining flowers on the mound and tucked them into his tunic. He looked at me. ¡°It¡¯s for my sister. She¡¯s sick.¡±


    Wilbur looked down. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. How bad is it?¡±


    Claude shook his head. ¡°Worse than it was four days ago. She was playing just outside the fields, then that very same night she had no appetite for food, and then the next morning we couldn¡¯t rouse her from bed. Her fever rose. She lost most of her strength. She does nothing but sleep.¡±


    Wilbur and I grimaced, though we were careful not to show Claude that. We knew the symptoms of a death-chill. And this sounded like it was in its most critical condition. I saw in Wilbur¡¯s face that he was conflicted; torn between being discreet and curing an innocent child, especially when the miraculous bottle was just on his person.


    ¡°You came in just the right time, by the way." Claude gestured behind him. "Rothfield has signs of closing itself. Times being as they are, people seem to shut themselves inside.¡± Wilbur sighed softly. If the town was closing down, we might as well heal the child. He looked thankful that the circumstance made his choice for him. ¡°Where are you all headed? The road isn¡¯t safe out there,¡± he asked.


    It was Woodrow who spoke next. He had come down to join us when Claude went to retrieve my cowl. ¡°We were attacked and forced out of our monastery. Rogues or bandits we do not know for certain. But we managed to escape, us three.¡± Our clothes matched his story. Torn on the edges with loose dirt. For effect, Woodrow came close to me and patted my hair. ¡°We would never forgive ourselves if they caught little Ryne here. He was born this way, you see," Woodrow gestured to the markings on my face, "but the crazed men would sooner end him than listen to us explain.¡±


    Claude winced. ¡°I am sorry to hear that. To attack monks in their own homes.. was there no protection? No lord you can seek sanctuary with?¡±


    Woodrow shook his head. ¡°Sadly, no one knows our brotherhood. We were just starting to settle in a deep forest far in the south. It was our mistake, to let them inside our walls. They pretended to seek aid. During the night, when we were praying, they attacked us.¡±


    Claude frowned. ¡°I am sorry that your kindness has been your undoing.¡±


    ¡°We would still do it,¡± I said. Even though it was just a story, I couldn¡¯t resist sharing what I felt about certain things. ¡°We just have to be more careful.¡±


    Claude looked at me, and I thought a smile hinted on his lips. He patted Belle¡¯s head, unsure of what to say and do next. ¡°So you ended up here,¡± he finally said. ¡°Maybe you can talk to Lord Bahram about your plight. He¡¯s the lord reigning over Rothfield. Though seeking him would be difficult. He seems to be locked up in his manor house these recent days.¡± He smiled humorlessly. ¡°But if not him, maybe the other lords far ahead. I heard there are still lords who want the clergy within the walls. They seem to want the Saint¡¯s protection from the people who preach their stories.¡±


    There was an edge to his tone, I noticed. He twirled his staff, his brows motioned to the sky. ¡°As of now, maybe you could come with me, brothers. It¡¯s getting dark. Let me take you to our humble house for the night.¡± When he saw my surprise, he added, ¡°My mother would never forgive me if I set you on your way alone in a new place.¡±

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 4)

    ---RYNE---


    ¡°We thank you,¡± I said after a long pause.


    He nodded and whistled for Belle. ¡°This way, quick, before the light completely leaves the sky,¡± Claude said.


    We moved, us three monks with our long robes dragging behind us following the young farm boy and his fluffy sheep. Claude turned to me and slowed his pace so that we walked side by side, our arms almost brushing against each other. I noticed we were about the same height. We walked through the meadows, with Claude pointing out signs of the landscape. Maybe he wanted to fill in the silence, maybe he wanted us to not get lost. The medicinal flowers have all but gone, he said. The cruel weather, the icy winds, and the lack of sunlight had made them wilt.


    ¡°You should have seen this place a few years ago. It was brighter, then. My neighbors made merry in these grasslands. My father made music with his flute and my mother danced for us. My brothers and I brought out food to share. I wish I had more years of such good days like my eldest brother.¡±


    ¡°Where are your brothers now? How many do you have?¡± I asked. I begged the skies that they spared at least a few of them.


    ¡°Three older ones. Trapped in the walled cities. They can¡¯t leave without permission from the nobles ruling there. But before they were shut in, all of them delivered the same message. They¡¯re safe for now. There is food. One of them managed to land himself in the court of Lady Aylmere. Lucky bastard.¡±


    I heard of her from one of Knox''s many lectures. Edrea Aylmere was one of the few good nobles that actually gave a damn about her subjects. If only she had more land and power, then she could join the league of nobles that influenced the reigning saint-king¡¯s drastic decisions.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an elder or someone important in the town. I¡¯m not lord Bahram, I just help run his farm. But I want to say that you¡¯re welcome here.¡± He inclined his head towards us. ¡°I know it isn¡¯t much, and I don¡¯t know how you would plan on taking care of yourselves, but I want you to know before anyone says anything hurtful to you¡­ I want you to know that you¡¯re welcome here.¡±


    Claude arranged his dark curls and shrugged and smiled. ¡°Welcome to Rothfield.¡±


    ___


    I stared in awe at his farmhouse. I hadn¡¯t seen anything like it before; larger than the cottages and huts that dotted the outside of our monasteries. It had an upper floor with wide windows that were lit from inside with low candlelights.


    Claude caught me staring. He smiled. ¡°My Da and Ma built it.¡± I stared in awe and he smiled wider. ¡°My mother said that her side of the family started out as a small farm when Rothfield was a hamlet. We were close with the lords back then, but well¡­¡± he shrugged. "Her siblings are all dead, so she inherited the farm when she came of age on the promise that she would find a good man. But her parents died before that happened. She was the main farmer here before she met my Da."


    I can imagine his family growing up with the place. Brothers would charge through the doorframe, slamming it open and shut to the chagrin of their parents. I can hear the scruff and splatter of mud-stained boots from working all day on the farm. It was wide, with a darling porch that seemed to want to invite you inside. Though, if you looked at it long enough, it seemed sad and vacant, absent of most of its occupants. Still, Claude¡¯s home held a quaint charm. As if it still held the memories of laughter and cheer.


    As we got closer, there was something delicious in the air. Claude turned his nose up and smiled. Belle bounced happily. He said, ¡°Hope you¡¯re hungry, folks.¡±


    Hospitality was new to us, and we were not used to being on the receiving end of it. Wilbur and Woodrow locked eyes with me. It had suddenly dawned on me, too, that having an appetite would cast some normalcy upon us. At least, I hoped it was enough.


    Claude left Belle in the sheep shed, a wide area enclosed in a wooden pen. Some of the sheep were dots of white cotton under the cloudy night sky. They did not spook when streaks of lightning blinked overhead. He told me of how Belle was bullied when she was little but now accepted fully by the flock once she proved herself fit enough.


    We stood at the bottom of the porch. The aroma was richer now; there were familiar notes of herbs and cream, plus something that I did not recognize. He removed his old jacket and before he placed his shepherd¡¯s staff on the frame of the door, he used it to knock on the wooden door; a melodious rap that alerted who was inside that it was him. It swung widely, spilling warm light and revealing the silhouetted figure of a woman holding a large spoon and one hip in her hand.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± she screeched.


    I winced. Woodrow looked amused and Wilbur¡¯s lips were a firm line. I made sure that my hood covered my face.


    She was about to scream yet again when Claude reached down in his pockets and showed her the feverflukes he had gathered. She stared at it. Her expression went to shock, then anger, then melted away into nothing. Her composure softened and she breathed out. She shook her head and took the flowers from his son, and then Claude said, ¡°We have guests, Ma.¡±


    Claude¡¯s mother startled when she saw us. ¡°I¨Cforgive me, I didn¡¯t see you there.¡± She instinctively placed a hand on her son¡¯s shoulder, inching him back inside. We probably blended better now in the dark without us knowing. Blake¡¯s power must have enhanced our natural abilities.


    It was Woodrow that stepped forward. But then, at the last second, he grabbed my arm and nudged me forward. What is with my brothers this night constantly nudging me? I thought. I bowed to the lady of the house. ¡°Forgive us, ma¡¯am. We were merely traveling and bumped into Claude. He was kind enough to lead us through safe passage.¡±


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    ¡°They helped me find feverflukes for Annette,¡± Claude added.


    Upon seeing my small form and hearing my voice, she breathed a tiny gasp. She opened the door wider to let the light fall on us. I lowered my head still. Claude went down the porch and stood next to me.


    ¡°The little brother looks different, but they swear he is not sick,¡± Claude explained, though he was adding some bits into his story. ¡°His name is Ryne and they look like they¡¯ve been traveling from far away. Their home was destroyed by rogues. Don¡¯t be scared, Ma. He just looks this way.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Woodrow said quickly. He matched Claude''s sad tone. ¡°We were attacked by brigands from the south. They burned our monastery and scattered our brothers around. We do not know where they are now, but we hope the Saints keep them safe.¡±


    Good. Now there was an excuse for our dark eyes and odd features. The unnatural paleness we could attribute to not eating enough meat and the lack of sunlight. Claude¡¯s mother touched her chest. Claude only looked at me.


    Wilbur spoke next, stepping forward. ¡°They attacked us in the middle of the night and took all our valuables. We have nothing and no one now, save for each other.¡±


    Claude nudged me softly with his arm. He nodded at my brothers. Wilbur was unsure but gave the faintest nod. I slowly unfastened my hood and raised my face for her to see, not meeting her eyes.


    There was a long silence as she regarded me. When next she spoke, Calude''s mother¡¯s tone was soft. ¡°Oh, brothers. You must have been so scared. Come inside and warm yourselves.¡±


    She stepped away from her door and let us in. We bowed to her as we entered. Her gaze lingered on Woodrow. Then they fell on me and I heard her whisper to herself: so young. Then she kissed Claude on the head and took the flowers from him, smiling.


    We introduced ourselves to her once we were inside, and she smiled at each of us in turn. The warmth of the house blanketed us, along with the warm candelights. ¡°You¡¯ve met Claude, my youngest boy. I am Lydia. And my youngest is upstairs, recovering. Young Annette.¡± Her voice quaked when she spoke her name but tried to disguise it with a smile. ¡°I have heard rumors about outlaws pillaging villagers, but to directly attack monasteries and nunneries¡­¡± she shook her head. She shared a look with her son. ¡°The world truly is dangerous.¡±


    His home was even more charming inside. They had one large table¡­ or no, it was two regular-sized tables with an iron plate connecting the two together. There were eight chairs surrounding it. The head of the table where fathers or elders usually sat glowed warmly with the fireplace behind it. Over the fireplace was a large pot bubbling with a rich, mouthwatering aroma. We knew what it was just by smelling it: onion soup with herbs and thick cream. Jars of dried herbs were stored in their counters, their contents few. Two of them were empty.


    There were curious carvings displayed on the counter. They were of animals; a bird, a bear, a fox, and a crudely shaped flower. Claude spotted me. He picked up the flower and handed it to me. ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten the petals right. Shaping curves is difficult.¡±


    I beamed. ¡°You carved these?¡± My tone sounded excited.


    ¡°My Da taught me.¡±


    Lydia gestured for us to sit, hands waving over the table. We each took seats farthest from the fireplace: they needed the heat more than we did. When it came time to serve the dish, Woodrow insisted on serving our hosts. Wilbur watched the cauldron. He stoked the flames and stirred the soup. I saw him discreetly add some leftover dried herbs from his satchel, saw him scatter a few flakes as Lydia was distracted.


    Claude himself sat down quietly beside me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what happened at your monastery. You must have been frightened.¡±


    ¡°More than you will ever know,¡± I said truthfully. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do. We just had to run away.¡±


    Claude nodded. ¡°What were you supposed to do? They had weapons and you¡¯re a weaponless monk child.¡± He motioned to my Wilbur and Woodrow. ¡°Your brothers wanted to protect you.¡± There were memories behind his eyes. His own brothers must have defended him from peril many times throughout his early childhood.


    ¡°I could have done something. Anything, to help.¡± I nudged him. ¡°Like you did, braving the meadow, unsure if the sickness will touch you next.¡±


    When the soup was done, Claude rose from my side and took a seat next to his mother, facing me. Woodrow surprised Wilbur and I as he recited one of the prayers for blessing the food. Claude¡¯s mother closed his eyes, but Claude¡¯s eyes remained open, looking at me. He seemed to be looking at me all the time. I felt shy. I thought that now, surely, he was beginning to feel scared by my appearance, but he simply stared.


    Then he made a face in the middle of prayer, catching me off guard. I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. My shyness shattered.


    I did not know why, but I looked in his direction and stared at him as well. This time, he wiggled his thick eyebrows. In response, I wrinkled my nose and pouted my lips. We chuckled as wooden bowls were set in front of us, the mouthwatering smell dispelling the cold months in me.


    Lydia asked us from her seat next to Claude, ¡°Do you hope to seek Lord Bahram¡¯s aid, Brothers?¡± She looked uncertain. ¡°He may be difficult to speak with. He isn¡¯t known for his generosity.¡±


    Claude abruptly said, ¡°He¡¯s a bully with lands.¡±


    Lydia continued. ¡°There is a chapel here, but the priest went away for business to other cities¡ª¡±


    ¡°Probably squandering our confessions and tithes,¡± Claude interjected with a mouthful of hot soup.


    Lydia fixed her son a stern stare. ¡°It¡¯s probably about the nuns and monks there and how best they can support the lord and the people. Maybe Lord Bahram can let you inside the chapel. I¡¯m sure whatever difference monks and priests have in the way they run their sanctuaries won¡¯t matter. But if Bahram turns you away, you could stay here a while. Saints know we need the help. You can stay in this farmhouse or in the barn until you find out a new plan.¡±


    Even Claude was surprised at that. His mouth was slightly open, the soup from his spoon dripping back into his bowl. Then he turned to me, eyes uncertain, but twinkling softly. We thanked her for her generosity and she told us about the history of the land just as much as Claude said it on the path.


    ¡°What is beyond the thick trees?¡± Wilbur asked.


    ¡°Ah, yes, the natural border. No one knows. Though Lord Bahram claims it¡¯s part of their land. But no carpenter, farmer, knight, or lord has ever gone to the other side. Lord Bahram himself got lost in the middle of the forest with the mercenaries he rented. He told us that the branches blocked out most of the sky and that everything there was dead. The trees aren¡¯t even useful. They bear no fruits, no leaves, no flowers. Their bark is tough to cut down, but when you do try to sculpt something out of it, it then becomes brittle.¡±


    ¡°They say it is cursed. That the Saints themselves closed the place off from any living thing.¡± Claude wiggled his fingers playfully, finishing the story. ¡°And yet, here we are, building a home nearby.¡±


    Lydia shook her head. ¡°But it couldn¡¯t be cursed. The stream from the mountains flows there and right through here and onwards to the town.¡±

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 5)

    ---RYNE---


    When my brothers came back from the cooking pot bubbling over the fireplace, I noticed both Wilbur and Woodrow took only a few spoonfuls of soup in their bowls. Lydia saw, and she wordlessly got up and grabbed their bowls, dipping the ladle back into the pot and adding more.


    Wilbur was about to protest, but a stern look from Lydia made him sit down. She filled their bowls to the brim. ¡°The day may come when we will starve, but so long as there is still food left in my house, everyone in it shall eat.¡± She set it back down in front of them at the long wooden table.


    Claude winked at me. Not only the farmhouse, but the people living in it were charming. The warmth swept through me, seeping through the cold bones that had known only hostility, submission, and fear. It would be so easy to be selfish, to close the door in our faces. But here this family was, and it made me glad that some people still chose to do the difficult thing. They chose to be good.


    Lydia told us about her family as we supped. ¡°Four sons and one little girl. Annette was fine one morning and then fell ill come dusk. It began when the clouds started to block out the sun and rumors spread of the disease. The townspeople won¡¯t touch us now and are already closing the town gates. Though some of our good friends still allow Claude to enter, so long as he does his business quickly.¡± She sighed and motioned upstairs. ¡°Annette rests in my room.¡±


    Wilbur comforted her but was careful not to tell her of his medicines. I knew him. He wanted to climb those stairs, especially now that this family has done us kindness. He swallowed. ¡°Maybe you can take me to her. I do not know much as a physician in the city, but I know some knowledge of healing.¡± Slowly, he added, ¡°And I might have something that can help her. It is a fever-reducing syrup that was given to us by a fellow monk-physician who travels to the city from time to time.¡±


    Lydia smiled wide. ¡°Thank you, Brother Wilbur. I do not mean to ask for anything at all from all you weary monks, but¡ª¡±


    Wilbur and I shook our heads. He said, ¡°We cannot abandon anyone in their hour of need.¡± It was Lydia¡¯s message reflected back at her.


    Lydia smiled, and then she looked at me and Wilbur. ¡°You two look alike, if not for the color of your hair. Are you sure you are not blood brothers?¡±


    We smiled at that. Wilbur began to lie. ¡°There was a woman that took refuge in our monastery, saying she was with child. Her husband had died in a skirmish, and they had nothing. She held the story of the Saints in her heart and her faith led her to us. There we nurtured her with the rest of the villagers. But when the time came for her child to come into the world, her spirit left. She had kissed little Ryne¡¯s brow here before her lips went cold.¡± Wilbur patted my head and arranged my wispy hair. ¡°He has been our light and hope ever since. We taught him all that we know. Language, numbers, and prayers.¡±


    Lydia swallowed, her eyes leaking. But Claude simply stared. He said, ¡°But what about you, Ryne? I¡¯m sure the brothers were kind to you. But now that you are old, is it still monkhood that you want?¡±


    It was a question that would stun someone else. My brothers, too, were awaiting my answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever known,¡± I replied. It was out before I really thought about it. Quickly, I added, ¡°And it¡¯s all I ever want now.¡±


    Silence but the soft crackling of the fire.


    ¡°I want to be a soldier,¡± Claude said softly, his eyes on his finished soup.


    ¡°Oh, not this again.¡± Lydia wiped the tears from her eyes and crossed her arms. She frowned at her son.


    ¡°It pays good money. And we need money to pay tribute to Lord Bahram. And I¡¯m strong!¡±


    ¡°You are too young!¡± She shrieked.


    ¡°Boys my age had already died from hunger. It¡¯s either that or by the sword.¡±


    Lydia covered her ears and shut her eyes. We were alarmed at her distress. ¡°Enough, Claude. Saints help me, stop this nonsense. And right in front of guests, too.¡± Wilbur looked down at his soup. Woodrow, meanwhile, watched Claude.


    Claude bit his lip, but unable to control himself, blurted, ¡°The Saints aren¡¯t listening, Ma. Or else crops wouldn¡¯t fail, Annette would be healed, the rest of your sons would be here, and people wouldn¡¯t have to resort to becoming rogues or soldiers just to feed their families!¡± He slammed his hands on the table and then pointed one hand at me. ¡°Even the clergy isn¡¯t immune. Their monastery wouldn¡¯t be ransacked if the Saints protected them.¡±


    A charred log fell on the fireplace, sending bursts of ember. All of us were staring at Claude now. His chest rose and fell, and when he collected himself, Claude sighed hard and muttered an apology. He excused himself and stormed off, out into the fields.


    Lydia looked down at Claude''s empty bowl. ¡°Forgive us, brothers. It has been a trying month. But please, please make yourselves warm by the fire.¡± Lydia brushed her lips with the back of her hand. She sighed and looked at the door letting the cold wind in. ¡°He must have kept that for so long.¡±


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    ¡°It is all right, Lydia. We understand. Come, you need to rest too. How about you tell us some happier times.¡± Woodrow said. He stood up and motioned to Lydia to join him. Lydia smiled and led him out into another door somewhere in the living room. I saw leaves and grass and a well before the door shut.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t touched your soup, both of you,¡± I said when Wilbur and I were alone.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stomach it anymore, Ryne. We tried. But I am glad that you can still eat.¡± We stared at each other. That means¡­ they have no choice but to drink blood now to sustain themselves.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to their well.¡± He tapped his satchel. ¡°If this is the last route to whatever it is we¡¯re looking for, then Claude and Lydia could very well be our neighbors. And such good neighbors they are. I could at least empty the last of my precautionary medicines to them. I don¡¯t know how long it would last, but it¡¯s better than nothing.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯m going to go look for Claude.¡±


    We went our separate ways. Claude was on the last wooden step of the porch, shoulders slumped, hands on his chin, boots planted firmly on the ground. ¡°Hello,¡± I said softly. I left the door open, allowing a small slant of orange light to fall upon his right shoulder. I tapped him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about what I said earlier about the Saints. I am quickly being labeled as a blasphemer.¡± He chuckled and closed his eyes. ¡°If I said that near our priest, I would be locked up and carted off somewhere.¡±


    ¡°It seems cruel, to enforce a belief to others,¡± I said. Claude opened his eyes. I sat beside him. ¡°I thought for the longest time that we came to preach, not enforce. That¡¯s what our brothers and I feel, anyway. Even though the Saints did exist, they did not ask us to worship them. Just follow their example.¡± I sat next to him. ¡°Are you sure you want to be a soldier? How about being a merchant, or physician, or a craftsman? You carve wonderful sculptures.¡±


    ¡°A physician,¡± he breathed through his teeth, smiling. He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m too old for any of them. Guilds like them need young apprentices. Some of the candidates need schools and sponsorships. Guilds nowadays want you to pay for some of them before entering, or really impress the guildmasters with your skill. But soldiers¡­ they take anyone. It¡¯s either starve or become one. At least this way, I won¡¯t see my family slowly dying.¡±


    ¡°Your mother would be worried sick thinking of you every single day the moment you leave this house for war. She¡¯ll never recover.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll understand. Look, if the land was fertile, then maybe I would forget ever wielding a sword and be fine holding a staff for the rest of my life. Follow my brothers and parents'' and grandparents¡¯ footsteps. But none of us are guaranteed to live until tomorrow. Not even monks like you.¡± He huffed. ¡°With the money I get for enlisting, we can pay for a good doctor.¡± He looked at me, eyes wet. ¡°I just don¡¯t like not doing anything. I don¡¯t want to slowly die.¡±


    ¡°Claude¡­¡± There were no words that I could think of to ease his burdens. All I kept thinking about was that he was too young to be speaking like this. Was this how Wilbur viewed me? I thought.


    I had not known him for long, but Claude seemed too decent to be ravaged by war. So young, Lydia whispered as he saw me. And boys my age were already holding spears and arrows. The high lords were mad to lower the age of enlisting. I hated them. So easy to starve the men and let them become desperate. It was Knox all over again.


    Finally, I said, ¡°If we helped you somehow, then you would stay?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Unless you can speak to the soil for crops to grow, then yes.¡±


    But then it got me thinking. Well, what if we could deal with the land? What if this could be our next project? It¡¯s not at all different from the mission we were told at the beginning. Except this time, it would be true.


    A frail wail broke the silence. Claude shot up, sharing the frightened look I had. We hurried indoors.


    Lydia and Woodrow were already at the foot of the stairs, her hands pressed to her mouth. She crumpled when she saw her son. They hugged each other, shaking. They knew Annette was not long for this world. A swirl of cloak passed me as Wilbur, voice calm and body tall, told Lydia, ¡°Take me to her.¡±


    Lydia broke free from Claude and went up the stairs. I followed them. The dried mud from our boots scattered like pebbles with each step. I gripped Claude¡¯s hand as I passed him and told him I would help. Claude looked at me, trying not to cry, and nodded.


    Annette¡¯s room was hot. It was not an uncommon sight for us; a small body swathed in blankets. As we looked at her, Wilbur frowned. I winced. We had thought it a death-chill but there was more to it. The girl on the bed looked bloated and she was coughing heavily with the bile stuck in her lungs. Without the right medicine, we wouldn¡¯t be able to treat her. Lydia was at the foot of Annette''s bed, already praying to the Saints. Wilbur was hovering over Annette¡¯s burning brow, peering closely.


    ¡°Lydia, go downstairs and boil the feverflukes in clean water, about the size of a large basin.¡±


    Lydia, frantic, went downstairs and called her son for help. Wilbur softly touched Annette¡¯s cheeks. Without meaning to, his sharp nail pricked her skin and a single bead of blood stuck to his skin. Wilbur¡¯s eyes widened, the brown eyes turning black.


    Faster than I can stop him, Wilbur sucked his finger. I ran towards him, pushing him to the wall. I kicked his legs from underneath him just like how Woodrow taught me and pinned his arms. I placed my knees on his chest.


    But Wilbur¡¯s eyes were turning back to brown. He tasted the blood on his tongue, making a curious expression. He was thinking.


    ¡°I know what I must do. I know what she needs!¡± Wilbur nodded at me to let him go and brought out the usual potent medicine made of many feverflukes and the new medicine to warm the body from his satchel. ¡°The sickness from the south hasn¡¯t yet reached Rothfield. But this may be a new mutation of the deadly fever.¡± As a side thought, he added, ¡°We really should be naming the new sickness and medicines, Ryne.¡±


    Wilbu¡¯s shoulders relaxed. With the absence of a mortar and pestle, he grabbed the empty bowl near Annette¡¯s table and poured half of each medicine, then he added a sprinkle of denzemond. Only two teaspoons were left in his packet. He mixed it with the wooden spoon and watched the medicine interact with each other, sharing the same scent.


    Lydia came just in time with the flower-infused ewer. Wilbur showed her the medicine he made. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it will work, Lydia, but I promise it won¡¯t make things worse.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all I could ask for,¡± she huffed.

 Chapter 5 - The Edge of Rothfield (Part 6 - END)

    Quickly, Wilbur added the mixed medicine onto the ewer, swirled it around, and poured it back into the bowl. He planned to dilute it so that she wouldn¡¯t heal instantly. He thought to still protect our identities. Lydia brought Annette¡¯s head up so she could drink.


    Wilbur gave Lydia the bowl and told her to make Annette sip until it was finished. Annette had not the strength to part her lips. She groaned and moved her head away, but Lydia forced it into her mouth. We watched her swallow. Slowly, the motion became easier after each gulp. Once she had downed all its contents, Lydia laid her head back on the pillow and we waited.


    The candles burned low. Annette kept coughing, wheezing with the bile that clogged her lungs. Her brows knotted and she retreated under her blankets. Then, she began to mumble and moan and cry. Lydia was always beside her, holding her hand, comforting her. Lydia whispered in her ears as she combed her hair. She told her that they had guests and that her older brother made a fool of himself on the kitchen table. Wilbur and I were a few steps away, near the door.


    ¡°What was that? What happened with the blood?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°I do not know. The moment I tasted her blood, I just knew the correct medicine to give her.¡± Wilbur looked at me, eyes trying to contain his excitement. ¡°Ryne¡­ I can diagnose correctly without needing so much time in a lab! Of course, I still need my equipment to make the concoctions, but this is new! I hadn¡¯t experienced this before.¡± He touched his chest. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s because of him?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Maybe. If that¡¯s the case, maybe all the rest of you had an awakening. A silver lining to being possessed.¡±


    After what seemed like hours, Annette¡¯s breathing slowed. Her eyelids fluttered open. Lydia watched as Annette looked around, her wide eyes the same color as her brother''s.


    ¡°Mama, I¡¯m in your room.¡± Her voice was weak, so weak. But to Lydia, it sounded as if she shouted.


    Lydia¡¯s lips quivered. Her face pinched and tears burst. She hugged her daughter and kissed her forehead and cheeks. Loud footsteps thundered up the stairs. Wilbur and I stepped away just in time for Claude to charge through the doors, eyes wide, face about to cry, only to see his mother and his younger sister smiling up at him. He flew to them, gently wrapping his arms around Annette''s back. Claude did cry then, but soft tears not of anguish. Lydia reached an arm for her son, and three family members embraced each other. Claude muffled his cries onto a pillow, releasing all the weeks that he stifled his frustrations. We bowed our heads and took the ewer with us. We left them alone, closing the door behind us. They would weep for a long while yet. Wilbur¡¯s instructions can wait.


    ___


    ¡°I hope that means he won¡¯t be a soldier anymore.¡± I placed the ewer on the kitchen table. Five of the bowls were now empty. Woodrow must have poured theirs back inside the cooking pot, which was now covered over an extinguished fireplace. The charred logs glowed red.


    ¡°He will,¡± Woodrow said from the shadows. ¡°He will spend weeks happy with his family, but the crops are still brittle. He will still need money to send his family. And he seems to be the type to keep fighting and staying alive to send money back home.¡±


    It was not a comfortable thought. Woodrow cleaned the kitchens with a rag, then took the bowls and spoons outside to wash them in the stream. Wilbur and I went to the fields and inspected the crops.


    And then I heard it: the air whispering when I passed through dried oats. It whispered decay. ¡°Wilbur, do you hear that? Do you feel it?¡±


    ¡°The air?¡±


    ¡°Something is heavy near here. Like cold ice in the water.¡± I passed through the fields, closing my eyes. I went deeper into the brittle harvest, letting the stalks graze my face. Colder than ice, heavy but floating. Darker than darkness.


    Ryne.


    It was him. Not Blake, no. This voice was warm and strong. It was the voice that led us here. I whispered, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Ryne?¡± Wilbur called. He was already a few feet away from me. I raised my hands up and told him to wait.


    There was no response. I closed my eyes again and felt where the cold was emanating. It was everywhere. Each time I concentrated on the feeling, I felt my strength being sapped. There was a trail there in the air, heavier than the rest, like a swordfish in the sky, writhing.


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    It is called miasma.


    My breath low, I asked again. ¡°Who are you? Why did you bring us here?¡±


    Purify it, Ryne. Go beyond the dark woods. Go to Rothfield. Go to our sanctuary.


    I felt the voice weaken. ¡°Don¡¯t go yet.¡±


    I must rest. The connection drains us both. Heal the people. Trust your brothers.


    And then he was gone, and I was left with the decay in the air. Once I had felt it, I could no longer shake the feeling off it. The miasma.


    Wilbur tapped me on the shoulder. ¡°Where on earth are you going? And why are you destroying their crops?¡±


    I did not know I was holding on to their harvest until I looked at my hands. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to.¡± I opened my hands, intending for the dried grains to fall. But there, on my hand, was dried barley and oats stained with black sludge. It moved, the black sludge vaulting away from my skin and turning into vapor, scattering like ash falling onto the other crops. The bits of barley in my hand were starting to change, as if pulling moisture from the air. It turned plump and bright. While those that were afflicted with the miasma withered.


    I felt weak. Wilbur had to help me out back into the field where Woodrow was waiting.


    We explained to him what happened. Woodrow¡¯s response was only to nod. ¡°Of course. Miasma, was it? About an explanation as any.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just taking everything as it comes, aren¡¯t you?¡± The weakness had passed. I tested my weight on the ground.


    ¡°Until there is no official explanation. Yes. yes, I shall.¡± He stretched. I placed the grains on the clean wooden bowl he was carrying. ¡°If only that voice had told you all, but we know by now we aren¡¯t that lucky. You sure he was a friend?¡±


    ¡°No, not sure. But it isn¡¯t Blake. It feels warm. He told us to go through the dark forest.¡± To the sanctuary, he had said. I still felt wobbly. ¡°He mentioned something about purification. I don¡¯t know if I did that a while ago, but it weakens me.¡± I stared at my empty hand.


    ¡°I imagine purifying an invisible poison from the air would take a toll on such a young novice who keeps hearing voices in his head. Feeling the pull of all his dark brothers as well.¡±


    Wilbur said nothing, only looked at me as if I was an odd experiment. His lips were trying to form words. He was breathing unevenly. ¡°Is this what you did to Abbott Blake? Don¡¯t you know what this means? Ryne¡­ you have powers. You do have abilities.¡± And then he stopped abruptly and shook his head.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We never really talked about it, but something about you hurt him, Ryne. Something about you made him stop his control over us. I think perhaps that you can banish his influence like you did the miasma with the crops.¡± We all looked at each other, digesting his words. ¡°It¡¯s a working theory. I¡¯m not certain what the point was of keeping you when you could stop him from controlling us in the first place, but,¡± Wilbur shook his head and smiled. ¡°Whatever the reason, I knew that you have something special in you.¡±


    A shadow crept over the doorframe. It was Claude, puffy-eyed and red-faced. ¡°Annette has fallen asleep again. She¡¯s coughing still but her breathing is better. Ma¡¯s going to be staying with her tonight.¡± He walked closer to us and thanked us all, eyes looking up at Wilbur. ¡°We could have lost her tonight. If it wasn¡¯t for you. For all of you¡­¡± And then he reached for my hands, spider-veined against his healthy brown. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    I nodded at him. He dropped my hands and scratched the back of his head. It felt like I touched warm candles. ¡°If there¡¯s anything we can do for you. Anything at all.¡±


    ¡°What you could do is make sure to give her the leftover soup with the one glass from that ewer there,¡± Wilbur started his instructions. He took Claude by the shoulder and back inside the house.


    Woodrow tapped me. ¡°I like him. He seems like a good lad. Tough, too. And he has not once looked at you as if you were going to turn into a draconic creature from the depths of despair.¡±


    ¡°I like him too.¡±


    ¡°Must be hard to run a farm this size with just his mother and an ailing sibling to attend to. Hope he fares well.¡± We looked at him and I repeated what he said to me.


    ¡°I want to help him somehow.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find a way. Maybe you can ask the voice in your head once it awakens.¡±


    I rolled my eyes at him. Then I noticed Claude inviting us back to the farmhouse. ¡°You can sleep in my brother¡¯s room. Or we can arrange for something else. I can¡¯t just let you go especially now that it¡¯s dark.¡±


    Wilbur was already reaching inside his satchel. He brought out the sleeping powder and dabbed one finger on it. He pretended to look inside and sprinkled a few directly onto Claude¡¯s eyes. As Claude began to yawn, Wilbur made him sit in one of the chairs. I supported Claude¡¯s head as he fought the urge to sleep. Wilbur picked a few blankets from the living room and placed them near the heat of the fireplace.


    ¡°Maybe tomorrow, I can take you to the pond and into town. Show you around first before you... leave¡­¡± he yawned and closed his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯d like nothing more, Claude.¡±


    ¡°...Ryne,¡± Claude whispered, his head falling onto his arms on the table. Woodrow scooped him up and placed him gently on the mattress.


    ¡°Heavy for his age. Maybe he¡¯ll grow up big.¡±


    We took one last look at the charming setting; the soft furniture, the soft candlelight above. I blew out the remaining candles here. I noticed that there was a bucket of rainwater on the porch. I carried it inside and placed it on top of the kitchen table, the bowlful of grains near it. We closed the door behind us, Woodrow managing to lock it from inside.

 Chapter 6 - Ryne of Rothfield (Part 1)

    ¡°This won¡¯t do.¡±


    Woodrow paced along the border of the thick trees, hands on his hips. Our necks craned to see through the gaps of the dark trees, but it was like struggling through a thick black curtain. Even for our eyes, we cannot see past the shade.


    Wilbur bent down and inspected the dirt. ¡°It is curious.¡±


    The natural soil from this side of the farm did not mingle with the soil under the gnarled roots of the dead trees. It is as if the world had split into two. Wilbur scooped up the natural brown soil and scattered it onto the other side. We watched the dark soil slowly swallow the fresh brown earth into its depths. When Wilbur did the reverse, the black soil turned to dust as if it were nothing but memories in an aging mind.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s ominous.¡± Woodrow pondered, two fingers supporting his chin. ¡°This is really where we''re headed? Then again... all the unnaturalness in the world is bound to be with us.¡±


    I closed my eyes. There was no mistaking the pull through the trees. ¡°I am certain.¡±


    He shrugged. He touched the bark of a dead tree, hand pale against the bark. ¡°Fine, let us see this through.¡± He squeezed himself carefully through the trees. He disappeared into the shadows like a feathered pen dipped into an ink pot. Wilbur and I followed him, feeling the cold wash over us.


    We were in a vacuum, noiseless. The sounds of the night fell silent. I did not notice that the crickets on the farm were chirping until they ceased. The soil did not crunch with my steps. Not even the night wind blew. As I passed through dried twigs and ducked under thick branches, not one of them snapped. Wilbur and Woodrow were nowhere to be seen.


    I wove through the decaying bark and branches. The trees twisted and coiled like burnt matchsticks when the flame had eaten away most of the wood. I called my brothers'' names in vain. My voice sounded like I was screaming underwater.


    I stopped and felt the weight of their pull. They were tugging me.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± They were shouting from far ahead, their voices frantic. How did they get so far away? To be so close but to be separated yet again. I did not like it. Thankfully, their chains acted like a compass, and I simply followed the strain of their weight.


    I had thought that it would get harder to pass through the woods. But the deeper I went, the farther apart the trees separated, at least enough for a small boy to wander about its depths. I stepped over roots that were so high on the ground that they made the main bodies of trees lean sideways. The topmost branches began to intertwine with one another, forming what looked like the patterns of leaves. Moonbeams slid through these veins, falling on small boulders and more curved roots.


    I felt my brothers stop moving somewhere nearby. They were calling for my name, more frantic now. ¡°We cannot move! The forest is attacking us!¡±


    Panting and avoiding the sentinels of bark and stone around me, I pulled against the chains. They protested not far from the twisting path. I followed the tension. But when I was almost sure I could see them¡ªpale skin against the shadows¡ªmy steps sunk on soft wet ground. My old boots sloshed through mud. The thick scent of undisturbed water assaulted my nose. I was in a bog or swamp.


    The mud gasped for air as I took each step. I grabbed the lower branches and pulled my weight from the wetlands until I emerged from the shade and into a small clearing where the branches did not obscure the night sky, where the trees formed a small circle on the edge of the clearing.


    There was grass here. Colorless grass even as the moon shone wide. The clouds have revealed its face once more. I hope it shone on Claude and his family. Right now, it shone on the paleness of my brothers, suspended in the air by more dead trees. Branches and vines snaked their way on their waists and arms like sacks of grains attached to ropes. They struggled, only stopping when they saw me.


    ¡°Ryne, don¡¯t come near,¡± Wilbur whispered.


    The branches were slowly strangling them. Briars, their thorns thick and sharp as swords, emerged from the depths of this mysterious woods. They wound through the branches and aimed their pointed ends at Woodrow¡¯s eyes and Wilbur¡¯s neck. It knew. The forest knew. It wanted to damage what it thought my brothers needed to use their powers. Woodrow and his eyes and tongue. As for Wilbur¡¯s rapid healing, I am not sure how long he can heal bones, especially from a delicate thing like his neck. I am not sure if he can survive that. I don¡¯t know how final our limitations were.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I presented myself in the middle of the clearing. The moonbeams pulled my shadow so that it fell on Wilbur and Woodrow¡¯s limp bodies. ¡°Let us through. Let all of us through. I was summoned here. But I came with my brothers. They are with me and I am with them.¡±


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    The briars and branches slowed. If they had eyes, they must surely be analyzing me. Several drums of my heart. Then, I saw the branches uncoil around my brothers, saw the thorns retract like claws. They dropped my brothers to the ground as they slithered back to their homes. Wilbur swallowed mouthfuls of the night air. Woodrow looked warily at the darkness.


    I helped them both up. Wordlessly, they nodded and we continued on. ¡°Stay close to me,¡± I said.


    ¡°I was with you as soon as we entered the trees, but then the earth shifted around me.¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice was hoarse. ¡°And then the soil swallowed me whole and spit me out next to Woodrow. Before we knew what was happening, we were bound by the anger of the forest.¡±


    ¡°Moving trees. I have never been more grateful to be alive and scared of what will happen next,¡± Woodrow said. He observed Ryne. ¡°I¡¯m glad you remain unscathed.¡±


    Now that it did not see us as a threat, the forest was watchful, but the mystery enshrouding it was slowly ebbing away, like how mist reveals the hills. The trees let us pass through them. The mud did not hold our boots.


    The noise returned gradually. First, the night air; the breeze blowing through dried branches and grass. Then the sounds of frogs splashing on ponds. Then the sound of crickets. And then slowly, the smell of deep moist earth. I touched a boulder, wet with moss. I placed my hand against the bark of a withered tree. Fireflies appeared, casting green flecks all around us.


    There was life to this dark forest after all.


    ¡°The place isn¡¯t cursed. It¡¯s just angry. It wants to protect something,¡± I said.


    An owl hooted on branches above us. Scared by its noise, the unmistakable scurrying of footsteps coursed through the undergrowth. Far away were sounds of padded feet on grass. The feeling in my chest glowed warmer. My palms had begun to sweat, my heart beat quicker with each step. I wiped the sweat off and grabbed Wilbur and Woodrow¡¯s hands and walked quicker, passing through more trees and boulders until the shape of the trees twisted into a pattern, the branches forming a natural arch overhead. If I nailed a lantern on each trunk, it would look like a charming path to guide visitors.


    I felt Woodrow grow excited as he squeezed my hand. The air shifted around me, casting away the heavy damp air of the forest. The moon appeared again, waiting for us at the end of the path, a curious shape blocking its face the closer we reached the end of the forest. The shape grew sharper and wider and taller. Something about it was eerily familiar.


    Recognition hit us even before we emerged from the dark trees. Woodrow made a sound. Once we were out of the forest, once we stepped on softer yet infertile ground, I dropped my brothers¡¯ hands. We did not move as we took in the massive structure.


    ¡°No way. There is no possible way you expect us to¡­¡± Woodrow trailed off. We stood, breathless and awed, unnerved and exasperated. Looking at a marvel and a joke.


    On the other side of the dark forest was a monastery.


    ___


    It was a giant looming thing, and I felt it stare down at us like the forest, watching us as we took it in.


    Though similar in the layout of most monasteries, this was grander than anything Ealhstan ever built. Twice as tall and wide. I stepped forward as if presenting myself to an ancient beast.


    There was the nave, its doors wide open. The land we were on must be the granges, barren and black. Directly beside the nave was what I think the refectory was, blocking the rest of the monastery. Curled ivy crept all over the walls and windows. I looked behind at my brothers. They were still looking at the structure, frowning, mouth agape. I took them by the hand and assured them. ¡°It is here. I think it¡¯s here. I have to go inside.¡±


    They nodded and followed me slowly. Their robes were torn from the sharp briars and branches. I wondered briefly if we could fashion our own clothes or purchase them from somewhere.


    My pulse warmed away the cool fear that pricked my skin. I did not like the nave of the church, especially during Saint Korbin. But this one¡­ this one had not the stink of Blake nor Knox. Our Abbott was in us, yes, but dormant.


    I only now realized that I did not focus on that part of myself for so long. So, when I parted the chains of my brothers and looked deeper into myself, I saw in my mind the freezing darkness, like a spiked gemstone deep under a volcano. There was a nervousness there, an unsettling feeling like it wanted to claw its way out. My heart was split in the middle like the boundary of Claude¡¯s farm and the dark forest.


    But the fire in me, the warmth, beckoned me to go to the altar. The quiet stillness received us as we passed through the wooden rotting doors. Moonlight was here, too, falling like beams through the ruined ceiling. There were no pews here, just empty spaces with cracked stone floors. Overhead were candelabras that swung on metal chains. I saw, standing at the altar, a statue of pale stone. I saw as I walked nearer, mounds of rubble close to the statue. Four statues must have stood here, watching people as they prayed. Now there was only one.


    I saw, unmistakable in the moonlight, the figure of a man with a short beard. His eyes looked downward, directly at me, his hand outstretched as if to offer guidance or assistance; like I had fallen down and wanted me to grab his arm. As I looked upon his face, pleasant heat burst from my chest, silencing the footsteps of my brothers. Those colorless eyes bore down into mine.


    At usual monasteries, there were saints in the alcoves. But these were on the altar itself as if they were the ones to give the sermon. I have never seen statues of the Saints. Only portraits that differed depending on the artist.


    But this one did not feel like a rendition. This was like the Saint himself was turned to stone. The warmth in my heart flowed out of me, like sunlight in a rushing river. I stretched my hand out and I felt my lips move.


    ¡°Gaelmar.¡±


    And the light swallowed me whole.


    Ryne. The voice said.

 Chapter 6 - Ryne of Rothfield (Part 2)

    I was weightless, floating in the air under a sweet golden sky. It has been decades since the raw strength of a sunbeam fell on my skin.


    I beheld a vision.


    I saw the monastery we were on, bright as a pearl, singing with the flare of the sun. Songs of praise gave wind to the doves and sparrows flying out of the nave¡¯s rafters. The notes were in their throats as well, so that the heavens filled with the chorus. The granges below me had rich, golden harvests. Farmers wearing sheepskin and leather jerkin scythed rye, oats, and barley. Amongst them were several other curious crops; bright pink and feathery ones, golden curved ones, and little green seeds that resembled beanstalks.


    The dark forest that we passed through was lush in this vision. Tones of green rippled like sea waves when the wind skimmed the tops of trees. Then the vision took me to its depths where I saw hares and rabbits bringing purple berries back into their burrows. I saw wolves licking their newborn pups. The trees were not gnarled, but strong and big and tall. Sunlight played on the ground as the leaves rustled.


    Aside from the common animals, I saw creatures that were a mix of their traits; creatures that had the antlers of a deer and the body of a weasel. I saw lizards with wings and wolves that stood on their hind legs, their torso as thick and smooth as a young bear. They were like beasts of legend; beasts from the mouths of talespinners and from lullabies of old. Horses with wings. Wolves thrice the size of horses. Serpentine tails in the ocean that flicked saltwater. Half-fish and half-bird creatures that sang sweetly of adventures beyond.


    Ducks and swans floated serenely on lakes. Pheasants and peacocks crossed shallow streams. Some sort of beast I did not recognize slithered under swamps and marshes. People cast their lines on the great lake and children rode another beast that looked half a horse and half fish.


    ¡°This was supposed to be Rothfield. This was supposed to be the world.¡± That familiar voice that keeps speaking to me. Deep. Warm. Steady.


    Then the sun dipped low on the horizon, fading the sky to black. Just as the moon and stars emerged, thick thunderous clouds obscured them.


    The monastery crumbled as the clouds crackled overhead. Songs turned into screams, into shouts, into wails. From inside the monastery, flames burst through and shattered the rose-colored glass-stained windows. Knights with different colored cloaks, wearing differently-shaped armor appeared from the forest, holding great torches which they used to light everything around them. Crops burned into ash, lost to the wind, staining the sky. Then the knights turned onto each other, their swords unsheathed, and pointed to the armor that did not wear the color of their banners. Dark knights wearing colors of crimson black swung their mace towards the shields of knights wearing silver plates, their horses rearing and snorting.


    Thieves ransacked the riches of the monastery, their red scarves like ribbons in the burning night. They scampered away carrying small chests and glinting goblets, sacks of gold and even glowing potion bottles. The great flame had burned away the gentleness of the forest and within its desecrated depths, briars and sharp roots emerged¡ªthe same ones that bound my brothers. It attacked everyone on sight, save for the villagers who were fleeing for their lives. The forest let them pass, and a few of the majestic, unknown creatures even helped them escape; letting them ride on their backs as they hopped over weeping boulders and falling trees. The trees themselves writhed in agony it seemed, forming into grotesque knots and roots sprawled above ground as if they were trying to escape the forest.


    But there was no definite escape from the flames. I flew beyond and looked at the world burning. A great fire ate everything. The mountains crumbled, sending icy boulders downhill. Castles came down; stone pillars and statues crushing the little villages that lived near them. The saint-king name was heard everywhere, either begging him and his holy bloodline to come save them or cursing him as a farce leader.


    Then I was laid back on the ground, my feet oddly steady, and a small staff lay on my feet. The one usually carried by shepherds or farmers.


    Gaelmar spoke again. ¡°Instead, it would become this world if the Unending Chaos is not stopped.¡±


    ¡°I do not want this,¡± I cried. I closed my eyes to the vision until I heard the roar of voices, of crying. I only opened my eyes when it was replaced by the soft sounds of birdsong, of lullabies from long ago. We were in a meadow. The sounds of bells were not far.


    ¡°The world almost tasted happiness. When my comrades and I were close to ushering this Age of Plenty, the Unending Chaos crushed us at our peak.¡±


    And then, I began to remember. Back at Saint Korbin, before I fell, was a dream filled with voices that bickered. Voices in the pulsing light and encroaching dark.


    ¡°Is it truly Gaelmar I speak with? This is not a trick from the Chaos itself? Are you truly the one they call The Kind Flame?¡±


    In response, the light from my heart fanned out, like flames of the sun. I was filled with hope and love, the love that I felt for my brothers, the love he felt for his fellow Saints.


    I wiped the tears from my eyes. ¡°What does a Holy Saint want with a grey child?¡±


    ¡°Ryne. You are my hope.¡± The way he called my name was so soft. It was as if his voice caressed my cheek. ¡°The Unending Chaos had taken the greatest of us and tricked him. I put a stop to him. I do not know what I did, but somehow, I have managed to trap us all in limbo. Centuries must have passed since the Chaos swallowed us. In all that time, the Chaos rejected the brightness in us. It cannot act again to consume the world with us inside. Until one night when it was summoned yet again through dark means by a member of the Saint¡¯s Order no less. A man of the cloth that wanted power and revenge.¡±


    Gaelmar, The Kind Flame, showed me the scene that I had forgotten. An old man through the stony mountains. Blake. ¡°I know only so much,¡± Gealmar said, ¡°only snippets of his life that were important to the summoning.¡±


    I saw Blake being cast out by the Saint-king for heresy or blasphemy. He wanted power, he wanted companionship, and he wanted revenge for his monastery when the holy knights dismissed his work of necromancy. He had gotten scrolls, somehow, by excavating where the Saints buried their documents. And the Unending Chaos, the Great Darkness, touched him when he performed his projects. It was still unclear how he managed to get those scrolls, but it was enough for contact.


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    The Unending Chaos told him to get others, and the faces of my brothers swam into the vision. Wilbur in sleek dark leather robes wearing a pin of the school he was in, stirring a cauldron before it exploded. Woodrow, bright red hair in the wind, running through a field with a sword and dagger in both his hands. Ealhstan, wearing the armor and clothes of a noble, bright red and brown, overlooking the construction of a castle. Swithin, orphaned in the wilds, raised by a kind priest and farmer-wife. Knox, lying in a decrepit tower, empty of servants, looking over the goblet he was drinking at a painting of his younger self. He had been handsome too, once.


    In turn, they called out to him in desperation. And Blake heard their cries. He gave them new lives by taking away their old ones, except for Knox who wanted revenge.


    And then, Ryne saw himself coming out of the darkness, naked and clothed quickly with Blake¡¯s cloak. The darkness spoke to Blake.


    Do not let him remember he is of the flame.


    So, I was made docile and weak.


    Use him as a conduit. Harvest prayers from the people and offer them up to me. Harvest their bodies and spirit in my name. Corrupt the Kind Flame¡¯s Hope until the flame in him is extinguished. As he weakens, you will grow stronger. And more dark gifts will I give you. You shall be one emperor ruling across the desolate land I shall give. With my power, we shall cut the saint-king where he sits and usher in a new era. One where you will decide its shape.


    ¡°And what of you, Great Darkness?¡±


    I shall be content watching the light fade from the world. The Light. We cannot completely conquer the other. I cannot swallow the light just as much it cannot snuff me out. But I shall have my fun for millennia to come and watch heroes of light try. What fun. Maybe you can live long enough to see such entertainment. Over and over again. And the Chaos swirled around Blake, turning his eyes black, robbing him of reason.


    And the vision stopped.


    ¡°I am sorry, Ryne,¡± Gaelmar said after a long pause.


    ¡°That is what we are up against?¡±


    He does not speak. ¡°That was what should have happened. But you broke through. With your love for your brothers giving you strength, you have awakened me. I do not know what would happen now. So long as Blake and you exist, the darkness will wait. And it will continue to fester the land.¡±


    He showed me the present time. I saw cities near the most important kingdoms build their walls. High walls that were impossible to scale, as thick as five cottages. The people inside were fearful, clutching onto one another¡¯s arms. All those who were able-bodied needed to work in rotations, their open palms accepting copper coins or pouches of grains, barely a fraction of the portion supposed to be given for a family. What remaining light fell on the world did not fall over the small cottages inside the walls of the city. Great castles were at the heart of these cities. Inside the castles, he showed me corrupt, faceless nobles locking their warehouses with sacks of grains and barrels of salted meat.


    But Gaelmar also showed me other nobler rulers too. They ruled kingdoms smaller compared to the grander cities, but their people were full. Their walls still had many drawbridges to allow transport and trade to other neighboring cities. Horses brought in wagons of weary people, clothes torn and ragged.


    He showed me the saint-king, face obscure by the candlelights close to him, sitting on his throne, his cheek resting on top of his knuckles. And the darkness, always the darkness, smiling in the night, nipping at the people and laughing at their misery, inching closer and closer. No monastery and sanctuary were safe. I felt it claw my chest.


    I took it all in. ¡°You haven¡¯t answered me. What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°What do you want to do?¡±


    I did not know what to say.


    Gaelmar spoke gently. ¡°You may go, or you can stay. You will always be welcome here. I cannot bless like I used to, but you can make a fresh start here. You and your brothers. A small portion of the granges will be fertile. Crops will grow. Your youth and longevity will still remain, so long the essence of your Night Abbott is with you, and as long as my spirit is caged in the Chaos.¡±


    ¡°My long life¡­ are they yours?¡± I remember the Saints keeping their youth as well. But that miracle was not passed down to their descendants, not even their powers, or else the land would be ruled by a whole other kind of elite. And there was no guarantee that these elites would not be more corrupt than the ones we have now, even if they were descended from so-called saints. ¡°What does being your hope mean? Was I created from nothing?¡±


    ¡°You can withstand the sun because of me. And you can work with the darkness because you came from it, too. But you are not directly me. Just as you are not directly of darkness. You are your own person, made of flesh and blood and wonder and mischief, and who knows what supernatural abilities you may have.¡± Gaelmar paused. ¡°And you are too young to be burdened with this. I can take this burden away from you.¡±


    The flame pouring out of my heart siphoned out and formed into an orb floating in the air. Swirling around it was a dark mist. It was like the sun being chained around the cloud of night.


    ¡°Say the word,¡± Gaelmar said, ¡°and I will release you. My flame will find another worthy soul, a vessel that is willing. Preferably someone of age. And you can live the rest of your life with your brothers here in Rothfield.¡±


    ¡°You will not get angry?¡± My voice sounded so small. I remembered the fear I felt under Knox and Blake¡¯s stare.


    ¡°No, Ryne. I will not get angry. So long as you don¡¯t harm anyone, though I know from your own heart that you will never do that. You can make this monastery into your own.¡± As he said that, the monastery shifted from its brightness absorbing the sun to one of dark obsidian, reflecting the moon and the constellations that decorated the sky.


    I can relieve myself of a burden I did not ask for. I can live in a secluded home with my brothers, but¡­ the flameheart pulsed in front of me. His hope in my heart. My connection to him. It could wander for a long time, hiding in the dark woods or anywhere where Gaelmar can wait for a worthy soul. Someone stronger and had abilities to best the perils of the yawning darkness. Against miasma and mire and whatever else. But how long would that take?


    The Chaos said it planned to vanquish the Saint-King sitting on his throne. If we don¡¯t do anything now while they¡¯re dormant then it would be too late. My brothers¡¯ separation would be for nothing. And something inside me, just a small minuscule thing, wanted to punch the Chaos in its ugly face. I hated how it used people to make me small.


    I breathed deeply. Even if I do accept this, I do not know if I can do anything about it. I held the flameheart closer. ¡°Will you guide me, Gaelmar?¡±


    ¡°Every step of the way. I¡¯m not the type of Saint to leave someone with nothing.¡± The orb swiveled around me, bumping into my forehead. ¡°My voice may be silent from now on because of the strength I am forging with you under the last remaining essence of my comrades here, but I won¡¯t abandon you.¡±


    Then he said something that sparked my own hope for myself. ¡°Besides, as I said, you have your own identity to forge. You have your own special traits to discover. Who knows what the Miracle will grant you? You are now free to decide who you are and grow with your brothers. Trust them, Ryne. Let your bonds strengthen you all.¡±


    My brothers¡­ their voices filled me now. ¡°You are stronger than you know, Ryne. Don¡¯t let Knox or anyone else tell you otherwise.¡± Ealhstan and Woodrow and Wilbur said. Encouraging me, their voices sprouting from the flame Gaelmar was passing onto me.


    ¡°I choose to stay.¡±


    As soon as I said it, the flame burst into all the colors that were kept from the world. Deep reds and blues and purples. I had to close my eyes from all its vibrancy and hues. But I felt the heat glow wider, receiving me into its core as I received this responsibility. It felt like stars were etched onto my skin.


    ¡°Then be warm and welcome, Ryne of Rothfield. I offer you this place as a sanctuary for you and for those who would need it. I leave it under your care.¡± Then a soft breeze blew on my hair. I opened my eyes to see a hand parting the locks over my eyes. I saw a smile, warm as a summer¡¯s day. ¡°I bless you, Ryne. Let your days be filled with light.¡±

 Chapter 6 - Ryne of Rothfield (Part 3 - END)

    The next faces I saw were the faces of Wilbur and Woodrow, eyes wide and clinging to each other. I stared back at them.


    ¡°Your hair turned white!¡± Woodrow said, voice echoing in the empty nave. He pointed at the top of my head.


    ¡°You levitated in the air.¡± Wilbur stammered.


    ¡°You glowed!¡±


    ¡°You cast fire around you.¡±


    ¡°Your veins turned all the colors of the rainbow. I thought you were going to explode with purple blood!¡±


    ¡°You mumbled something about Chaos and Miracles and Saints. Oh, my.¡±


    ¡°Your hair turned white and you levitated in the air and you glowed!¡±


    ¡°All right!¡± I yelled as their voices mixed. Woodrow was cradling Wilbur as if he was on the verge of a breakdown. ¡°I¡¯m fine now. I¡¯m fine!¡± And then, seeing them so perplexed, I broke into small bursts of chuckles.


    I laughed so loud that it made their brows crease further and looked at each other with similar worried expressions. Woodrow¡¯s fingers twitched to slap me back to my senses. Once I settled down, I looked at Saint Gaelmar at the altar, looking down at all of us, hand outstretched. I turned to them and breathed deeply. There was no question that they would believe me for all the things we¡¯ve seen and have just recently witnessed. Still, as I narrated the visions, Wilbur¡¯s face grew more and more serious, lips arranging into a firm frown. Woodrow¡¯s, meanwhile, had his mouth open.


    ¡°Woodrow, your tongue is about to roll out.¡± Wilbur tapped him on the shoulder. Woodrow was sitting cross-legged like a young boy around a fire. Wilbur remained standing.


    ¡°You talked to the Saint. The actual Saint! I used their names in vain!¡± Woodrow said, clapping his hand over his mouth.


    ¡°They¡¯re not gods, Woodrow. They were ordinary people who were blessed by the Miracle, whatever that is. I think it¡¯s the opposite of the Unending Chaos. They don¡¯t control us or care about the small details of our lives. Wilbur, stop staring at me.¡±


    Wilbur did not look away. ¡°You mentioned something about our lives before this. I was in a cauldron, stirring, before it exploded, you say? Woodrow, you don¡¯t seem to be concerned about that.¡±


    Woodrow shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t remember much about my past. Like Ryne, I emerged like an empty canvas. If ever I was a soldier¡±


    ¡°Your subconscious mind still retains your knack for strategy, though. And there was always quickness to how you draw your dagger. I just thought it was a neat little party trick when you let your weapon fly straight to the center of your target back at Hollowed Fairstep. You could have a different personality. You could have had another life.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying not to dwell on it. I have so much to say. So much. But we''d better tackle things of importance, first." Woodrow let out a breath and stretched his arm. Then, he winked at me. ¡°So, what¡¯s next, Ryne?¡±


    The question caught me off guard. I was so used to following my brothers everywhere and begging to be included. Now they were looking at me, waiting for what I had to say. More than that, Gaelmar gave me a choice.


    ¡°Actually, I want to ask you first.¡± I stared at their faces. It would only be fair. ¡°


    ¡°Oh, shut up, Ryne, and tell us what to do,¡± Woodrow said. I smiled. ¡°After all we¡¯ve been through and after telling us what is happening in the world, you¡¯d think we¡¯re going to abandon you? Besides,¡± he said, raising his pointer finger, ¡°I think sticking with each other and sticking with the actual personification of hope and possible next vessel of a Saint would be my best bet of surviving.¡±


    Wilbur, however, was serious. ¡°I¡¯m actually concerned that you would want to go through with this. I know that the whole world is at stake, it¡¯s just¡­¡± he shook his head. ¡°you¡¯re so brave. If I was put in your shoes, I¡¯m not sure if I would take that kind of responsibility.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not alone, Wilbur. I have you. I have the rest of our good brothers somewhere. Gaelmar himself told me to put my trust in you. And I¡¯ve got a strong feeling that we can do this.¡±


    ¡°Where would we even begin?¡± Woodrow scratched his head.


    I breathed. There were many strong feelings in my chest that weren¡¯t before. They were mine, I was sure of that. Perhaps only emboldened by Gaelmar¡¯s influence. He burned away the withered fears that still clung around me. I closed my eyes, felt inward like I had been doing for months, and saw from the blackness vague shapes, like pages out of a storybook.


    It was the shape of flowers blooming in a garden. Then the shapes of crops growing in the granges.


    ¡°The cloister garth and the granges,¡± I said. ¡°Follow me.¡± An invisible path was tugging me. A warm ribbon that hovered in the air. Gaelmar did not lie. He was guiding me.


    We knew where it was. To the right of the nave was the cloister garth and the dormitories. As we were walking outside, I whispered to Wilbur.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem too bothered about the part of me talking to Saint Gaelmar. It could mean other things, too. You know. Maybe I can talk to the rest of the Saints, who knows?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not dwelling much on that, like Woodrow is for the moment. You¡¯re your own person, Ryne. You are a child. I know¡ª¡± Wilbur said hurriedly when I protested. ¡°You aren¡¯t a squeamish, squealing, immature, innocent babe. You are older than all the children in the world as of this year. And yet, a part of your brain or spirit is still a child. Or else you wouldn¡¯t be sharing such silly faces with Claude back at his kitchen table.¡±


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    He was right. It surprised even me, how quick the joy was, the instinct to copy him and make him laugh. I led them to the side of the nave that leads to the clositered path and the granges. There at the center of the black ground was a dead oak tree, branches still mighty and symmetrical, like the antlers of a stag. Beams of moonlight fell through these branches, casting some areas of the ground with pale blue light.


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to attack us, is it?¡± Woodrow said, standing behind Wilbur.


    ¡°No,¡± I replied, walking slowly towards the great oak tree. The entire cloister garth was bigger than any garth we ever built. It was the size of a decent-sized grange. I suppose it must be so, with the roots of the great oak tree running underneath.


    From the footpath, my boots landed on soft soil again. I made my way to the waiting oak, growing bigger and eerily majestic the closer I approached. I placed my hand against its bark, looking up at its immense size. Ealhstan would barely reach half its height. I pressed my hand into the bark, drawing a little blood on my open palm.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I said. ¡°My name is Ryne and these are my brothers. We¡¯re going to take care of Rothfield now. Could you let us do that?¡± The oak did not move, but I was certain that when the wind passed, its body swelled, making the branches shiver. I put my other hand on top of the one against the bark. ¡°Wake, friend. Wake.¡±


    For a moment, there was nothing. But from the place where I placed my hand, a warm light coursed through. Glowing yellow-white light reaching the tops of the trees and down to its roots underground. My knees wobbled, so I leaned back against the oak tree and nodded to Wilbur and Woodrow back at the cloistered path.


    ¡°Wilbur,¡± I called to him, gesturing to a small patch of ground near me. ¡°The ground is awake now. This part, here. See?¡±


    As soon as he was near enough, the dark ground from beneath my boots slowly came back to life. The soil churned as if it were breathing. Then from black, the soil turned grey and then to brown, the color of live earth. The border in which the life-brown met the decayed-black was faded green grass.


    ¡°As an alchemist, this feels like cheating,¡± Wilbur observed the ground, touching with his pale finger the grass that bordered dead soil from fresh. ¡°Ryne, are you all right?¡±


    ¡°I think it takes something from me when I awaken it. It must recognize that Gaelmar has blessed me and that we¡¯re caretakers of it now.¡± I looked at the patch of grass that was freshly made for us. ¡°Pity, I can only manage a small patch.¡±


    ¡°You say that as if any child can wake the earth from its slumber with their blood. It is our turn to be amazed at what you can do.¡± Wilbur smiled. He looked back at the ground. ¡°So, this is where it begins? The fate of the world in this garden?¡±


    ¡°With prayers and nurturing, I think so, yes. Wilbur¡­¡± I held his hands and smiled wide at him. ¡°You can plant your own seeds here without Knox¡¯s interference. Without fear of Blake reprimanding you.¡±


    In his face was a growing wonder. His hand reached for his satchel and pulled out the paper from where he kept his seeds. He took out three of them, the last of his years of hard work and experiments. He placed it in his hands as if he was about to feed the birds. I was nervous. With his hands that easily clawed away dirt, he dug three fresh holes in which to plant them. Just three different kinds of seeds.


    The branches swayed overhead as if craning to get a closer look. Wilbur dropped the first batch of seeds into its first home. ¡°The enhanced feverfluke flowers for fevers. I¡¯m going to call them yellowtongue...¡± Bright yellow seeds fell like sunbeams. He tore open the second batch of seeds, falling like ice-blue snowflakes. ¡°The shivering maiden, for stopping colds and jitters and excess fluid discharge from the body.¡± The last one he looked oddly. He showed it to me first before putting it on the ground. ¡°I do not know what these are, but they were a byproduct together with the sleeping powder. In his hands were bright green bean-shaped seeds with dark stripes. I touched it, sensing that it was fine enough, and nodded at Wilbur. ¡°These, I¡¯m going to call everbane. Just because.¡± He shrugged. And with that, he covered the seeds and patted them with the ground.


    There was something nagging in my chest. ¡°It feels like I¡¯m supposed to say something. But I can¡¯t find the right words.¡± I shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t wait for your garden to grow this time, Wilbur. Look at all this space!¡± I said, standing up and extending my hand outwards. We shared a smile as he stood up and dusted the dirt off his hands. ¡°Imagine all the colors of the rainbow, right here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to take a lot of work, but we¡¯re no stranger to that, are we?¡±


    ¡°No, we are not.¡±


    ¡°How did you know what to do? To awaken the tree and the garden?¡±


    ¡°Gaelmar is guiding me. He doesn¡¯t speak to me anymore. He used his strength to speak with me and show me his visions. But it feels like my heart listens to what we all need to accomplish.¡±


    We rejoined Woodrow back to the nave and made our way out into the granges. The warm path urged me to its center. There were no oak trees here, no remnant sentinel, but it led me to an empty space not far from the entrance of the church.


    I placed both knees and palms on the ground this time like some sort of pagan ritual and I whispered again to the ground. ¡°Awaken.¡± I buckled with the strength that left me. The air went from my lungs and into the ground, breathing my wish into the soil.


    ¡°Ryne!¡± Wilbur called.


    I heard Woodrow struggle with him. ¡°Let him do this, Wilbur. Gaelmar isn¡¯t Blake. He¡¯ll protect him. Let him know his own strength.¡±


    And then it was over, and just like before, the ground softened and breathed with the air I had given it. ¡°Wilbur,¡± I said, breathless. ¡°Over here.¡±


    Wilbur hurried, already grabbing the crop seeds he kept from his wooden bottles. I did not know what they were as he dug and planted them. Wordlessly, Wilbur and Woodrow helped me up and walked me back to the nave. They let me sit in the same spot where I beheld the visions.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never get used to you lighting up like a candle,¡± Woodrow commented.


    ¡°Let me have the bright hair for once.¡± I winked at him.


    Woodrow smiled, then looked at my face. ¡°Your veins¡­ they¡¯ve faded a little. They¡¯re still there, but washed over.¡± I brought my face to my hands, then to my hair. Woodrow spoke before I could ask. ¡°It¡¯s back to its pale blonde. Grey, actually.¡±


    I nodded. And then I yawned. Suddenly, I was weary and there was a heaviness under my eyes. ¡°There are dormitories near here. Maybe we should hide there.¡± But when I closed my eyes, another vision came. Several underground passages in Rothfield. Parts of the roots of the great oak tree can be seen from the ceiling. ¡°There¡¯s a door behind Gaelmar. The switch is the torchlight behind him.¡±


    Woodrow arched his brow, looking like he approved of the new layout. ¡°There aren¡¯t any bodies there?¡±


    ¡°Skulls and some bones. They honored their fallen soldiers by putting their skulls on the walls so that they could forever look at them.¡±


    ¡°A bit macabre and a bit touching.¡± Woodrow and Wilbur disappeared behind Gaelmar¡¯s statue and I heard a click. ¡°The air doesn¡¯t smell that bad, actually. Just damp, damp earth. Wilbur don¡¯t collect the skulls.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to,¡± came Wilbur¡¯s retort.


    I gave them time to wander around in the dark and let myself collect my breath. I gazed up at the statue of Gaelmar looking down at me. ¡°This is it. This is the beginning.¡±

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 1)

    ---WILBUR---


    When Wilbur returned, he found Ryne sleeping like a cat curled under the Saint¡¯s feet. Woodrow climbed up the steps not long after him, holding a dusty skull in his hand. He put it near Wilbur¡¯s face and with his fingers, clacked its jaw like a macabre puppeteer as he talked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bad place, considering.¡±


    ¡°Be serious,¡± Wilbur replied. Now that Ryne was asleep, he can now say what he really meant.


    Woodrow, as the voice of the skull said, ¡°But I was on the ground when this kind redhead picked me up. Woe was me before him.¡±


    ¡°Respect the dead.¡±


    ¡°Says the one that experiments on them,¡± Woodrow said, using his natural voice.


    Wilbur crouched down upon his sleeping charge, small and spent. He combed back Ryne¡¯s locks that fell down his eyes. It was the color of golden wheat breezing under a summer¡¯s day the first time he met him. It had withered as Blake had used him as a conduit. Wilbur and Woodrow stared at Ryne when the boy recounted what Gaelmar showed him. He had no memory of their beginnings, only shivering as his imagination brought him Ryne¡¯s small body levitating in the air, his veins appearing as Blake and Knox did the dark ritual to snuff out Gaelmar¡¯s hope in him and use it to turn the prayers into power. It was like alchemy, Wilbur thought.


    He twisted the ends of Ryne''s hair. His brows met. Wilbur combed Ryne¡¯s hair with his hands until the boy looked neat for sleep. To Woodrow absentmindedly, he murmured, ¡°Had his hair always been this long?¡±


    Whatever form they had during their afterlife¡ªor whatever name it was that marked their transition from normal life to this¡ªthey kept forever. All of them had tried it; Wilbur cut his hair one night out of curiosity. He stared as his lock of hair turned to ash in the wind and felt the patch grow back into place. Ryne was the same. But he was sure that his hair did not look this long.


    Wilbur crouched down lower, Woodrow following him. When he peered closer, Ryne¡¯s nose and cheeks seemed wider somehow. He looked like a child, still, but with his familiarity with Ryne¡¯s features, he was certain that his face had changed.


    Wilbur looked up at the statue. Saint Gaelmar, the Kind Flame. He had named his powers the same. His kindflame was said to inspire and reignite the hope that dwindled low in the hearts of men. He stared into Gaelmar''s marble eyes, wearing an expression that was unnamed. Wilbur frowned at the statue. For Wilbur, it would always feel like yesternight when Ryne was clinging to his robes. He scarcely remembered a time when the boy he would care for did not occupy his mind. Before him was only Knox, then Woodrow, then Ealhstan, then Swithin. He did not come near his brothers back then, only content to read his books from a life he barely remembered.


    He was in a university, Ryne said. He was working on something and then the cauldron exploded. Was it there he met his demise? Why did the Chaos pick him than the others? He assumed there were other alchemists. Where were they now, he wondered. Did he know him? Did he have friends or was he always a recluse? These were the questions that he pushed to the back of his mind.


    They did not matter. Only Ryne did.


    He did not mean to get this close to the child, but Ryne warmed his heart and changed him. The grey child listened to him when no one did. He paid attention and asked questions when Wilbur taught him some of what he knew. And he had found his bravery all on his own as he grew with each monastery.


    Woodrow brought the skull back into the crypts snugly in place with the rest of his fallen brethren. When he came back, he put a reassuring hand on Wilbur¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You have got to stop treating him like a child, Wilbur. He¡¯s seen too much. He¡¯s done more and dealt with far more serious things than a man four times his actual age will ever face.¡±


    ¡°I know that. I know. But he¡­ I will always be there to protect him,¡± Wilbur said firmly.


    Then, he picked the boy up, one arm on his neck and one arm under his knees. Woodrow stared at them both, noticing that Ryne only stirred to nuzzle his cheek against Wilbur¡¯s chest. Wilbur took one last glare at the statue and spat. ¡°Saint you are, and born out of your sacred flame Ryne may be, but he is my brother and I have known him, known him far more than you. You promised not to abandon him. I shall hold you to that.¡±


    There were four sarcophagi in the crypts. Wilbur carried Ryne gently down the dark staircase absent of torchlight. He ducked at one low oak root. He took off his habit and placed it on the stone slab and placed Ryne there, where he curled back again and mumbled.


    ¡°Are you tired?¡± Wilbur asked Woodrow.


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    ¡°Hardly.¡±


    Wilbur murmured. With nothing left to do for the moment, they took in the crypt. The Saints weren¡¯t buried here, but there were great four stone slabs in preparation for that outcome. Maybe in the past, they were decorated with the colors corresponding to each Saint. Bright reds and deep blues. Calm greens and silvers. Wilbur remembered just now that Saint Edmund was the only royal Saint, and the Patron Saint of scholars, of both learners and educators, of alchemists including him. Gaelmar¡­ Gaelmar on the other hand was the Patron Saint of Outcasts, of those with no homes. Wilbur looked again at the boy curled on the slab. If anyone could prepare a home where both darkness and light can live, it was Ryne. Wilbur only needed to support him in this great quest.


    ¡°So, how do you feel that we were serving a servant of the Chaos that keeps ruining this land?¡± Wilbur asked Woodrow.


    ¡°Pissed,¡± came Woodrow¡¯s easy reply. ¡°What do we do now? Just plant, and wait for things to grow? Wait for Ryne to glow again. What if years pass by without anything happening? I mean, I wouldn¡¯t mind that much. This journey with his is a direction at least, knowing that one of the Saints himself chose Ryne.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you have noticed this, brother, but Ryne seems to speed things along. Unlike our past nights where we spent years trying to build and maintain communities surrounding monasteries. I¡¯ve got a strong hunch that the land is impatient itself in ridding the Chaos.¡± Wilbur looked at Woodrow meaningfully.


    Woodrow touched his chest and felt unsettled. Their hearts beat slowly. Faster when they fed, slower when they were famished. Blake was in them, and that part of them hated to be in this place, overriding their instincts. Which means that they must remain.


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine how Gaelmar is fine with us feeding. I imagine he¡¯s going to use Ryne like Blake possessed us and burn us to crisps when he finds out that we are draining people of their blood.¡±


    Wilbur shrugged. ¡°Ryne says that this is our place now. We do it out of survival. We don¡¯t do it for sport.¡±


    ¡°About that¡­¡± Woodrow stretched his arms. ¡°What use will I be here? If the dark forest keeps the townsfolk away and protects this place from wandering eyes, then what use will I be here? I don¡¯t have anyone to charm.¡±


    ¡°Maybe an opportunity will arise for you. And for once, you can use your other abilities other than charming.¡±


    Wilbur observed Woodrow. His redheaded brother looked down on the ground with an expression he couldn¡¯t decipher. Woodrow seemed to like the idea, but he was not sure. He was about to call to him when Ryne screamed at the top of his lungs, obliterating the quiet of the crypt.


    Wilbur and Woodrow rushed to Ryne¡¯s side. Ryne¡¯s eyes were squeezed shut. He levitated, still screaming. Fear seized Wilbur¡¯s lungs, choking him with dread. He did not want to hear that kind of agony from him. Without thinking, Wilbur slapped him awake. Ryne opened his eyes just then, and a thick smoke rose from his mouth. A dark energy that laughed with the voice of Blake. The ice spread from Ryne and swallowed Wilbur. Woodrow dropped next to him. They shivered under the deathless chill of their Abbott. The plume of smoke began to form into the shape of a face, one they knew all too well. It stared at them, snarling, and was about to strike them with a claw cloaked in shadow where they stood.


    And then Ryne dropped to the ground, knocking the breath off him. Wilbur immediately shook his shoulders, but Ryne opened his eyes and leaped from the table. Ryne pushed him away and knelt to the ground. He clasped his hands in front of him and called forth Gaelmar¡¯s name. And then his lips mumbled silently, spouting a silent string of words Wilbur could not hear. Wilbur realized, then. He was praying.


    As he prayed, the ice wave melted away. But their Abbott¡¯s cruel laughter still echoed in their ears. Ryne had begun to glow. It started from his chest and then spread through his face, the veins in him seeming to ignite. It was not in the same intensity as before when Ryne forged a connection with Gaelmar, but wondrous still. And then, when the warmth was back, Ryne¡¯s glow faded and he finished the ordeal breathless and sputtering. His chest heaved with effort. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, but he offered a small smile.


    ¡°I did it,¡± Ryne croaked. Wilbur and Woodrow only looked back. Ryne arranged himself and sat on the stone slab, legs dangling. ¡°I think Blake would want to fight his way out when I fall asleep.¡±


    Wilbur lost his composure. ¡°What, you would need to abandon sleep? How can you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I can still sleep, Wilbur, just in small bursts. I can feel him when he¡¯s stirring awake. Before that happens, I would invoke Gaelmar¡¯s name and burn him back.¡±


    ¡°How often will he try to escape?¡±


    Ryne shrugged. ¡°Who knows? But he doesn¡¯t have much strength to begin with. Not as long as we¡¯re here, united.¡±


    Woodrow turned back from Ryne and stepped away. His fingers pinched his brows. This won¡¯t do. He was not sure that Ryne could bear this, but Woodrow entered his field of vision, giving him a stern look. He is not a child, Wilbur, Woodrow had said.


    Wilbur breathed out. He needed to trust Ryne. He must believe he was strong enough. But he felt so frustrated that he was powerless to do anything. And now, Ryne had the power to protect them all, but at great cost to his own body. He wondered at this moment if he felt that he was uncomfortable with the change in dynamics. He shook his head, of course not. It would be silly.


    ¡°We would take turns watching you. Are you thirsty? Do you need anything?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Wilbur. I¡¯m fine.¡± Ryne looked back at him, his blue eyes serious. ¡°This is my burden now and I accept it with grace. We all need to do our part. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m doing mine.¡±


    After a moment, Ryne yawned and smiled at them both. He looked at the ceiling and at the roots that curled from the oak tree above their heads. ¡°Am I in the crypt?¡± He looked at the four stone sarcophagi that were supposed to be the Saint¡¯s final resting place. ¡°Am I lying on top of a grave?¡± He looked at the passage out of the crypt. ¡°Are those skulls? Are they from the fallen soldiers?¡± Ryne must not have seen them in the small visions he had.


    Ryne laid his head on his arms. He slept not long after. Wilbur again arranged his hair, sitting close to him, waiting for dawn, waiting if Ryne would again be woken by Blake and pray. When he and Woodrow felt sleep seize them, he struggled to stay awake. He kept fighting until his head fell on the stone surface next to Ryne, his hand bracing Ryne¡¯s cheek, his nose pressed to Ryne¡¯s wispy hair.

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 2)

    ---RYNE---


    My head pounded as I opened my eyes. It was as if my heart beat inside my head. Wilbur would have said I was too young for this, but I think he was beginning to realize that I was not so young for most things anymore. At least, I hoped so.


    He was sleeping beside me while Woodrow lay on top of the next sarcophagus. I pried myself off him. As soon as I did, his arms crossed themselves in front of his chest on their own like insects when they keeled. I inspected him. He looked paler and more gaunt. They haven¡¯t fed since last night, I remembered.


    I walked out of the crypt, noticing the thick cobwebs strung along the walls, and heard the scurrying and squeaking of rats hurrying to hide. A moth flew from the socket of a skull, leaving a glowing cocoon inside. I sensed one of these skulls was a lever like the torch behind Gaelmar. My hand rested on one with a red tooth and pressed. A machination clicked and the passage opened. The skull with the cocoon was like a pulsing iris that watched me leave.


    It was daybreak. The first breath of the world chilled me. I shivered and wrapped my cloak tighter around myself. I sat under Gaelmar¡¯s statue and waited for the sky to blue. Or the bluest hue that it could manage, anyway.


    ¡°Do you think you can stop the Chaos from spreading as you hide, child? There is no safe place for you.¡± Blake mocked within me. I closed my eyes and clasped my hands together. ¡°Do you think your pathetic prayers can keep me out of your head? I will keep tormenting you for all your days.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t count on it being otherwise. Now, burn.¡±


    I focused deeply in my heart, on the place where chains trapped Blake within me. I imagined chains made of iron preventing him from escaping, iron that burned with Gaelmar¡¯s flame each time I invoked his name. Blake recoiled into the depths he carved for himself. I knew that I must be vigilant from now on. One missed prayer, just one distraction, and my brothers would be prone to possession. Gaelmar¡¯s strength had left him for now, so there would be no Saint coming to our aid anytime soon. Not like that fateful night at Saint Korbin¡¯s.


    I focused on my brother¡¯s faces. I called upon Gaelmar¡¯s name. I called upon the power of sanctuary here. I pulled from the air whatever warmth it offered under the last remaining Saint¡¯s influence. I channeled the warmth into the words that I learned from Knox¡¯s books, thankful that I harnessed something good from the awful months of reading and listening to him blabber. It was the antithesis of the ritual he made me remember. With this warmth, the words turned into a blessing of banishing Blake. Temporarily. I was not sure if I could get stronger somehow and banish him forever.


    When I opened my eyes, it was to the gray of a new day. My brow was dotted with sweat. I wiped it away and headed out, skin rejoicing to the cool breeze that relieved my exhaustion.


    The dark forest looked as dead as ever under the gray clouds. They looked like my brothers sleeping in the crypts. Like the roots would not reach out at you and stab you in your eyes. The granges meanwhile had a surprise for me.


    I hurried towards the soil where fertile brown met sleeping black. Bits of healthy green stuck out from the awakened soil. The burst of joy I felt cleared the remaining exhaustion away. I bent down and slowly touched the tips of what I now realized were turnips and parsnips. Near it were the budding flowers of potatoes. Wilbur must have used all the spring seeds he had.


    I wanted to stand up and hop, and that is exactly what I did. In the emptiness of the grounds, my victory call echoed. I did something right. I did something! I looked at my hands and the veins that marked me an oddity. For once I did something good with my frail body! I wanted to wake Wilbur and Woodrow and show them the beginnings of our journey. It was already rewarding us this fast! Maybe it had to do with Wilbur¡¯s fertilizers and Gaelmar¡¯s Blessing, where influences of chaos and harmony worked together.


    And I wanted to meet the curious farmer boy who took us into their house and shared their meal with us. My mind brought an image of dark curls and thick brows making funny faces at me on the table. I was not a child, and yet, there was no way to stop myself from pulling those faces at him at his kitchen table and from snickering as many of the children did back at the many monasteries. I prayed he was safe.


    I buried my hand in the soil again. Life. I sensed that the ground was impatient to grow. And then, when my hand emerged, I felt the opposite of life. The unmistakable ice-cold chill of the miasma. The same sinister force that emanated from Claude¡¯s farm was already making its way here, through the dark forest. I remembered the black sludge in my hand. I vowed never to let our hard work be wasted.


    I knelt on the ground and cast kindflame over the budding crops. Like a blanket.


    Gaelmar showed me how. In my heart, I knew what to do with it. I was also aware that it was not in its full force, so the effect would also be temporary. It was like a heatwave as the protective blessing came from the prayers in my heart and onto the soil. A blanket of glowing warmth that the miasma could not breach until the next day. I saw it; the vile ash that hovered like a swarm of pests from the trees. It wanted to land on the crops and eat away the green. But they bounced off my protection and hovered in the air, circling, waiting for an opening.


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    Hurriedly, I went to the gardens and saw to my delight, that one of the flowers was also sprouting. The one Wilbur called yellowtongues, the improved version of feverflukes. And just like tongues, they were licking away the soil and were about to sprout in the next few days. The shivering maiden and the everbane patch were still on the soil. I cast the net of protection to these three as well.


    It sapped from me the strength I had recovered with sleep, and I felt my knees wobble again, and my arm shake. The shade of the oak tree beckoned to me. Under this oak lay my brothers. I suppose I must join them in sleep as well again.


    I woke and did this twice more in the afternoons, down to dusk. When Wilbur and Woodrow emerged, they saw me as I prayed, the glow from my chest fading away. I smiled at them and showed them the budding miracles. My brothers traded smiling and surprised looks. Wilbur bent down to touch the healthy crops and garden flowers. But when we went back to the nave, he sighed.


    ¡°You look tired,¡± Wilbur said. And then at that moment, my stomach growled. It was then I realized that I had not yet eaten anything since this morning. Wilbur frowned.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go hunt.¡± Woodrow, quick as a flash, had the hilt of the dagger in his hand. There are animals there now. "Will the forest let me?¡±


    ¡°I think so, if I allow it.¡±


    We walked closer to the dark woods. I placed my hand on the first bark I saw, just like I did when I awakened the oak tree. ¡°If it¡¯s all right with you, may my brother hunt in your woods? Just enough for this night.¡±


    I sensed nothing in the forest shifted. I shrugged at Woodrow. Uncertain, he held my gaze as he slid through the trees. We waited for him as my body shook with hunger. I avoided Wilbur¡¯s eyes as they jumped from analyzing me to anticipating trouble through the trees.


    But Woodrow came back with a limp quail and her eggs. ¡°There were plenty of nests. There would be plenty of numbers to replace this one and her children. Were there pots in the kitchens?¡±


    There was a simple door in the monastery kitchens. Its hinges creaked open and revealed a complete set of old furniture. It had the same scent in the crypt; of centuries of inactivity with old wood and brass. There was a long table at the center and a cupboard above a counter that was attached to the walls.


    We were glad to find, once we opened the cupboards, that Rothfield monastery was abandoned with a basic set of kitchenware. Wilbur and Woodrow brought out a big brass cooking pot and cut down a tree with an old rusted axe we found in the toolshed near the cloistered garth. The dead trees may not be used for lord Bahram¡¯s purposes, but they worked enough for us as burning logs.


    Woodrow sparked two stones together, and let the fire roar. Wilbur collected enough water in the nearby river. This was the one that Lydia told us about; the spring that ran from the mountain down to this monastery and into their farm. While they were doing those, I plucked the feathers off the quail on the long table and used those feathers as more fuel to the fire. We cooked it in the brass pot along with the eggs, sitting in silence, watching it bubble, our pale faces glowing orange next to the fire.


    I touched Wilbur¡¯s arm. ¡°You two haven¡¯t fed.¡±


    Woodrow was the one who answered. ¡°We thought about that. We haven¡¯t done this before, but,¡± from under his cloak, Woodrow pulled out a dead owl, its talons pointing at the night sky. One less hoot to disturb the night. A few mice will be spared tonight.


    As the fire crackled, Woodrow¡¯s fangs lengthened, sharpened, and he sucked the owl of its blood. ¡°It¡¯s rude to watch someone as they sup, you know,¡± he said after. He tasted his lips and shook his head. ¡°It isn¡¯t filling. I feel none of my strength returning, but it has abated the hunger somewhat. And we need the forest to recuperate, which means that we can only hunt a few animals. Speaking of, I¡¯m going to hunt for another. Just for you, brother,¡± he said to Wilbur.


    Wilbur rinsed my bowl in the stream, even though I could have managed. Without a ladle, he dipped the entire thing in the quail soup and stirred the brass cooking pot with it. He handed me a bowl full of the hot soup. Woodrow emerged as I supped and tossed Wilbur another common barn owl. Wilbur caught it and dug into its stomach. He was about to fling it back to the trees when he stopped and kept it under his cloak. Maybe he would need it for his experiments later.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s comparable to drinking soup with just a tiny bit of bone broth. It isn¡¯t nourishing, but it¡¯s enough for now,¡± Wilbur said.


    I didn¡¯t feel like eating anymore. It didn¡¯t feel right that I would replenish my strength when they would still feel weak. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± It was the only thing I could say. Woodrow and Wilbur offered me sympathetic smiles, shaking their heads.


    ¡°Nothing you could do about it,¡± they said. Without anything to do, they stared into the fire and were alone with their thoughts.


    I saw Woodrow smiling, though. He caught me looking. ¡°it¡¯s just been so long since I had time to myself. I know that soon enough I will crave other people¡¯s companionship."


    ¡°It must be hard for you,¡± I sympathized. ¡°This silence,¡± I remember Hollowed Fairstep long ago. I would like to tease him and say that he missed the attention. But centuries, years before me, a life long ago, Woodrow had always loved human interaction.


    He shrugged. Wilbur nudged me. ¡°How¡¯s the meal?¡±


    ¡°Lacking without your delicious herbs. But I suppose it will have to do.¡± I winked. The fire burned deep into the night, and when it burned low, the logs crackling faintly, I felt Blake push against the chains. I breathed deep, warmed my hands in the remaining fire, closed my eyes, and uttered Gaelmar¡¯s prayer. My brothers were less surprised by the glow that emanated this time, though they were still watchful.


    ¡°We feel it too when he stirs.¡±


    Twice more, I prayed after supper. I woke again to the crypts under the nave, Wilbur sleeping beside me again, his long arm in front of my body like he was shielding me from dust and debris. I sighed and leaned into him. It did feel nice sometimes¡ªonly sometimes¡ªto have an overprotective bigger brother.


    The next morning, it was the same, with Woodrow hunting farther, and us reminding him to ration. I cast the protective warmth over the crops and the emerging yellowtongue flowers. The next morning, the same routine.


    The sky saw it fit to reward me with a single beam of sunlight the next day, falling right over the area of the forest path leading to the granges. I stooped low and talked to the turnips now halfway emerging from the ground. ¡°There now, how about a wee bit of sunlight for you?¡±


    I was smiling, following where the sunlight pointed to the path. It was there I saw a small figure standing still, just emerging from the forest with a knapsack on his back. He had a head full of dark curls.

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 3)

    ---CLAUDE---


    They disappeared as if the night swallowed them whole.


    I was in the fields harvesting the grains that would be sent to Lord Bahram this month. Ma was behind me bundling the stalks. I pressed the grains between my thumbs, wincing as I felt how brittle the husks were.


    They were all dry, and none of them would barely pass the inspection from Lord Bahram. All dry, save for the few golden grains that were on the bowl next to me when I woke. I had stared at it. Gold and full. I thought in that one instant the world turned bright, that the world was saved, and the cities had lowered their walls. But once I ran into the fields, the world was still grey, and the monks were gone.


    My heart sank. But it soared once more when I heard the soft pitter-patter of Annette''s bare feet on the floor upstairs. She was standing on the edge of the bed, trying to walk. She smiled at me when I entered. She sat on the edge of Ma and Da''s bed, the color back to her lips and cheeks, like the first thaw of winter. It was not a dream, after all. As I recovered while I worked, I marveled how our family was saved in just one night.


    ¡°You¡¯re going the wrong direction, boy,¡± Ma called. I was going to the rye section of the fields when I should have been harvesting the barley. I retraced my steps, careful where I scythed the base of the stalks. The sounds of scything and bundling did not enter my ears when I dove back into my thoughts. I didn¡¯t hear Ma¡¯s concern under all my frustrations. How did I let myself fall asleep that night? How could I? Did my relief that my sister was saved drain me? But to fall asleep instantly...?


    I wanted to see more of them. I wanted to know if Ryne was fine. The world can be so cruel to someone so different. Especially other priests. Hypocrites, the lot of them. Ryne should count himself lucky that he was a monk himself when he was orphaned. He would be offered protection for the rest of his days.


    There was something off about the dark forest, too.


    I wiped the sweat off my brow and looked at the first line of trees. They were not as secretive of its depths as before. Ma caught me looking.


    ¡°You want to go see them. I want to know if they¡¯re safe as well. But it¡¯s too dangerous, Claude. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to worry Ma just as Annette was starting to get better, so I toiled the fields. I let the pigs roam in their pens, fed them the remaining slop and scraps that we had. I placed the driest hay in the bin for the cows and goats. They have grown thin and weary and can only offer milk every other milking day. I couldn¡¯t bear how sad their eyes looked so I didn¡¯t meet their gaze. The sheep were still fine, though. Belle and her sisters still had grass to feed on and their wool kept Bahram from exploding with fury at us, as if we were the ones solely responsible for this blight. But I suppose it was part of his plan to pin the blame on peasants and workers. He would have an excuse to send us on our way.


    At the end of the day, I stared at the wooden bowl where the healthy grains and oats were placed. They shone like coins peeking through a wide-open purse.


    The next morning, Annette was still confined in her room, but she groaned that she wanted to play outside. Ma was quick to change from being concerned to gently reprimanding her. But she did it with a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She still didn¡¯t want me to go near Annette, but when I was done with my chores and had rinsed off the dirt, I sneaked into her room and talked to my little sister about the monks who healed her.


    She remembered nothing as she stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She did not remember the veined boy with the pale dirty blonde hair and the lanky brown-haired man who clinked whenever he moved. It was in his many satchels that cured her of this sickness. All Annette remembered were awful dreams, and then waking up to a warm, tight, tear-soaked hug.


    ¡°You led a blessing into our doorstep that night,¡± Ma said to me.


    A mysterious blessing, I thought. They were so curious. Strange. I scratched my head at how they managed to survive for so long. I convinced myself that if they managed to keep themselves fine through their long journey then that must mean they could handle themselves, but I just wanted to check if they were all fine. Especially the boy who looked both grayer than the clouds but warmer than the fireplace. Pale like his brothers but warmest of them all, and he did not seem to be like the other nobles or learned boys.


    ___


    When dawn broke, I found myself walking towards the edge of the forest that had no name. Withered forest, my brother called it. I called it the dark forest. It had been silent all these years. It kept the sounds of the wind that blew there. It caged all the creatures within. My heart beat in my throat. I was scared to go further. But there were no signs here that they passed through.


    ¡°How did you even manage to slip by?¡± I whispered out loud. Then again, they seemed the type to pass through shadow.


    I wondered why I was thinking about him so much. He would probably have forgotten me by now, diving into his books and being trained by monks older than him. I looked at the dirt on my hands. I was born in the dirt the moment I was born, as Vincent Bahram pointed out, every time I had the misfortune of encountering him at the town square. A stain under his boots, he said.


    Ryne would be clean and well-fed. He can find a city where he would be welcomed, especially during these days. He would be snug in his position, but I would always remain a farmer. Deep in crops and mud. There would be no changing that, so I turned away. Back to my fields and the cottage. Unless I prove myself as a soldier and by some miracle become a knight. But those chances were wishes upon the gloomy clouds.


    I just did not like the image of Ryne growing up and preaching to poor peasants like me and being withdrawn and fixing me with the same look Bahram and our priest do. I didn¡¯t want him to grow greedy and fat in the belly with frail arms demanding for tithes and tributes.


    I hoped he was safe.


    ___


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    ¡°Carve me something, Claude,¡± Annette said. ¡°Anything.¡±


    ¡°It just so happens that I have a log waiting to be carved, little miss,¡± I said as she giggled. Ma allowed me to sit with her now. It was nice hearing her little giggles again. The farmhouse was not complete without them. They were broken by a thick cough or two, but she was back to her old self.


    I grabbed a small log from a pile and began to chip away with the carving knife Da left me. My brothers spent their afternoons carving out figures from small logs when they were younger, but they outgrew it. Chipping away wood until there was shape to it gave me peace when I didn¡¯t know what to do. I carved three images during the time Annette was sick. I showed them to her and she picked the one that looked like a flower, even though it was clumsy work.


    I chipped away the wood under the window. Just then, a stray sunbeam fell through and my carving knife glinted. I stopped. Annette and I made sounds of wonder as if we¡¯d never seen the sunlight before. And then, with that light, I carved quickly, determined to finish this before the clouds blocked it once more. When I blew the last of the dust off the shape, the sunlight was still there.


    It was of a sparrow with only one wing. I frowned at it. Annette was trying to form the words behind her wide eyes. She settled on, ¡°That looks different. Maybe you should give it to your friend.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­¡± I turned the sparrow in my hand. ¡°You¡¯re right. Don¡¯t tell Ma.¡±


    She smiled and hid under the covers. Ma would not stop me from leaving the farmhouse today. Ma hadn¡¯t touched the golden grains on the table until now. We can¡¯t show it to Lord Bahram, of course. So, she baked it on our fireplace instead, placing it on a pan that hung over the fire, and covering it with a lid. Ma was humming, bent over the fireplace, checking the bread. I smiled. It¡¯s been too long since she hummed. I waited on the table as the living room was filled with the breath of warm, freshly baked bread. I missed the scent of it whenever I passed by the bakery in the town. Months of not having a proper meal made my mouth water. When she was done, I placed a thick napkin on the table, where she placed a big loaf of coarse rye-oat bread, the smoke curling in the air. She gave a quarter of it to me, more than the size of my palm.


    She cut another quarter of the thick loaf and placed it on a wooden plate with two knives and forks. She then placed those on the tray with a bowl of the remaining soup she made last night. With a knowing look from me, she turned away and brought it upstairs for Annette.


    This was it. This was my chance. I think Ma knew anyway. I cut another small portion from the large bread and stored the two smaller loaves that I had in my knapsack. I rarely used it anymore since my jerkin had pockets inside it. But I was about to embark on an adventure today. I felt giddy with the break of a routine, of going into someone¡¯s place instead of being shunned by your own neighbors. Assuming that the monks were there, of course. If they weren¡¯t, well, at least I¡¯ve put my mind at ease.


    Then it hit me. I felt the carving knife in my pocket, and my eyes wandered to the toolshed where I kept the treasure that was given to me by Da before he disappeared. My heart beating loudly in my chest, I walked slowly towards it. The faint sunlight fell through the dirt, all the way past the normal tools to the one bundle I kept hidden in the corner.


    I swallowed and crept closer to it. I took off its cover and stared at the old weapon. I reached for it gingerly. I held in my hands the handiwork of my father and his old friend. A rusted blade. He had a dear friend in his childhood before he met Ma. Back in his hometown of builders and blacksmiths. I had forgotten his name, but Da told me once that he could have been a dear uncle to me. Probably would have made me an apprentice, too. Da said his old friend would probably like how restless I was. Restless to carve, to help around the house. It was another life I could have lived. Blacksmithing would be in demand now, I suppose. With all the skirmishes and inner wars.


    As soon as I gripped its handle, I was back in the living room years ago, the fireplace crackling. My brothers were there, gathered in a circle, listening to our father in his chair.


    ¡°He gave this to me as a parting gift when I wanted to venture out into the world. I did not want to be a blacksmith like my father, your grandfather. I wanted to tend to soft lands and softer sheep.¡± I was on his lap when he brought out the sword. I was young. My older brothers stared at the weapon, so odd and dangerous than the usual farm tools we used. Ma was patting her belly, her womb already housing Annette. ¡°It was a kind thing he did. He was happy for me, but sad to see me go. I was sad to leave him too. But he was a fine blacksmith, and I knew that he would fare better than I.¡±


    He settled me down on the floor as he showed us more of the sword, careful that the tip of the blade was pointing away from us. He took a stance and gently whacked the air. My brothers and I were awed. My eldest brother smiled. Da said, ¡°My friend taught me how to fight. At least well enough to scare off bandits and thieves.¡± He looked at me. ¡°Taught your goofy brother over there." He jerked his thumb to our eldest. "I will teach it all to you so you can protect yourselves.¡±


    ¡°How did you make it?¡± I asked. Da looked like a true soldier, tall and lean. Most of the time, he was bent down in the fields, or sitting, or lying down on the meadows, holding Ma''s hand. He always had a smile. Ma says I was the one that was most like him. That was why I tried to smile as best I could, to make her happy when Da was gone.


    He whispered as if he would get caught. ¡°We went into the mines in the middle of the night.¡± That was dangerous, I knew. Not only if they get caught, but when exploring with not much light. ¡°We took enough iron to make this. I designed the handle with both our initials on it, and he made the blade. ¡®Now out with you and safe travels. May your pastures be green¡¯ my friend said to me. When we embraced for the last time, I slipped him half of my final wages as a clumsy blacksmith''s apprentice and a charm I carved out of chestnut.¡±


    He let me hold the hilt of the sword. ¡°Thank the Saints that I have not used it save for cutting fruits and hacking away brambles on my path. You must remember to treasure it, Claude.¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± I said.


    Back at the shed, I gripped the hilt tighter. The blade had rust on it, but my face was still clear on its surface. I looked at my face as he looked at it sometimes. I¡¯m sure Da would have loved to visit his friend, but once a peasant sneaks out without the permission of his lord, he is labeled an outcast and could never return.


    I tucked the old sword in the space between my belt and pants. When I stood, the pommel hit my chin and the point of the sword tapped my ankles. I hoped I never get to use it. If there were signs of thieves hiding inside the withering forest, then I would try another day. I could not risk losing this treasure.


    There was a gap in the trees that wasn¡¯t there before, I was sure of it. I sucked in a breath. For many years, I simply stared at its outline, only accepting it as part of the farm. Now, I was going through it. When we were younger, my brothers dared each other to enter but only circled back on one tree, afraid to go further. When it was my turn to pass through, it felt like spring had turned to autumn. My arm looked like gooseflesh.


    I took one last look at our farmhouse, then sucked in a breath and shivered as I passed through hollow bark and twisted trunks. Immediately came a strong feeling of many eyes boring into the back of my skull.


    But I was glad for the insects I heard buzzing around unseen. It made me calmer that there was indeed life here. To think that the monks walked this way¡­ I kept my eyes behind each tree I passed, watchful of cruel men who wore long cloaks and red hoods covering their faces. I pushed away the image of a small dagger on Ryne¡¯s chin. I gripped the sword tighter on my waist.


    I wasn¡¯t sure where I was going, just that I made one step after another. I looked back at the tracks I made so far so that I knew that I was going through a straight line. I hoped that ahead of me weren¡¯t any chasms or sudden drops or any trick terrain where I could slip. When I had walked long enough, branches of the trees began to grow apart and the gray sky once again greeted me. Progress, I thought. Onward I marched, ducking under low branches and stepping over roots, until I saw a curious path, neat and well-kept as if nature decided to preserve it. When I followed the path toward its end, I stopped and felt the hairs of my arms stand again.


    There, on the other side, was what looked like a giant monastery.

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 4)

    ---CLAUDE---


    The trees here were sturdier and more welcoming than the ones on our side. Strewn around them were sharp brambles. I recognized them. Once I got closer, I smiled. Da said he had cut brambles in his path with his iron sword. It¡¯s nice to uphold tradition. I carefully drew Da¡¯s sword, bent down, and tried to slice the thorns as neatly as I could just to get through the prize; red berries that winked at me through the sharp barrier.


    I knew how to search for them; Da and my brothers taught me how. Finally, when I had cut enough to reach my hand in, I saw the line of bushes with sweetberries and scorchberries. The one red with yellow markings and one redder but looking squished. Ma and the baker would make these into pies during birthdays and other festivals. I could already taste them in my mouth. It almost made me forget about the looming structure ahead. I plucked them, placing them in my knapsack with the loaves of rye-oat bread, leaving plenty more in the bushes so they could multiply come another season. I must not be greedy. I turned my attention back to the looming structure framed neatly by the arched trees.


    The monastery was unlike anything I¡¯d ever seen and for some wild reason, I wanted to take off my boots and lay my bare feet on the dry grass. The little church in Rothfield could never compare to that. I di not even notice myself walking towards it until I saw the towers and then the broken windows, the dry black fields, and¡­


    There he was. What I thought was a small boulder on the fields rose up to about my height. His cloak billowed gently in the wind. We stared at each other, and the sunlight suddenly hit me and warmed me, dispelling any apprehension I had. I smiled at him and waved.


    ¡°Hello!¡± he called, tone incredulous, voice bright. He ran towards me, his hood forgotten, his dirty blonde hair whipping in the wind. He was pale, and he was veined, and he was all right. He stopped short in front of me looking glad but bewildered, brows furrowed. He looked at me, then behind me, then back to the forest. ¡°How did you¡ªis that a sword?"


    ¡°I wanted to check up on you.¡± I turned away from him so that he did not have to see my protection and instead showed him the bread tucked in my knapsack. I handed it to his waiting outstretched palms. He beamed at me and I was suddenly shy. I looked down and wiped the crumbs and dirt off my hands. He looked so clean. I felt the oil in my hair and the grime sticking to me. I started shuffling back.


    ¡°You did not have to, but I am glad that you did,¡± he said softly, looking fondly at the bread. He pointed to the forest again. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous! How did you manage to get all the way here?¡± Again, his gaze flickered to the sword in my belt. He motioned to it. ¡°Do you know how to use that?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just to scare bandits.¡± I tried to be dismissive, not wanting to scare him off.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad that you have means to protect yourself. How¡¯s¡­ everything?¡±


    I told him. I told him about Annette¡¯s health returning and Ma humming back again. He nodded and clapped. I couldn¡¯t help noticing that he was tired. There were even deeper shadows weighing down his eyes.


    ¡°And how¡¯s Belle?¡± He asked.


    ¡°That sheep would not stop bleating.¡± I rolled my eyes. ¡°She¡¯s glad that Annette is well. I sneaked her inside one night when Ma was milking the cow. Where are your brothers?¡±


    ¡°Praying,¡± he said quickly and then he munched on the bread. Soft steam rose to his nose when he bit into it. He closed his eyes and murmured thanks. He smiled. ¡°We must not disturb them. I just came back from my prayers, too.¡± Then bashfully, he said, ¡°I prayed for you. For your family to be safe. And¡­ I prayed that we could meet again soon.¡±


    ¡°The Saints work fast.¡± I beamed at him. ¡°At least in this moment. It¡¯s nice to see you well, Ryne.¡±


    He motioned to the entrance of the church. ¡°Come inside.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m dirty,¡± I said as he walked to the entrance of the nave. I bowed my head even though I did not believe in the Saint¡¯s power. Years of tradition have wormed themselves inside my body. I hated going inside churches. Hated how even though I did not understand the sermon¡ªbecause how could I? It was in almost a dead language only known to the nobles¡ªI knew from the priests¡¯ faces how they think so little of us. But more than that, I did not want to insult Ryne.


    ¡°So am I,¡± Ryne said softly but sat down on the steps of the entrance. He broke the bread in half and offered it to me. I shook my head.


    ¡°It¡¯s for you and your brothers. As thanks for helping us out that night. ¡°Annette is begging to get out of Ma¡¯s room. Ma¡¯s begging her to stay. They¡¯re going to be attached to each other for the rest of her days,¡± I snickered.


    Ryne insisted on giving me half of the bread. ¡°My brothers are fasting,¡± he said, though he did not meet my eyes when he said it.


    ¡°I have my own.¡± I took out the knapsack again and brought out my portion. His eyes twinkled when he saw the sweetberries and scorchberries. I pointed out that they were lying on the path here.


    ¡°And we did not even see it,¡± he exclaimed.


    ¡°They hide under, behind, or between brambles. The bramble protects the bushes so they can multiply.¡±


    ¡°Brother Wilbur mentioned those berries. How fortunate that a patch like that is near our monastery.¡±


    ¡°They grow quickly, too.¡± The shadow of the monastery fell on us. Winds from the mountains swept over the trees and blew in our direction. ¡°Ryne, how did you know there was a monastery here? I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m sure Lord Bahram doesn¡¯t.¡± I scratched my head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure the rest of the world knows.¡±


    Ryne opened his mouth but no words came out. He was keeping something from me, that was obvious, but I didn¡¯t want to press him. ¡°Our Abbott left us a map that had all the monasteries recorded on it. From our Order, I mean.¡± He turned to face me. There was a small smile on his face but his eyes were serious. ¡°Claude, please don¡¯t tell anyone we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not,¡± I said quickly. I turned to face him too and shook my head to reassure him. Our loaves of bread were temporarily forgotten on our laps.


    ¡°We would love to help people. That is our mission. But right now, we need to hide. Not for long, anyway. Maybe after a few days, maybe a month at most, we can finally be of service.¡± I can tell he was being true. Ma taught me the signs. As he talked, his lips did not curl, his eyes were steady. And I just believed him. He has such kind blue eyes. All of him was grey except for those eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not tell a soul. And don¡¯t pressure yourself so much. Kindness and charity are noble. But right now, people may take advantage of you. Help when you¡¯re ready.¡±


    I popped the berries into my mouth and motioned for Ryne to grab some. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, squishing the berries. I closed my eyes to the spicy sweetness. I opened them when Ryne started coughing. I chuckled when he gulped down the berries. He spluttered, swallowing big mouthfuls of air.


    ¡°Not used to spice, I take it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he gasped. ¡°But I think I would like to try it some more.¡±


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    ¡°You know, they say scorchberries had magic then. Inflicts burn to enemies, hence the name. They say one of the Saints invented these. But now it¡¯s mostly used to spiced pies.¡± I showed Ryne how to differentiate them. He seemed interested in the story, though. He asked me to explain. ¡°It¡¯s just a story, but Da says that the Saints had the power to awaken their powers. They said when they cooked food, they could give more than nourishment to their comrades. Once they have eaten, they can temporarily replenish their fighting spirit and can wield swords they couldn¡¯t lift before. It¡¯s as if they were given strength and skill.¡±


    I was waiting for him to dismiss me, but Ryne absorbed that.


    ¡°Now you keep a secret of mine from the rest,¡± I said, testing the waters with him. ¡°Don¡¯t tell any priest you encounter that I still have these stories in my head and heart.¡± He chuckled and nodded. I continued, ¡°I swear¡­ if Lord Bahram knew, he would have claimed this land for himself. He said that his property extends to the entrance of the mountain.¡±


    ¡°That mountain near us?¡± He said, jerking his thumb at the side of the monastery. ¡°How many entrances are there?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Enough for each neighboring town or castle so that we wouldn¡¯t squabble. Though marriages between two nobles meant two of those entrances would be theirs. Not to mention the leases for mining ores. Each entrance to the mountain has different types of ores. That one,¡± I said pointing to the mountain, ¡°is Mount Lhottem. Lord Bahram hopes that they would find iron and silver in the entrance near here.¡±


    I tried to remember what Da taught me when he was mining with his pals. ¡°Though the entrances have different ores on the first level, they would more or less have the same ones when you go deeper into the center of the mountains or caves. The same kind of rare ores would be available to everybody. But I guess it¡¯s a race to whoever digs the fastest to the center. Then whoever lord gets to the rich mineral deposits first can sell them to the rest at a steep price, or make their own weapons with it. Topaz swords. Amethyst shields. Garnet gloves. That¡¯s why miners, blacksmiths, silversmiths, goldsmiths, and soldiers are one of the few professions that pay well. Oh, and builders too.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous ones, these professions,¡± Ryne said quietly. He absentmindedly placed the berries on top of his loaf and smeared them with his thumb. More sweetberries than scorchberries. Part of me wondered if he had made loaves of bread like that before. Maybe they turned berries into jams. He bit into it absentmindedly.


    ¡°I will be careful around Lord Bahram and any priests. You be careful, too.¡±


    ¡°I always am.¡±


    We sat still for a while. I popped the last of the berries into my mouth with a large bite of bread and smiled as the juices soaked the loaf, making it easier to chew. My eyes wandered to the rest of the monastery as we ate. It was then I saw the sprouts on his field.


    I pointed to it and made a sound. ¡°You¡¯re already planting!¡± Then I frowned. It was only days. I inspected the soft greens growing on top of the soil. Three different crops. Turnips. Parsnips. Potatoes. ¡°Ryne,¡± I began slowly, my eyes looking at how green the crops were, ¡°how are your turnips and parsnips and potatoes growing faster and healthier than our barley?¡±


    Ryne, again, took a moment to gather his thoughts. He breathed out and told me. ¡°My brother Wilbur? He knows about plants. He¡¯s our resident botanist on top of being a healer.¡± He paused, considering if he should add more. ¡°It was his dream to fill the world with flowers and healthy crops before this blight.¡±


    That sounded nice, I thought. ¡°And your brother Woodrow?¡±


    ¡°He¡­ had another life before this.¡±


    ¡°Well, that explains some things,¡± I said. Ryne looked relieved. He let out a breath. ¡°Brother Woodrow could be part of a traveling circus.¡± I leaned closer to Ryne and whispered in his ear. ¡°Do you think he may be noble-born or lowborn? He seems to be the type to go gallivanting into unknown lands.¡±


    Ryne laughed. ¡°You know, he may very well be,¡± but he avoided my eyes, instead focusing on the fields.


    ¡°My Da told me a world before you and our time,¡± I said. ¡°During the Saints¡¯ time. Or even before that. They said it was the norm to travel from town to town, and it was up to you to find wonders everywhere and up to you when and where you settled. I¡¯ve heard from travelers that was why some of the ruins scattered along this land had different cultures and idols. They say that the clergy has to stamp them out and remove all evidence of it. Of course, they were quickly silenced and branded as heretics.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s eyes shone once more. I continued my tale. ¡°Imagine walking around green hills and pastures. Talking to people from far-off places. Trading in skills, in money, in languages. You can be whatever you wish. You can pack all your things in a knapsack, just like I did, and decide who you want to be. Passing towns and villages, hills and lakes. Stop by inns and trade stories for lodging.¡±


    Ryne was smiling at me. ¡°We share the same dream. Whatever you just said was what I was thinking.¡± He added knowingly, ¡°Is that why you wanted to become a soldier, too? Maybe it isn¡¯t just for the money and survival. Maybe you wanted an adventure.¡±


    Before the borders closed, there was a storyteller who came into the tavern in Rothfied Square. He¡¯d share the stories of long ago where men can make their own path and not be resigned to plowing the fields until their final breath. One can be a soldier or a knight. There were even some who could wield magic. But with the coming of the Saints¡¯ scriptures, all that was prohibited. You can still hear it, just not believe in it. There were plays about it, but they always had to be approved by the local clergyman or woman and always had to include the Saints banishing the paganistic rituals.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure the Saints would be fine with stories,¡± Ryne said finally.


    I made a sound. ¡°Now you sound like a blasphemer. Careful, oh, Brother. The priest would have you chained to his study for that, boring you with the scriptures.¡± I was smiling, but he closed his eyes and seemed to recoil. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He winced. ¡°Nothing. A bad memory.¡± He shook his head. ¡°But who is a priest to know what the Saints did or did not believe? The documents they left? I¡¯d say half of those are just journals they scribbled mixed with the opinions and documents of their followers. Who knows what they truly believed? I believe one of them accepted almost every soul into his fold.¡±


    ¡°Is it Gaelmar, the Kind Flame?¡± I pointed behind him to the nave¡¯s altar when he looked surprised. I looked at the statue, curiously. The chapel in Rothfield Square had the statues of the Four Saints, but they were not placed on the altar. They were in the alcoves to the sides. All eyes should be on the priest at the pulpit. ¡°Da said something about him. He said that he guides wandering souls to the right path. He doesn¡¯t reveal the path, but just enough light for the next step.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ryne said, mildly surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that about him. I hope that he doesn¡¯t lead us to a dead end.¡±


    ¡°No. I think he knows where we are supposed to be headed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s comforting.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in the old stories? As a monk?¡±


    Ryne did not respond. He looked over the crops growing fast and the golden crops that I told him about earlier. ¡°I haven¡¯t known the old stories. I was really sheltered even for a monk,¡± he said. Then he grew serious. ¡°But if I did, then I wouldn¡¯t want a priest or nobleman or anyone trying to control what I believe in. I would hold onto my dreams, for they could give me comfort in this harsh world. I know that not all belief is good. But stories like the ones you just told me?¡± He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and hugged his arms. ¡°Some people need to lighten up. The next thing you¡¯ll tell me is that no more folktale songs.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the sermon,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ll be a great monk someday. I hope you keep that kindness. The world needs more compassion.¡± I sucked in a breath. ¡°And you are sheltered a bit. The folk songs are actually being banned. They said it discourages absolute obedience in the faith.¡±


    He groaned. ¡°That¡¯s a shame. Well, you can sing your folk songs here, if you want. Saints know that the air here can use some music. When we are not praying, of course.¡± Softly, Ryne added, ¡°I thank Gaelmar that he has led your path to mine this day.¡±


    I think I shall offer a prayer of my own to him. It never hurt anybody to be a bit spiritual. ¡°So, you will stay here?¡± Something in me wanted him to say yes.


    ¡°I will. This is our home now. And you¡¯re invited to come and visit me whenever¡­ when I have the time. When you have the time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I can carve out some days for you,¡± I snorted. But Ryne looked serious.


    ¡°I would like that. You¡¯re always welcome here.¡±


    His words warmed me. My lips parted. It has been so long since we were not shunned. I beamed at him. I coughed and motioned to the field. ¡°The land seems to take to you. The withered forest¡­ I think that wherever you will go, good things will happen.


    ¡°That means a lot, thank you.¡± He was smiling and was about to say something else. But then his smile faltered like he was struck. He clutched his chest dropped to the ground and heaved. I thought for a wild, terrifying moment that I poisoned him and had already shouted for his brothers inside but he held out a hand to stop me from yelling. I did not realize I was holding him until he gently pried himself off my grip and spoke weakly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I have to go. I need to¡­ pray.¡±


    ¡°Do you need medicine? Does Brother Wilbur have something for you?¡± They had promised me that he did not have a contagious disease, but maybe he had another illness that affected only him. I know of another boy who breathed with difficulty. That neighbor did not survive his fourth year in this world.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Claude. Really. But I have to go inside now and I have to close the doors. You understand, yes?¡±


    He looked apologetic, but I nodded my head. ¡°I¡¯ll come back tomorrow.¡± And with a small wave, he disappeared back into the nave, closing the great doors of the church.

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 5)

    <div>


    ---CLAUDE---


    "what am I going to do with you?" before she disappeared inside the farmhouse while I resumed my chores in the fields. The scythe was in my hands as I looked again at the brittle crops. How Wilbur and Ryne managed to bring life into that dark dead soil... was it a miracle? Or was it the opposite? Was it science or alchemy? I gripped the scythe tighter and swung, cutting the base of the dry wheat. I shrugged. I''m just glad they managed to do it.


    prime at dawn. Terce after that when the roosters made the last of the crows. Sext was when I would be walking through the dark forest to meet with him. None was when I witnessed him feeling uncomfortable. I would leave him to his prayers and go back to my own farm to finish my chores. Vespers was when I finished with the field or with other farmwork, where the night chased away the sun. Finally, he would utter his last prayer during compline, and after, both of us went to sleep in our beds.


    <div>


    I woke up in the middle of the night. The farmhouse was silent. I looked from my window over to the dark forest. I wish I could see the monastery from over here. Ryne must be praying right now. Feeling restless, I went into the field and walked along the wheat and barley, my hand absentmindedly catching their seeds. I pocketed them and when I tired myself out, went back to bed.

 Chapter 7 - A Friend (Part 6 - END)

    ---CLAUDE---


    The next day, Ryne gave me their crops. He was in the middle of the field, grinning, hands and arms full. I blinked at them. Then I blinked at the empty field where he had just harvested them. He was still smiling at me, showing me eagerly the fruits of their labor.


    ¡°That is yours! You will need it.¡± I said, holding out my hands and backing away.


    Ryne''s smile shortened as he stepped closer. ¡°I took more than half of our yields and put them in our storeroom. It¡¯s all right Claude. We want you to have this.¡±


    It did not feel right to take them from him. They were plump and healthy and big. Brown potatoes. Light-colored parsnips and turnips. ¡°You are too generous,¡± I whispered. I thought I might be in awe. And then I remembered. The seeds! My hand reached deep within my pockets and handed them to Ryne, telling them what they were. ¡°They¡¯re not healthy seeds, but maybe your Brother Wilbur can bring life to them.¡± I again admired how fresh their crops looked. ¡°Ryne,¡± I said to him softly as he pushed their harvest onto my hands. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Inside my knapsack was warm soup from last night. Just cream with bits of meat. I told him that maybe we could add bits of the crops and make a proper stew. Ryne pointed me to a brass cooking pot in the mile of the granges, sitting over dark logs that looked like they were cut down from the dark forest. I wanted to ask how they managed to kindle those dead logs, but I had now slowly accepted that the world shifted favorably around these curious monks.


    I didn¡¯t see Ryne carry stones to spark a fire, but when he bent low to the logs, the flames rose. I poured the soup onto the pot and when it began to boil, tore loose chunks of the crops and added them to the stew. As I did that, Ryne went back to the monastery and brought out two wooden bowls and spoons.


    We ate in silence, closing our eyes to the taste. I did not mind that there was not much salt and herbs. To me, our humble meal was like a banquet of the lords. I couldn¡¯t wait for Ma and Annette to taste this back home.


    When we were done, Ryne prayed but asked me to stay, saying that he wouldn¡¯t take long today. Closing the church doors, I saw his face grow serious. When he emerged, he brought out a pole and gave it to me.


    ¡°Ready to write your name?¡±


    He drew in the soil away from the crops. C. L. A. U. D. E. My name. That was what my name looked like. When he handed the pole to me, signaling that it was my turn to draw, I giggled like Annette. My hand shook with excitement, copying the lines Ryne had drawn on the dirt. My first attempt was clumsy. My second and third were cleaner. This was my name marked in Rothfield soil. I wanted to write it everywhere. In our own soil. In the fields. In our doors. In our fences. In my clothes. In the clouds.


    ¡°I want to write yours,¡± I said, handing him back the pole.


    Instead of taking it from me, he guided my hand and wrote his name next to mine. R.Y. N. E. Four letters. I smiled. I drew his name again. And again. I wanted to remember him. I shouted the names of my brothers next. Then everyone I knew. I asked him how to spell his brothers¡¯, then the animals and the days. We etched those that we held dear in their soil.


    We hadn''t noticed that it got dark until we heard a cough back in the church doors.


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    Ryne paused and looked at the sky. When I looked behind me, I thought that there were wild animals¡ªwolves and foxes¡ªinside the church. Eyes glowed in the darkness. But it was only Wilbur and Woodrow, their eyes glowing must be a trick of twilight.


    ¡°Good evening, young Claude,¡± Wilbur said quietly. He stepped out of the doors and down to the steps. ¡°How is Annette?¡± I told him everything that happened since the night they left. He nodded patiently. His reply was short. ¡°That is good. I am glad.¡± Brother Wilbur paused on his step when he looked down and saw my name.


    Woodrow was smiling, looking at the writings on the soil. ¡°Been busy I see.¡±


    I slunk back. They did not look nor sound angry, but I did not want to be at arm¡¯s length of them. Ryne stepped forward and stood between me and his brothers. ¡°I invite him every day. He brings me meals sometimes and he tells me funny stories. I will continue to invite him here.¡± And then, he looked at me and whispered, ¡°You should go home. Your mother is probably worried about you. Go, before the forest gets any darker.¡± As I left, he called out to me. ¡°You¡¯re always welcome here, Claude.¡±


    ---RYNE---


    ¡°When were you planning to tell us he was visiting?¡± Wilbur asked.


    ¡°I just did. In the best way possible. I know how you worry about the little things. I like talking to him, Wilbur.¡± I did not mean to raise my voice. Wilbur said nothing, only breathed through his nose. I softened. ¡°You met his family. They¡¯re not like the rest. I know to be careful. Besides, we agreed to help change the world. We must do right by the closest thing we have. We must be good to our neighbors.¡± I placed my hand in the soil again, full of the seeds Claude had just given me. ¡°I like having him around. He tells me stories of a childhood I never had.¡±


    At that, Wilbur felt silent. Only when he noticed that I was shoveling the soil with my bare hands did he ask, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Planting the seeds he gave me. Blessing the ground again.¡± I memorized the prayer by now. It was not a prayer for fertility like Saint Cerelia. It was more of a prayer of awakening. ¡°Wake,¡± I said again, just like I did the last time. All I saw was the bright light and felt my strength sapped from me. I buckled, knees hitting the ground. I felt Woodrow and Wilbur¡¯s hands on my arms as they helped me stand. They settled me back down on the steps of the church.


    I think the dark forest kept answering my prayer when I wished for him to travel safely. A few ways off the fertile soil where we planted Wilbur¡¯s crops, a new patch of soil was glowing with Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame. I smiled faintly, knowing that the barley and oats and rye would soon grow, along with more turnips, potatoes, and parsnips.


    Sleep started pulling my eyelids. I felt heavy. I looked at Wilbur and Woodrow. ¡°The prayers drain me and I¡¯m not sure how to refill it. It may be like your abilities with the blood, but I¡¯m sure feeding won¡¯t replenish me. Whatever the power source is, it isn¡¯t the darkness. Resting and meditating help restore it a little, but not by much. Not enough to bless more of these hallowed grounds.¡±


    Wilbur closed his eyes and turned around. I knew he felt useless in not knowing how to solve this problem. He simply paced up and down the stairs, eyes closed, hands clasped firmly behind his back, allowing his worries to untangle. As I drifted off to sleep, Wilbur¡¯s voice hissed, ¡°He acts as if he can stop the Unending Chaos.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the end goal?¡± Woodrow¡¯s tone was steady. ¡°That whatever we do from here on out will be its undoing?¡±


    ¡°With what? Flimsy crops, a garden of medicinal flowers, and a boy that can bless a small plot of land? And at great cost to him! This will be Ryne¡¯s undoing.¡±


    Gaelmar was known as the flame that guides you on your path, Claude said. Little by little. Not revealing anything.


    I mumbled, ¡°You have to trust me, Wilbur. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing, but I know that what I am going to do will work. And I¡¯m going to start helping Claude. Could you¡­ help me with the crops? Make sure they¡¯re healthy and can yield more?¡±


    Wilbur took a moment before answering. He nodded. "Of course."


    I grabbed Woodrow¡¯s arm before surrendering to sleep. The drowsiness was making me talk without much reason. ¡°He doesn¡¯t think that I am a freak, Woodrow. I want him to be my friend. If he wants to be my friend.¡± I hated how small my voice was. Woodrow was not smiling. Eyes steady, he simply nodded.


    My brothers¡¯ forms grew hazy, the reds and browns blurring together, but what remained clear was the firm frown dragging Wilbur¡¯s lips.

 Chapter 8 - The Village of Grant (Part 1)

    ---WILBUR---


    Wilbur¡¯s stomach grumbled. He hadn¡¯t felt this famished since Saint Korbin monastery. He winced and gripped his aching stomach, feeling light-headed and weak. His mind had been prone to wandering lately; without concrete thoughts and projects to occupy him full-time, he had begun wandering the empty halls, passing mysterious bolted doors with metal clasps and observing the flower growing in the cloister garth.


    The branches of the oak tree swayed above him, casting shadows that looked like arms pulling his cloak. Wilbur kneeled and checked if any of them had been infected by the miasma that Ryne spoke of. But he had seen him plenty of times by now. Under the darkness, Ryne¡¯s chest and hands glowed, the power in him coursing through those veins that marked his skin.


    ¡°He looks like an angel,¡± Woodrow murmured once. Ryne cast a warm blanket over the crops and flowers, and whenever he did so, checked the air, keeping watch over the blight that only he could see.


    The yellowtongues were bright, the color of the sun at its peak before the clouds covered the world. To think Wilbur missed the sun when all his days and nights, he sought only the walls of infirmaries and the coolness of the crypts. He gingerly touched its closed petals, resembling a lady wearing a fine gown. Not long now, Wilbur guessed. It would bloom soon.


    The same cannot be said of the other two buds yet deep in the ground. The shivering maiden, its light-blue color, poked from the soil, while the everbane buds slumbered deeply. Wilbur buried his finger in each soil that housed the flowers and traced a circle around the sleeping buds. He held his finger between his eyes, inspecting the dirt that clung to it. He wanted to analyze them in his ¡°lab¡± days before but thought to give them a little more time to sprout. Maybe they just grew at a slower pace, he thought. But when they did not budge, Wilbur knew they would not wake until their needs were met.


    He was a botanist for years, aside from being an alchemist. He knew enough that even though Ryne and Gaelmar may be the flame that brings life into this monastery, the power of their spirit is not a force that grants quick miracles. They still needed practical and tangible steps, formulas, and skills, to keep this place running.


    Ryne said it himself one night. ¡°We need to work together. There¡¯s a reason why we¡¯re here, Wilbur.¡± Ryne pointed to him and Woodrow. ¡°A botanist-teacher-alchemist and a charming soldier. There is no coincidence to all of this.¡±


    All right, Wilbur thought as he brought out two separate glass bottles and took samples of the soil that was trying to nurture the shivering maiden and the everbane, respectively. It¡¯s better than doing nothing and letting Ryne do all the work. The healthy faces of Annette and Joserson swam in his memory. Wilbur felt immense relief to heal them. He would feel relieved again if he could continue healing the sick, but to do that, he needed to figure out how to nurture the flowers.


    Loud laughter from the granges rang in the stillness of twilight. Claude had visited again. He has been visiting almost every day for the past week, and he was beginning to stay later. Part of it was that Ryne had asked Woodrow to teach Claude how to defend himself, to Claude¡¯s sheer joy and Woodrow¡¯s amusement.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Woodrow had said, ¡°It would be good exercise.¡±


    Wilbur suspected that Ryne also wanted to keep Woodrow occupied with his own small project. After some basic lessons with Ryne about letters, Claude would go on to train with Woodrow using wooden poles he had fashioned. They grunted and huffed, Woodrow demonstrating the correct stances as Ryne clapped and watched from the church steps.


    Wilbur was beginning to get worried. He liked the boy enough. Claude seemed the good, tough sort, but Wilbur could never shake his constant worry: what would happen years from now when Claude grew older while Ryne remained?


    ¡°Let them be children,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Ryne barely had any childhood. Listen to him talk! Have you ever heard him share his ideas so freely? And the laughter, who knew he had that in him?¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s unbeating heart soared during the times Claude made Ryne laugh, it was true. It was a rare sound, light and carefree. Wilbur wanted it stored in one of his many bottles.


    ¡°I like the boy, Woodrow. I am thankful for this friendship and I would never stand in the way of it.¡± At least not actively, Wilbur thought. ¡°But what happens if Claude realizes that his friend stays small and veined for all time? What then? He would get confused. He would get scared. He would know all of Ryne¡¯s secrets if Ryne told those to him. He could hurt him easily someday.¡±


    ¡°Then Claude will be grown enough to charm,¡± Woodrow said seriously, arms crossed. Wilbur winced. Woodrow did not like the idea either. His face pinched as if he tasted something sour. Woodrow shivered. ¡°Let us hope that it does not come to that, especially that I am getting fond of him, myself.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re teaching him how to fight. He could use that against us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m teaching him the most basic maneuvers for defending himself. Not enough to kill a man, only disarm. And even if he did, it would only mean that I know all his moves. I do not like it, but as I said, I could charm him, or Lydia, or even Annette when she gets older.¡± Again, the same uncomfortable expressions. ¡°I never knew charming people would be so distasteful. And awkward.¡±


    ¡°And what would Ryne feel if you do that?¡±


    ¡°He would understand, I hope. And if he doesn¡¯t? Well, we¡¯ve got time enough for his tantrums to cool.¡± And then he recoiled. ¡°Then again, we didn¡¯t have this holy flame or kind flame or whatever we call his flame thing before. Do you think that means that this new power of his would fuel his rage?¡± With a look of alarm that was mixed playful and serious, Woodrow asked, ¡°Could he ignite balls of flame from the air to burn me? I don¡¯t know of any stories of Gaelmar where he hurled fire.¡±


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    Before Wilbur could respond, Ryne appeared from the nave¡¯s door. ¡°What about the flame?¡± His tone was light. He appeared from the shadows touching a nearby pillar and joining Wilbur and Woodrow in the cloister garth. ¡°Claude¡®s gone home. He says thanks for the lessons.¡±


    ¡°Only that you are getting good at casting that flame from time to time.¡± Woodrow spun to meet him.


    Ryne beamed and placed his palms out. They glowed faintly before sputtering out. ¡°It is pretty amazing.¡± He was glowing himself, figuratively. ¡°Oh, Woodrow. This is all I ever wanted.¡±


    He keeps saying this. Though no matter how many times he would say it, Wilbur did not mind. He was glad for it. For years, Ryne was told he was useless. For years, this boy whom he viewed as his brother and charge thought that he was weak and powerless. Now he was finding his power in an environment where that was encouraged. Ryne was starting to learn that he was something more. Wilbur saw that. The confidence in him. He did not look so withdrawn. He did not hide under his cowl. Ealhstan, if you could see him now, Wilbur thought.


    ¡°I am glad,¡± Wilbur kept saying, too. He smiled at Ryne and smoothed his long hair. There was no mistaking it. His hair is growing long, curling over his ears. Wilbur told Ryne to sup and he retreated to the underground to work on the crops.


    ___


    Wilbur stared at the two bottles containing the soil. His equipment was laid out on the faceless sarcophagus he claimed as his bed. Ryne has taken the sarcophagus next to him, while Woodrow slept on the one above him.


    Though Abbott Blake has taken most of his past life and memories each time a new monastery has been constructed, he knew it took him decades to craft these rare flowers from the common flora existing around the land. And now that the common flowers were withering, Wilbur thought that perhaps these modified ones would soon replace them.


    He tipped the two glass bottles onto two separate glass dishes and viewed them under the only microscope he owned. Now that he thought about it, Abbott Blake and Knox gave these to him when he first awakened into his dark self. They had told him it was a present, but after Ryne¡¯s visions of their origins, maybe Wilbur had owned these tools after all, back when he was in what he thought was a university.


    At first glance, the soil looked about the same, but with his keener eyes viewing the microscope, he noticed that the soil from the shivering maiden looked dry, while the soil from the everbane looked dry and loose and odd, like it did not retain its shape. Wilbur¡¯s stomach growled again, breaking his concentration. The soil blurred and he fell to the side of the sarcophagus, lightheaded. He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the hunger. He gripped the stone surface.


    The voice of their dark Abbott stirred in him. ¡°You know you cannot hold much longer. You have always been the weakest of the brothers.¡±


    Wilbur calmly waited for the ghost of his Abbot to disappear. It was this time when Ryne prayed. Sure enough, Blake¡¯s voice faded away. Ryne must have been glowing somewhere upstairs, probably at the foot of the statue of Saint Gaelmar.


    When it had passed, Wilbur opened his journals and recorded his findings. In the absence of a quill and ink pot, he used a splinter of charred wood taken from under the cooking pot when they first ate of the animals residing in the dark forest. Scribbles on rough parchment echoed in the empty crypt. He was just about to finish when Ryne opened the secret passage and climbed down the stairs.


    He greeted Wilbur with a small voice. He held out a feathered pheasant for Wilbur. ¡°Woodrow already fed. I came to give this to you because I know you¡¯ll forget to eat.¡±


    Wilbur smiled and took the pheasant from Ryne, pressing his fangs to its neck. The warm liquid went down his throat. His strength was not replenished. The hunger was still there, aching, but at least it had been abated somewhat. Ryne looked sad as he discarded the drained bird. Last time, it tasted of broth, now Wilbur felt he was drinking plain water.


    ¡°I am sorry, Wilbur. If I can do anything to help you, I would.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Wilbur only said. Then he had an idea. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come help me here? Will your new powers sense what is wrong with the soil?¡± Wilbur did not tell Ryne about the different qualities of the soil, waiting for his theory to be proven without bias.


    Ryne observed the equipment in front of him, and smiled, ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you working again.¡± He dipped his finger into the glass circular dish and pondered. He pointed to the shivering maiden soil. ¡°This one is parched.¡± Then, Ryne pointed to the dish with the everbane soil. ¡°This one is curious. It¡¯s like the soil is scared of the flower it is housing and is preventing it from growing. It needs¡­ fire and water. Like it is thirsty and terrified.¡±


    Wilbur nodded. It is just as he deduced. He flipped through his journals and stopped on a page on the diagram and last recording of the types of flowers he had crossbred to produce the shivering maiden and everbane. He looked at the list of ingredients to make them and he saw the ores and the types of flowers he used. The theory holds. He just needed to retrace his steps.


    Wilbur hummed. ¡°The shivering maiden is easy enough to fix. We need the element harvested from ice quartz. The everbane is tricky. By my notes here, we need a mixture of one-third ice quartz to two-thirds fire opals. Plus a dash of cinder voids. The difficulty is finding where to harvest them all, especially the cinder voids. They only sprout near dormant pools of lava.¡±


    ¡°Claude says there might be minerals in the mountains near us. Mount Lhottem. I¡¯m just not sure where the entrance is.¡±


    They were about to plan when Woodrow called from the granges. ¡°Brothers, you might want to come look at this.¡± He sounded worried.


    Ryne and Wilbur traded curious looks before Wilbur folded the page of his journals and went out of the crypts and out towards the granges where the new batch of crops had begun to sprout. They saw the thing that concerned Woodrow as soon as they walked out.


    Woodrow was in the middle of the granges, directly in front of the arched trees that formed a path from the dark forest to the monastery. He was staring at two different areas on either side of the forest path.


    Near the main arched path were two other paths forming. The dark forest was moving, shifting, roiling like the sea as it created these paths. Like the embers of a flame or how fish flop on land. The trees walked eerily, carried by roots that crawled like spiders. Underneath them, the soil rose and fell, like a beast was burrowing underground. Instead of backing away, Woodrow inched toward it, wanting to inspect what was happening. Wilbur held Ryne back as he joined Woodrow, a few steps behind.


    The forest suddenly stilled in their new arrangement, the burrowing stopped right at the edge where forest soil met Rothfield grange.


    Then long, smooth, thick vines erupted from the ground and wrapped themselves around Woodrow and Wilbur¡¯s waist.


    ¡°Oh, not this again,¡± Woodrow yelped as his hands dug into the vines. The forest carried him underground into the tunnels, voice echoing and growing distant.

 Chapter 8 - The Village of Grant (Part 2)

    ---WILBUR---


    Wilbur dropped his journal as the vines seized him. He had one last look at Ryne¡¯s open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression and of Rothfield monastery before he was swallowed into the earth like how a reptile captures its food down into its belly. The pure scent of earth assaulted his senses, but as he was being transported through this tunnel, Wilbur thought that these vines were careful with him, unlike the first time when sharp rocks and roots scratched his face and arms and neck. He just noticed as well that instead of briars, smooth vines were now sent to whatever the dark forest¡¯s master was.


    Wilbur was spat out not long after. The vines pointed in a direction before it sunk into the earth. Wilbur assumed that they would be waiting until whatever he had to do here was done.


    Where is here? Woodrow was nowhere to be found. He must have been taken to another path, he guessed.


    Wilbur turned to the direction the vines had pointed to and saw small huts made of mud with thatched roofs scattered nearby not far from where he was. From within the village was a glowing red; a communal fire at the center field, perhaps. Wilbur thought he was spat out in a clearing, but it was another area where the dark forest¡¯s edge met a village. Wilbur reacted instinctively, falling back to the trees and allowing the shadow to conceal him.


    Wilbur thought the dark forest was out to get them after all. His first thought as he hugged the trees was that the vines separated them so they were easier to deal with. But no, it did not make sense. So, Wilbur observed the village from afar and observed the shadows of men and women shuffling out from the glowing fire. He noticed how gaunt they were, how they coughed and spat and moaned. Then, he heard the wailing. Off to the side of the village was a burial ground, marked with the sign of the saints. A man was digging; near him was a fresh mound. A woman was brought out by others, mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut, beating her chest and screaming as if she would scream for all her life.


    Then a coffin emerged from behind this small procession, carried by two men. The woman shrieked again as the coffin was laid near the mound.


    ¡°I have no one now! No one! The plague has taken them all! Oh, let it take me, then! I cannot bear it.¡± She continued beating her breasts, and finally breathless, fell to the ground, knees first. Her hands clawed the earth as the coffin, too small to be her husband¡¯s, was lowered to the ground and buried. The woman¡¯s anguish receded to sobs. Her face pinched each time the sound of dirt landed on the coffin.


    It was horrible. Wave after wave of the horrible noise crashed onto Wilbur and he braced himself against the bark of the trees. It was as if the trigger, for the wave of wailings brought in other tides of sorrows. Wilbur¡¯s senses, acute to pick up sounds of distress for wounds, injuries, and sickness, heard sniffles and more coughs from inside the village. Ryne could have seen the black smoke of death he had described hovering above the roofs.


    Somewhere in the village was a woman holding a cold pillow. Somewhere in there, a man took his frustrations out on chopping wood. They were crying, thinking it was the end of times and the Saints had abandoned them.


    When it was over and the gravedigger patted the ground, the woman had fainted, and her neighbors had to carry her back to the village. For a time, it was quiet, and Wilbur scanned a place where he could slip into the neighborhood.


    Then he saw the boy.


    He was small and thin and framed perfectly at the center of an open window. The boy just stared at him, unblinking, eyes with purple shadows underneath. It was only when the boy coughed that Wilbur moved away from the trees and glided towards him. Wilbur noticed that his house was on the village border, isolated from the ones warmed near the fire. As Wilbur approached him, he saw there was a mark above the door and windows; a splatter of mud, and again, the sign of the saints. The other houses near it had the same markings.


    This house was fortunately close to the edge of the forest and his side of the house blocked him from view. The other houses looked abandoned.


    The boy coughed, and said, ¡°The mark of the plague. Stay away from here.¡± He heaved and when again he coughed, a dot of blood flew from his lips and landed on Wilbur¡¯s cloak. The boy did not seem to notice. ¡°They say I¡¯m going to die soon.¡±


    Wilbur, saying nothing, discreetly wiped the blood from his cloak and put one finger in his lips. He almost spat.


    Vile and wrong, Wilbur thought. Blood was sweet to them. But there was an unmistakable poison in this boy¡¯s blood. He might as well be drinking muck with melted metal mixed with rotten eggs. Wilbur winced, not just because of the taste, but because he did not carry any medicine to cure the boy. His satchels contained no cure for him, not even a syrup to help with the cough. He had used the last of his concoctions to treat Annette and poured all his precautionary medicines into the well in Claude¡¯s farmland. He was no good here.


    The good thing was that Wilbur knew from tasting what the resources needed to brew the medicine needed to cure this boy. They were in the gardens. One was fully awake, looking like a fine lady wearing a yellow gown. The yellowtongue. Unfortunately, the other thing needed still needed encouragement growing. He must find a way to wake the shivering maiden.


    Wilbur brought his attention back to the boy. He gestured vaguely to the village. ¡°When did this happen?¡±


    ¡°A couple of weeks ago,¡± the boy said weakly. ¡°Villagers from the south asked sanctuary from our elder. He granted it, but we did not know they carried the sickness in them. They looked fine enough.¡± He coughed again, covering his mouth this time. He swallowed. ¡°The elder cast them out again, but it was too late. We were all infected. The elder was the first to go, then his children, then his grandchildren.¡±


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Tatum Worthe.¡±


    ¡°Do you have someone to take care of you?¡±


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    The boy looked down and shook his head. Wilbur peered inside and noticed that everything was barren. ¡°The priest took our straw beds as kindling for the fire. He takes everything from us. Just like how the plague took my brothers and sisters and Mama and Papa.¡±


    Wilbur swallowed. He wanted to reach inside for the boy and hold his hand or comb his hair and take him to his lab. He thought of Ryne. If things were another way, this would be him now. Alone and abandoned.


    ¡°The priest?¡± Wilbur asked as he composed himself.


    ¡°An acolyte of the priest in Rothfield. He was sent here to watch over us. But he does nothing.¡±


    Was he collecting tributes from the properties of the deceased? Was he taking them for himself and sending them back to Rothfield instead of giving them to the neighbors, at least? Wilbur thought.


    ¡°Do you have an appetite, Tatum? Do they feed you?¡±


    ¡°They fed me this morning with bone broth and stale bread. Our old neighbor pours it from my wooden bowl.¡± Tatum points to the wooden bowl and spoon at the end of his bed.


    ¡°This priest, where can I find him?¡±


    ¡°At the elder¡¯s hut in the center of the village near the fire.¡±


    Wilbur nodded and stepped back. ¡°Tatum, tell no one you saw me. I shall¡­ I shall come back for you soon. Could you manage to hold out a little longer?¡±


    ¡°I thought at first you were already coming to get me. You appeared out of the woods like an angel, like how my Mama says. Did you take her? Can you take me to her? I miss her.¡±


    Wilbur fought the stinging feeling pushing at the back of his eyes and rising in his throat. Tatum¡¯s eyes had become unsteady. He looked so tired, that Wilbur knew he would fall asleep soon. ¡°Your Mama sent me, yes. So don¡¯t tell anyone you saw me. She told me to tell you that you can¡¯t come with them yet, but she misses you deeply. Can you hold on for her, Tatum?¡±


    Tatum blinked slowly. ¡°I¡¯ll try my best, Mama.¡± The boy disappeared from the window and Wilbur saw him lay his head on a bare thin mattress using his thin arms as his pillow.


    Wilbur fell back to the shadows just as the light of the communal fire faltered. He pressed close to the walls as he scouted the inner workings of the village. There was a clearing at the center of the tiny village where a communal fire burned low, stretching the lonely shadows of other nearby huts. There was no one on the field but a common villager watching the fire burn low, and a footman behind him guarding a door of a house that was slightly bigger and wider than the rest. An elder¡¯s house usually looked the same anywhere.


    Wilbur kept to the shadows, mindful of stray kindling and stones about, since he was not as good as sneaking or shadowblending as Woodrow or Swithin. As he passed by houses, he heard muffled coughing indoors, the smell of poisoned blood coming through the curtained windows. Some houses were lifeless and vacant.


    Wilbur positioned himself under the window of the elder¡¯s house just as the voice inside barked orders to the footman outside.


    ¡°Tell that blasted peasant to light the flames! And spread this incense on it! Useless, the lot of them.¡±


    Wilbur heard the banging of doors and the rattling of locks. He heard the footman tell the priest that some of the villagers were begging for food again. Wilbur spied inside and spotted a short man, his back turned towards him, handing the footman a strong-smelling pouch of incense.


    The priest swore. ¡°Tell them that all I have with me is the stock taken from Rothfield. Remind them that the farm there is as useless as they are, that nothing grows there but brittle crops. And most of them going to the lord of Rothfield! If you can find anything to hunt in that blasted dead forest, then, by all means, do so. Now leave me be.¡± He was about to shut the door in the footman¡¯s face when he swung it open again. ¡°Halt. The men sent to collect this week¡¯s ores, have they returned?¡±


    ¡°Not yet, my lord.¡±


    As the priest banged the door shut and locked them with metal chains, Wilbur jumped inside and snuffed all the candles out with a swish of his cloak. Some papers sitting on a nearby desk fell. There was a ladder leading to the rafters above, a long, thick wooden beam for chickens to roost. There were no chickens now, only the feathers that fell softly to the ground below as Wilbur climbed toward the beam.


    ¡°Must I wait for the whole village to die out? Father Brinley is a spiteful man.¡± The priest muttered in the dark. He re-lit the candle and picked up the papers that fell. As he did, the candle-light flickered towards an open barrel of jerkin with jars of berries and bread.


    Liar, Wilbur thought.


    When the priest sorted the papers onto the small wooden desk, Wilbur saw that it was a drawn map with a path leading towards the mountain and a circle to where the men of this village must have been put to mine resources. There was also a mug of ale, a scroll of parchment sealed with dark red wax, and the Saint¡¯s Holy Book on the center of the desk.


    The white of the priest¡¯s robes¡ªthe opposite to a monk¡¯s black or dark brown habit¡ªwas torn and muddied on the edges. The only clean thing on it was the purple sash that looped around the right shoulder to the waist and back. The shadows played on the young priest¡¯s weary face as he sat down and regarded the scroll with a wooden knot. There was stubble on his chin. He sighed, drank half of the ale in one gulp, and broke the waxed seal. Wilbur and the priest read its contents.


    It was addressed to a Father Clifton overseeing the village of Grant.


    It told him to finish the excavation discreetly and tell no one of the new mineral deposits found in the new chambers of the mountains, the new path leading towards them discovered by the local miners. Wilbur squinted, making out the slanted handwriting.


    ¡°See how the Saints provide for us now. For years Lord Bahram tried to find new entrances to the mountains where there were more rich deposits and now here it is given to us one night. Rothfield has been blessed. But we must be cautious, for I feel something sinister or miraculous stirs. A fortnight ago, the dead forest shifted right in front of my eyes. There is life again here. Tread carefully, Father Clifton.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s stomach sank. The threat of discovery and the way he spoke with fervor. It did not bode well. He continued reading.


    ¡°Tell the men of Grant that Rothfield cannot send any more footmen. Lord Bahram will not risk the plague infecting them. And as for the men dying because of sickness or disappearing in the mountains. Take shifts. I would rather slow progress than none at all. Make sure you send them in pairs. Prove that you are resourceful, and I will personally send good word to the church to move you to a more favorable place. A church of your own.¡±


    It was signed by Father Brinley, the main priest of Rothfield. Clifton made a sound. He crumpled the paper as if he wanted to crumple Brinley and set it aflame with the candle before throwing it outside.


    ¡°What, like you promised me this position ten years ago? No, Brinley. You have taken much of my time. I will take from you, too.¡±


    Clifton¡¯s hands hovered around an object that was in the corner of the desk, far from where the candlelight reached. It was a jagged piece of rock covered by a rag, but the tiny tooth that did poke out was the unmistakable shape of an ice quartz. When Wilbur spotted it, he gripped the beams tighter, causing a splinter that echoed faintly in the quiet hut. Clifton squinted on the rafters, almost spotting where Wilbur hid. Wilbur closed his eyes, remembering that their eyes faintly glowed when feeling strong emotions.


    Finding nothing, Clifton turned back and traced with his finger the trail on the map. Wilbur memorized it. ¡°Who knew that Mount Lhottem had veins of lava? How odd.¡±


    Containing his excitement, Wilbur waited impatiently for a chance when Clifton turned away or was distracted. Once the priest raised his big mug to his face, Wilbur glided down and snatched a few jerkins from the barrel. He once again snuffed out the candle with his cloak, making Clifton sputter and swear. He flew out the window and landed on the ground with a soft thud, noticing a soft trail of ash.

 Chapter 8 - The Village of Grant (Part 3)

    ---WILBUR---


    The trail to the mountains was obvious even without the map Wilbur had memorized. He followed the footprints and cart tracks imprinted on the muddy road leading to the looming Mount Lhottem. He had stared at its distant peak when he was on the granges of Rothfield monastery, coming up with vague plans on where to find the entrances to mine ores.


    The dark forest already decided for him.


    Analyzing the road, Wilbur observed the mess before proceeding. Dark trees slanted grotesquely on this crude path. The trunks were bent, not cut down by any axe or weapon. No carpenter could have done this. It was as if a huge creature rampaged through the forest in a rough line; pushing trees and smashing boulders, creating a new path that the villagers of Grant used to harvest ores for the priests of Rothfield.


    He had never been inside the caves before in the other monasteries. He was forbidden to go out by Abbott Blake and Knox. It was fine. Wilbur preferred the familiar sights and colors of his garden and lab tools, anyway. Besides, Swithin and Ealhstan were more suited for working in quarries and mountains. Wilbur was just thankful he listened to Ryne¡¯s stories and Ealhstan¡¯s reports after their missions. At least he had some idea of the layout waiting for him in the depths.


    He arrived at the foot of Mount Lhottem. Even though he, himself, was cold to the touch, Wilbur shivered when he saw soft, faint snow¡ªnot enough to cover the slope¡ªdrifting down from the mountain¡¯s peak. He saw the tracks disappear into the mountain¡¯s entrance.


    Shadows engulfed him as he stepped inside, waving shadows cast by torches attached with iron clasps on the far end lighting a dark tunnel. Wilbur could see clearly that the rampaging force had smashed through the walls of this mountain and made the path that detoured towards the level rich with mineral deposits.


    He also saw a man slumped on the wall near that tunnel entrance, head down and arms limp.


    Wilbur ran to him and was quickly hit with the mouthwatering scent of sweet blood. He breathed out audibly, surprised and captivated by the sight and smell, the torchlight seeming to glow brighter on that wondrous red. Suddenly, the nights of not feeding crashed into him, wave after nauseous wave, and the only thing that would abate it was the spilling red nectar from this man. Wilbur bent down and saw the man bleeding from his brows down to his arms. His pants were torn, showing skinned knees and purple bruises marking his thighs. He looked like a lamb dressed in gravy. Wilbur did not notice his teeth sharpen, did not notice that his hand was behind the man¡¯s neck, fingers digging into the skin.


    The man hitched a breath, snapping Wilbur out of his daze. ¡°Deeper in the mines¡­ monsters attack¡­ warn them¡­¡± And then his eyes glazed over and he breathed his last.


    Distant sounds came from the cavern; a squeaking cart pulled by the men of the village, their shadows on the walls cast by their own torchlight. Wilbur withdrew into the shadows. Their gruff voices disturbed the silence.


    ¡°Why does it have to be at nighttime and not in the day?¡±


    ¡°As long as my family is being fed by the priest, I don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°Would you look at this beauty? The path led us directly into such chunks! Our village could be known as a supplier for the other lords!¡±


    ¡°If we had a blacksmith, we could even forge these into our own weapons. We can even sell it ourselves.¡±


    ¡°The lords will capture you without a merchant license and guild card.¡±


    As the men rounded the corner, Wilbur saw the load they were carrying; chunks of unrefined, coarse, ice quartz and other common minerals like iron and copper ores. When they neared the entrance, a strange sound came from the outside.


    A low growl. Then a chilling howl.


    The men stopped in their tracks. They looked at one another, holding their pickaxes high. He noticed that only two of them carried those tools while the rest simply had gloves. The one who looked like the leader stepped forth, signaling to the men to stay back. He did not notice the body lying at the entrance of the tunnel. How could he, when there was an awful wind, a rotten breath, that blew around the cavern? It blew out the torches on the wall and the ones they were holding. The leader swore and stumbled back, almost tripping at the dead man¡¯s legs.


    ¡°Oh, Saints!¡± The leader or foreman swore. He scrambled to the man and checked his face, calling the man¡¯s name, shaking his shoulders as if there was still life in him.


    The other men spilled out of the cavernous tunnel and reacted the same to the gruesome display. They were checking his injuries when another eerie howl broke through the night. It vibrated on the walls, causing dust to fall from the cave¡¯s ceiling, making pebbles scatter on the ground, and making Wilbur¡¯s jaw chatter.


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    A silence before a low growl and warm air entered. Wilbur saw a great head poke inside, sniffing the ground. Its giant head and neck were a mess of wild black fur. Its eyes glowed. When those eyes discovered the body lying on the ground, it bared its fangs and licked its lips. Its eyes took up the fearful men huddled together.


    A beast, a wolf but larger than anything Wilbur had ever seen, crawled through the entrance, blocking anyone from going outside. The leader stared at its menacing red-yellow eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s a direwolf!¡± One of the men whispered, voice shaking.


    ¡°Impossible.¡±


    The direwolf licked its teeth once more, baring its fangs at the group, salivating. Quick like the wind, he bolted through the men, snatched the body from the ground, and ran outside. One of the men fell to his knees. They planned on burying him, no doubt. When the foreman was about to charge ahead, two more direwolves entered the mountain¡¯s mouth.


    These two were smaller than the first, but still greater in size than any wolf Wilbur had encountered. They circled the man on opposite sides, tails swishing in their game of ambush. The group swore and murmured and moaned. They will meet their end here. They quailed under the direwolves¡¯ stares and retreated, bumping their shoulders against one another and looking back at the tunnel.


    Too late, the other wolf blocked their escape route and bit into the arm of the closest man to him. He screamed and fell back, exposing his leg to another bite. The foreman moved; he pushed the men out of the way and hit the lesser direwolf on the head. It yelped and stumbled back, dazed. The other men scampered away, dragging their injured friend with them. Unfortunately, this exposed the foreman to the second lesser direwolf.


    One bite to the neck and the foreman collapsed on the ground, dropping his weapon. Blood flowed from those fangs like how one squeezed water from wet  fabrics. The wolves tore into him, making Wilbur wince and squirm. The men escaped through the main entrance.


    They did not get too far. The greater direwolf returned. He finished the injured man with a bite through the chest.


    In the middle of this, Wilbur¡¯s thoughts ran. Did they come from the dark forest? Had monsters always prowled in its depths? If so, Ryne wasn¡¯t safe! None of them were. Not Claude.


    He pushed the thoughts away. Before anyone else was attacked, Wilbur, weak and dizzy, stepped in front of the greater direwolf and blocked the claws that swiped the men. It pierced his chest, taking the full force of the swing. The men did not look back to see him fall.


    He was not used to this kind of physical pain and centuries of being unharmed made him feel this was the first time he had been injured gravely. Wilbur did not bleed, but he was not healing either. He was not used to pain that lingered. The greater direwolf sniffed him, confused by his off scent. It was then he noticed a man standing at the entrance, a rusted sword in his hand.


    ¡°Run,¡± he told him. His companions kept bolting through the mountain path, not bothering to look back, arms flailing into the dark. Instead, this man took his sword and pointed it at the greater direwolf.


    Wilbur noticed that his sword was shorter and crudely made. He probably made it or commissioned a blacksmith¡¯s apprentice to make one, desperate for arms, as a means of defense. The greater direwolf growled and snapped its teeth. Wilbur noticed the familiar pattern of their swishing tail. The wolf pawed the ground. Near the tunnel was the sickening crunching sound of a body being devoured.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to charge,¡± Wilbur said weakly.


    The man leaped out of the way just in time to avoid the beast flying towards him, but he was simply a common villager with no fighting experience holding a clumsy rusted sword. The greater direwolf swiped at the man and hit him square in the chest, shoving him back into the mountain cave. He dropped his sword. The greater direwolf chased after the weaponless man, trampling on Wilbur¡¯s body, its claws sinking into his shoulder, chest, and legs. Wilbur groaned and yelled, rolling onto the ground. Yet, Wilbur still managed to find the strength to kneel himself upright. He steadied himself and ran towards the greater direwolf, stepping on its tail.


    Wilbur was not much of a fighter, so he only used what he knew. He used himself as a distraction and bait while the man ran. The greater direwolf spun around and growled at him, letting the man run to collect his sword. The wolf sunk its teeth on Wilbur¡¯s shoulders and Wilbur punched him in the eyes. Two of the lesser direwolves had run off in the chaos, perhaps full of their meal, or wanting to chase the other two men that were still running on the path back to the village.


    The greater direwolf kept swiping and biting at Wilbur. Some swipes, Wilbur dodged, but some swipes he received in the chest, arms, and face. Wilbur grunted. He felt weary. He screamed when the greater direwolf bit his arm hard. But as direwolf and monk struggled, the man plunged his sword directly into the greater direwolf¡¯s chest.


    The greater direwolf and Wilbur both fell to the ground. It whimpered. Wilbur felt so weak, he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he would not make it home. His vision was failing. All his thoughts swam away.


    He was vaguely aware of the man helping him up. He felt warm and cold and the man¡¯s sweat and breath were the only things keeping him from fully floating away.


    ¡°¡­in the village, maybe someone can help¡­ why would they send us into the forest knowing¡­ monsters appearing¡­ all right¡­¡± the man kept saying. The greater direwolf had retreated somewhere. Wilbur felt it move away. His head ached, noticing once more the fresh pool of blood on the floor.


    And then the world turned black.


    Wilbur regained consciousness not long after. His lips were pressed on the man¡¯s neck, and he felt his tongue and throat move, drinking something heavenly. The man he tried to help and who had tried to help him was hugging him. Or no, Wilbur was hugging the man, supporting his neck and back, keeping him from falling over.


    Wilbur had fed on the man he tried to save. The man¡¯s eyes were unfocused, mouthing words noiselessly. When his senses returned to him, Wilbur dropped the man to the ground. He wiped the blood from his lips even though most of him wanted more. "No. Oh, no." Wilbur said.


    The man was mumbling something, pale lips pressing together to form a name. It could have been his wife, could have been the name of his child. It could be a place that he was seeing as his eyes glazed over. When Wilbur felt him breathe his last, Wilbur stared. He swore loudly, voice echoing in the cavern, and kicked the ground. Gently, he touched the man''s cheek, mumbled an apology, and Wilbur sank his teeth once more and drained the last of the man¡¯s life.

 Chapter 8 - The Village of Grant (Part 4 - END)

    ---WILBUR---


    Ryne had asked him once, what it felt like to drink blood. They were still on their journey towards Rothfield, out in the open planes. Ryne was sitting on Wilbur¡¯s makeshift coffin, hands clasped together on his knees. Wilbur sat down next to him and told him it felt like being nourished with the sweetest, most satisfying meal you could imagine.


    But now that he was famished, blood felt like the sweetest nectar drank with golden goblets by gods residing in some mythical mountain. As the red liquid turned gold in his throat, Wilbur¡¯s eyes rolled back. It was the fat and flavor dripping off roasted meat. He felt like he was hovering in the air and his heart, dormant for so long, beat with wild abandon, the blood of another coursing through its chambers. Wilbur was alive again. He felt his skin stitch itself back together, closing all evidence of claw marks. It brought him back the grey days when he could barely function. Strength returned to his limbs. Clarity returned to his mind. Words and thoughts and feelings condensed and burst inside him. Once he was done, the body that was once a man was now a husk the color of candle wax. It was a horrible sight.


    It took Wilbur a few breaths to get back full control of his mind and body. He panted heavily, his voice echoing in the mountain entrance.


    Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he sat with the husk, relishing his sated state. He can see much clearer now as if his eyes held torch lights in themselves. He checked the skin peeking through his torn cloak. Pale as moonlight, unblemished, unharmed. With his renewed strength, Wilbur dug into the ground with his bare hands until there was a hole big enough to bury the man in.


    He picked up a pickaxe that the men left and walked through the tunnel. Deeper into the mines he went, following the trail of direwolf blood. He resurfaced in another spacious chamber filled with ores on the ground. Some were growing on the ceiling, though Wilbur could not reach those just yet. What pulled Wilbur¡¯s gaze was the direwolf panting on a flowerbed of unrefined ice quartz. He walked towards the creature, feeling the weight of the pickaxe. The wolf saw and growled.


    Wilbur spoke to it. ¡°How did your species evolve this way? Were you hiding all this time in this mountain?¡± In response, the direwolf bared his fangs. ¡°I have those too,¡± Wilbur said as he showed the creature his own sharp teeth. The direwolf sniffed him and whined.


    The rusted sword was stuck on its furry chest, thick black blood pouring out of the gaping wound. It smelled like animal blood mixed with something else that Wilbur could not identify. When he raised the pickaxe, the direwolf barked, already anticipating the pain. Its fur bristled.


    ¡°Be still. At least I¡¯ll make it quick, unlike when you toyed with me and those poor men.¡± Tatum appeared in his mind. Wilbur gripped the pickaxe tighter, readying the killing force. ¡°There are villagers near here that must be protected from you. I hope you understand.¡±


    With all the renewed strength he could muster, Wilbur swung. The sharp edge of the pickaxe landed clean between the eyes of the direwolf. It sunk to the ground, legs skewering. Its eyes were still fixed on Wilbur, tongue lolling. When it breathed no more, Wilbur pulled the man¡¯s rusted sword from its chest and wiped the blood on the black fur. Wilbur gasped and retreated when he saw that the body of the greater direwolf turned to black powder, to soot, to ash. He stared for a moment longer until the faint shimmer of the ice quartz winked at him. With the enemy dispatched, Wilbur looked at his prize.


    The ice quartz were all clumped together, ready for harvesting. Wilbur was confident that this would be enough to wake the shivering maiden and still have something left for other projects. He set to work, chipping away a large chunk of ice quartz and breaking it down into smaller pieces. The sounds of his grunts and the pickaxe echoed in the lonely cavern. Once he was satisfied, he stowed the chunks away into his pockets and satchels, feeling the weight dragging him down. The ores clacked together with each step as he made his way back to the main entrance. Wilbur placed the man¡¯s rusted sword on the mound as a mark for his grave.


    As Wilbur made his way back into the village, he saw the bodies of the two lesser wolves being coiled around by the sharp briars of the forest. He passed them just in time to hear a sickening crunch as the roots enveloped them and brought them back into their depths. He shivered, thinking that it would have been him and Woodrow that was being digested into the forest floor if not for Ryne¡¯s intervention. Or maybe they would turn into ash like their leader. The dark forest must have a limited range, then, if it could not dispose of monsters this quickly. Maybe monsters did not roam near the villages after all, but were inside the mountains¡­ that is not a comforting thought. Maybe other monsters were lurking in its depths, hiding or sleeping in hidden chambers of Mount Lhottem.


    The wild footprints of running men continued to the village, and when Wilbur got there, he saw them talking to Clifton and the footman outside, near the communal fire, gesturing frantically. At least some of the men survived. For tonight, anyway.


    He dove into the shadows and weaved his way between huts that coughed and sniffed. Maybe with these ores, he can make more medicines for these people. Before he disappeared from the center of the village, Wilbur heard one of the men exclaim, ¡°And there was a pale warrior, too, dressed in all black. I saw his eyes glow and move from the shadows. He tried to help our friend.¡±


    Wilbur tapped his sharp nails on Tatum¡¯s open window. The boy poked his head outside, eyes bleary and wide.


    ¡°Did I wake you?¡±


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    Tatum shook his head. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep properly. After you left, I woke up again.¡±


    He must be too sick and too hungry to sleep, Wilbur thought. He brought out the jerkin he stole from Clifton¡¯s barrels. ¡°I brought something for you. Finish this, all right?¡±


    Tatum¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Where did you get that?¡±


    ¡°From a thief. Don¡¯t you worry about it.¡± Wilbur handed Tatum the jerkin and he watched the boy close his eyes when he tasted the dried meat. He smiled. When Tatum asked for his name, Wilbur gave it. ¡°Thank you, Wilbur. Are you a friend of Father Clifton? You dress almost the same. Except yours are torn.¡±


    ¡°No, I live somewhere far away in a much nicer church and with much nicer brothers.¡±


    ¡°I wish I could live there.¡±


    Well, could he? What if¡­ what if that was possible? It wasn¡¯t long ago when huts were outside the monastery, and this was just one small boy. He would be better there than here, especially if more direwolves were prowling about. Ryne said Gaelmar wanted them to have the choice to make the monastery their own, anyway.


    Wilbur did not give Tatum an answer, only smiled and promised that he would come back with more things to help him. When the boy finished his meal, he yawned and smiled at Wilbur. He waved weakly and Wilbur saw real sleep weigh down his eyes.


    ¡°Hang in there, little Tatum,¡± Wilbur whispered as he saw the boy blow out his small candle and lay down his head.


    As soon as he did, Wilbur felt the ground tremble beneath him. The vines of the dark forest emerged from the edge and wrapped themselves around Wilbur¡¯s waist and arms. He said, ¡°Take me back to him tomorrow night, or when I have developed the cure for this sickness.¡±


    Wilbur let the vines carry him down through the underground path, the vines more careful with now, and spit him out onto the monastery where he had dropped his journal and left Ryne.


    Both were still in the field. Ryne sat cross-legged, his journals lying on his knees, looking as if he was waiting for them all this time to return. Then they turned towards sounds of slithering vines and churning soil, and not long after Wilbur returned, Woodrow crawled out of the earth, swiping at the vines that slinked back.


    He looked around, eyes wide at Ryne. ¡°You have to come help me. There¡¯s a village near here that needs your help.¡± It was then he noticed Wilbur. ¡°A giant beast is attacking the people there. The dark forest protects them from being devoured but they also have several bandit camps to deal with. I think. I''m not sure if there are more rogue camps somewhere. The dark forest only attacks beasts not beastly humans, like it did with us.¡± Woodrow motioned between him and Wilbur.


    Ryne nodded. He got up, still holding the book, and said, ¡°Lead me to them.¡±


    Wilbur was about to protest the idea of meeting with random villagers but stopped. He had to remind himself constantly now. Ryne can handle himself, he must believe that now. They were careful. Things will be different, even if this monastery operated on similar patterns from before. Ryne, it seems, was the Abbott now, blessed and guided by the kindest Saint himself.


    Besides, he revealed himself to an orphaned villager now. Somebody had seen him. So has Woodrow, according to his story.


    ¡°The village is called Kent, named after its elder,¡± Woodrow was saying, already walking forward.


    But when they turned around, the vines rose again and prevented them from going further, forming a wall. They burrowed back into the soil when the brothers took a step back. They looked at each other and knew that they would not accomplish their mission tonight.


    ¡°Shame, there was someone I wanted you to meet. The elder¡¯s daughter, Agate, named like a precious stone. She¡¯s been protecting this village full of fighters. Ryne, I... did something wrong.¡±


    Wilbur observed that Woodrow looked shaken. He sucked in a breath and was about to tell his story when Ryne spoke.


    ¡°You both fed tonight.¡± Ryne was walking towards them, looking closely at their faces.


    Woodrow and Wilbur traded uncertain looks. Woodrow said, ¡°The bandit leader... and an innocent man. I was... I did not control the hunger. One minute we were talking and suddenly I was draining him. The man, I mean. Harlan. His name is Harlan. Oh, Ryne...¡± Woodrow turned away. "That is why I must return. To make sure he is all right and that the village is still safe."


    Wilbur said after a long silence, ¡°A miner in the village of Kent was my prey,¡± he sighed. ¡°Here¡¯s my adventure tonight¡­¡±


    He told them, from the plague and the corrupt priest to the lesser and greater direwolves minus the gruesome details. He showed them the ores that could finally wake the shivering maiden flower and told them his theory of the sleeping monsters in the mountains.


    ¡°Unlucky lot to have their village far from the dark forest. Agate¡¯s villagers are a bit more spiritual. There are no priests there, but they look towards Agate and her late father for guidance.¡± Woodrow looked again at Ryne. ¡°What do you want to do first?¡±


    Ryne was already thinking of a plan. ¡°Our priority is the two villages of Grant and Kent. Understand why direwolves spawn on Mount Lhottem, if that is truly the case. We must know if they were there slumbering and have now awakened either by the strengthening Chaos or the wreckage that Wilbur observed. While we''re at it, maybe we could harvest more ores for medicine, Wilbur.¡±


    Wilbur nodded. Ryne looked to the dark forest. He opened his mouth, but then Ryne winced and closed his eyes. He grabbed his head and fell on one knee. His crown of pale blond hair glowed faintly. So did his eyelids. Wilbur and Woodrow helped him up when it faded away.


    ¡°Just now, Gaelmar showed me some visions of your mission," Ryne croaked out. "I saw the sickly miasma like a dark cloud on the village of Grant, while I saw pitchforks and swords and a shield on the village of Kent while you were there, Woodrow. The dark forest knows where to put your skills to use." Ryne collected himself and stood straight. "Stranger things will happen. We must be prepared for it. And if the villagers aren''t safe there... then maybe we could open our doors here." Ryne turned to look at Wilbur and Woodrow. "I know that it is too early and that the monastery isn''t equipped to care for villagers. And that we may be risking ourselves. But I feel that this is the right thing to do. Besides, we''re not opening ourselves out to the whole realm. Just for villagers who need help."


    Wilbur smiled inwardly, already thinking of Tatum.


    "We came here to help people. But I''m just afraid that we..." Woodrow gestured to him and Wilbur, "may do more harm than good when we invite them here." Woodrow breathed and considered. "But I suppose you being here means these little incidents don''t happen under your supervision." He looked at Ryne seriously. "Your responsibilities will be heavier. Are you prepared?"


    Ryne nodded and he looked at them both. "Yes. As long as I have you and we work as one."


    Woodrow shrugged, smiling uncertainly. "Splendid."

 Chapter 9 - The Village of Kent (Part 1)

    ---WOODROW---


    ¡°You want me to do what?¡± Woodrow said, arms crossed, perplexed.


    Woodrow and Ryne were facing each other on the granges, while Wilbur sat on the steps of the church staring at them, arms crossed on top of his knees. He looked like he was sulking. Woodrow was sure that he heard Ryne correctly, but he wanted confirmation.


    ¡°Teach him how to fight. So that he can defend himself.¡± Ryne squeezed both his arms as the night wind blew past. ¡°You see the sword he carries with him?¡±


    ¡°I was wondering about that, yes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from his father who disappeared, which was a gift from his blacksmith friend in his old hometown. I ask that you teach him to wield it properly.¡± Ryne looked at the dark forest. ¡°It¡¯s just something that could hopefully deter bandits or thieves. I don¡¯t think there are bad people on the path connecting Rothfield Monastery to Claude¡¯s farm, but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something sinister is happening there. Not from the forest itself. Maybe I¡¯m overthinking.¡±


    Woodrow considered. Claude didn¡¯t seem to be the aggressive sort, and Woodrow assumed that he was also the only one on that farm who knew how to grip a sword properly. Lydia had some fighting spirit in her but was inexperienced. Annette was too young. With his older brothers absent, it would indeed be up to Claude to defend his family from bandits, thieves, and outlaws.


    Woodrow did not see Ryne¡¯s face looking up at him as he considered. Maybe he can start with the basics first, Woodrow thought. Blocking. Parrying. Sidesteps and counters. Maybe one strong strike, not enough to damage his old iron sword and himself. He told as much to Ryne.


    Ryne thanked him. ¡°That will be good.¡±


    ¡°But he will have to be here long after dusk, what will his mother say?¡±


    ¡°Claude says Lydia is fine with it. She knows he is safe here with us.¡± Ryne smiled softly. ¡°Maybe some of these nights we can visit them back at their farmhouse. Annette says she wants to see the friendly monks through the woods.¡±


    ¡°And Claude? What does he say?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s thrilled about it. He couldn¡¯t believe that his luck kept changing for the better, so he said.¡± Ryne suddenly looked uncomfortable. ¡°I feel wrong about something. I want to keep helping him, but I don¡¯t want to be like this wish-granting fae. I don¡¯t want to feel like I¡¯m standing on a pedestal above him.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t view you that way,¡± Woodrow reassured Ryne.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad that he doesn¡¯t seem to think that. I¡¯m glad he¡¯s kind to me and visits me and isn¡¯t treating me differently from his family. But I¡¯m just scared that one of these days, his attitude will change.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re worried about losing him because you want to be his friend,¡± Woodrow said calmly. He watched Ryne¡¯s eyes dart sideways. He nodded. Woodrow felt his chest ache. He felt giddy and glad and lonely.


    It was such a pure, innocent thing, friendship. He never felt that, in all his years living with the monks, he never felt true companionship. He was the friendliest of the bunch; Ealhstan next to him. But their different offices kept them from truly forming deep connections with each other. What Woodrow did have were bursts of nightly bliss, of ale on skin, of sweet whispers under mattresses, beside candlelights, beside warm fires. But the friendship he saw blossoming between Ryne and Claude was something he had not yet experienced. Woodrow thought he might be a little jealous.


    Dusks before, Woodrow spied on them behind the closed doors of the church, peeking through the small gap, out of curiosity and out of protection. He saw Ryne teach Claude more and more letters each day until Claude knew the alphabet by heart. Ryne quizzed him some days; Claude had to spell the object that Ryne named on the ground with a pole. Farm. Rothfield. Crops. When Ryne went back inside to pray at the altar, Claude waited patiently for him to continue where they left off.


    Claude would sometimes bring milk or coarse bread. Ryne will then bring out the cooking pot of leftover vegetable soup. Some days, Claude will simply talk about his days, either recent or from long ago. Woodrow listened as the farmboy told Ryne about his brothers, the disappearance of his father, and the neighbors in Rothfield town. Claude was the only one with a permit to still do business in the town proper.


    But most of all, Woodrow saw how Ryne lit up when he was with Claude. His smile was easier, wider, and more carefree when he was with Claude. Claude bumped his knees with Ryne¡¯s when he was laughing. Ryne let another person touch his elbow and hold his hand when they were playing some simple childhood game. Ryne allowed another person to guide him.


    Some days, these games progressed into exercise. Claude would draw some markings on the soil and teach Ryne how to play. They used the poles for whatever game he thought of that day. They raced around these poles, playing pretend. There was one game where Claude removed his boots and told Ryne to shoot pebbles in its hole.


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    And right before his eyes, Ryne had experienced true childhood; the childhood that was denied to him for years.


    Woodrow was glad for him¡­ but he knew that as much as this wanted to last, he knew it couldn¡¯t. Especially for children. Childhood was fleeting. Ryne knew this, but Woodrow also knew that this was uncharted territory for his youngest brother. He needed to help Ryne navigate this new feeling. Saints know navigating relationships was not one of Wilbur¡¯s strengths.


    ¡°It¡¯s sweet that you feel that way, Ryne. He seems to be a good lad, but remember to never force your friendship upon him, or for that matter, to any other person.¡± Woodrow decided to be direct with him. ¡°The day will soon come when his responsibilities will take more of his time. He will grow older and will want to seek adventures with other people. He will change¡­ while you will remain the same. He could leave town and find his destiny elsewhere.¡±


    Woodrow saw Ryne let the meaning of the words sink, and he shivered without the wind. ¡°He might not leave if we can give him a suitable life here.¡±


    Woodrow was about to say something else but caught Wilbur¡¯s look back at the nave. They stared at each other. Woodrow said nothing more. He only smiled at Ryne and winked at him. Wilbur called him back to the granges. Woodrow went to the toolshed near the granges and brought out an old axe. He chopped the smallest tree he saw. It fell to the ground with a soft crunch. Woodrow hacked at it until the tree was nothing more than broken pieces. He then carefully crafted these smaller pieces into rough sword-looking shapes well into the night.


    When the next dusk came and he awoke, Woodrow stepped out of the church doors. Ryne and Claude were, of course, at the steps. Claude¡¯s easy smile turned into a wide open-mouthed stare as Woodrow revealed the training swords from behind his cloak. He threw one to Claude.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you again, lad. Ryne tells me you want to learn how to fight well?¡± Woodrow brandished his sword in a mock gesture of superiority. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    Claude looked at Woodrow, then to Ryne, then to the swords, then back to Woodrow. Ryne nudged him encouragingly and Claude faced Woodrow in the granges.


    ¡°Stand where you are,¡± Woodrow said as he stepped back. ¡°Hold your sword hand like so. And then block my swing.¡± Woodrow stepped closer, slowing his movements so that Claude could block his swing. The wooden swords clashed together, a sound of branches in the still night. ¡°Good, but plant your feet on the ground when you do so. Ryne, bring out some light.¡±


    They tried again as Ryne cast his flame on some wooden stick indoors. Claude was a natural, Woodrow thought, his stances adapting quickly to his orders. ¡°Good. Now keep blocking my swings from all directions,¡± Woodrow said.


    Claude blocked the known swing but missed three others on his sides. ¡°Don¡¯t focus solely on the sword. Widen your vision to include my eyes, then my face, then my chest, then my body. Only then can you anticipate an attack. That, and practice.¡±


    Woodrow swung again, first predictably, then randomly when Claude had successfully managed to block his swings. Of the seven random swings, Claude had managed to block five. Woodrow told him to relax just as Ryne put the light near them. ¡°Good lad.¡±


    ¡°Where did you learn how to fight?¡± Claude asked, panting.


    Woodro¡¯s answer was ready. ¡°A traveling soldier taught us. Though it is against our vows to harm any living thing, it was nice to know that we can at least know how to defend ourselves. Of course, it defeats the purpose when we weren¡¯t allowed weapons inside the church, but the memory of that soldier stuck with me.¡± Seeing Claude catching his breath, he said, ¡°Let¡¯s continue tomorrow. You be safe now.¡±


    He left them and heard Claude make sounds of excitement and awe. Ryne clapped him on the back. Woodrow glanced behind him and smiled.


    The next dusk, Claude was better, managing to block six of the seven random swings. The next dusk, he was faster at blocking. Ryne was patiently watching, clapping, and wincing. Claude¡¯s brows knitted as he anticipated Woodrow¡¯s attack and Woodrow thought that this was the first time he trained someone in his many years masquerading as a monk. He began to feel Claude¡¯s strength in each block. It was time for another lesson. Woodrow stepped back and relaxed his posture and allowed Claude to catch his breath.


    ¡°Good, now we parry. As I strike, use the forte of your blade¡­ yes, that part of the sword near the hilt and use that part to add your strength to turn my weapon aside. And if you¡¯re successful, go ahead and strike at my chest.¡± He held up three fingers at Claude. Each time he said pointers, one finger came down. ¡°Remember that you must be quick and nimble enough and strong enough. Also, remember that your sword must be greater than the one you are parrying with. Finally, you must be quick and dexterous enough to parry and counter.¡±


    Woodrow told Claude to strike him. Once he did, Woodrow demonstrated how it was done. He blocked Claude¡¯s sword with his own and added his strength to push back the wooden blade. When Claude¡¯s hand twisted, he countered with his sword and pointed the tip at Claude¡¯s chest. Claude¡¯s eyes widened when he saw the blunted point hovering near his heart.


    ¡°Your turn,¡± Woodrow said. Claude copied how Woodrow moved. Woodrow smiled. ¡°Got it on the first try!¡±


    Claude blew out a breath, deflating. ¡°I was nervous. To think that countering could end a man¡¯s life just like that.¡±


    Woodrow glanced in Ryne¡¯s direction. The pale little monk looked like he was tasting something sour. They continued, parrying and countering each other until Claude was spent. ¡°Stay for dinner, Claude. I¡¯m sure Lydia won¡¯t mind you coming home later than usual.¡±


    ¡°I did say that I was being trained. She didn¡¯t like the idea at first but thank goodness her practicality won this time.¡±


    Ryne was already fetching a jug of cool water from the spring. Claude appreciated this, knowing that villagers everywhere usually purified as beer or ale. As Claude drank, Ryne whispered to Woodrow, ¡°You are not hungry?¡±


    ¡°No, Ryne. My powers have not been activated. I¡¯m tired, but I can bear it. I am using skill not charm.¡± Woodrow touched his chest. His heart was beating slowly. He had felt Wilbur¡¯s heart just the other day. His was so slow that he thought at first it was not beating at all. ¡°Claude is a quick student, quicker than his way of letters, I think.¡±


    Ryne murmured in agreement. Woodrow went to the dark forest and tracked down quails from underneath the gnarled tree roots. He caught two as they were sleeping together and collected all the eggs for Ryne and Claude.

 Chapter 9 - The Village of Kent (Part 2)

    ---WOODROW---


    He returned to see Claude and Ryne pouring water into the cooking pot. Claude brought out some onions from his farm and added them to the stew. Woodrow plopped the quail eggs in it as well before disappearing with Ryne into the kitchens to ready the quail. He sucked the blood on the other as Ryne plucked the feathers from their meal.


    For three nights, this quaint routine continued. Woodrow trained Claude; the sounds of wooden swords rapped against each other, interrupted by breaths and soft grunts. Then a pause where Woodrow would correct Clauede¡¯s stance or strike or parry, or even offer encouragement. Woodrow saw the determination and growing confidence in Claude¡¯s eyes. His sword hand was not so soft anymore. After, when the cold winds from the mountains stirred and the sounds of owls echoed in the dark forest, the children supped on crops and wild animals, while Woodrow drained a forest critter of its life.


    On the third night, Claude landed one particularly fast counter, aiming cleanly at Woodrow¡¯s chest. Claude had managed to spin Woodrow¡¯s sword so fast that it flew out of his hand. They all stared at Woodrow¡¯s swordless hand, the tip of Claude¡¯s sword hovering just inches from his chest. Ryne burst into animated applause from his spot on the church steps, sharing a proud look with Woodrow. They congratulated a gushing Claude.


    Woodrow, in the spirit of the moment, acted his demise on the field, clutching his chest and pretending to stagger backward. His arms flew to his chest, pretending to close an imaginary wound. He gasped for air.


    ¡°Oh, woe is me, a runaway thief that stole from this monastery, to have been slain by such a ferocious warrior. Pray tell me your name before I perish.¡±


    Claude and Ryne laughed at his performance, Claude¡¯s a lower note than Ryne¡¯s. Claude puffed his chest and raised his sword, one hand on his hip. He bellowed. ¡°¡¯Tis I, the Great Claude of House Clifforde. Sworn protector of Rothfield and its looming monastery.¡±


    Woodrow made a sound as if he was catching his breath. He dramatically fell to the ground. The two boys ran to him, prodding him with swords and poles.


    ¡°Quick, make sure you got him,¡± Ryne said, tickling Woodrow as he kept rolling over.


    Woodrow sprang up as their small fingers wriggled like worms on his sides, poking his ribs and belly and back. He ruffled both boys¡¯ heads until they pushed him away, laughing. He bowed as both of them clapped. In that second when his head was bowed to the black grass, Woodrow felt light. It was a good feeling. To be able to perform but without the pressure of entertaining.


    As he bent to pick up his sword, Woodrow said, ¡°Keep this up and you¡¯ll be wielding your father¡¯s sword like second nature.¡± Once he stowed away the practice swords, he raised his brows towards the direction of the forest. ¡°All right, go on home with you Claude.¡± As Woodrow looked to the dark forest, a thought occurred to him. ¡°How are you able to travel through those thick trees?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised myself,¡± Claude said. ¡°It¡¯s like I¡¯m not even walking that far. It¡¯s as if I passed a couple of trees and then I was there back at the farmhouse with Ma and always sometime around supper. She thanks you for the crops you give, by the way.¡± He smiled at Ryne. ¡°Without you, I don¡¯t how we would ever manage.¡±


    Ryne returned the smile. ¡°Think nothing of it. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±


    Woodrow saw Claude reach for Ryne¡¯s hand. He squeezed it. ¡°I mean it. Thank you for everything. You¡¯ve done more for me, for us, than Lord Bahram ever did. I hope you get to share your blessing with the rest of the community you help raise.¡±


    Ryne walked Claude to the edge of the forest. Woodrow watched him disappear into the trees before going to see where Wilbur had gone. Woodrow found him in the granges, bent low, inspecting the flowers that had not yet bloomed. They talked.


    Wilbur voiced his concerns about Claude and Ryne¡¯s friendship. He was being careful. Ryne joined them not long after and both disappeared down into the crypts. Woodrow returned to the granges, thinking of what the next night would bring. He looked at the training swords nearby. He imagined what Claude might look like when he got older. Would he have a physique like a soldier or be content with toiling the land? Would his friendship with Ryne endure?


    Movement from the dark forest caught his attention. Woodrow instinctively reached for the dagger under his cloak. He called for his brothers. A few ways away from the main path, both sides of the trees moved like critters crawling away. Ryne and Wilbur appeared behind him just as the vines erupted from the ground and grabbed them both.


    ¡°Oh, not this again,¡± Woodrow said as he was carried into the tunnels. He closed his eyes and braced for impact, but the vines were unusually careful with him. He felt his body tighten when he felt the rush of air and as the vines settled him down¡­ right to a tight dirt road that stretched on either end. Wilbur was nowhere in sight.


    For a moment, there was no sound. The dark forest was behind him. Right ahead was nothing but boulders, or¡­ the foot of a mountain. The same mountain they had seen in the distance, not far from Rothfield monastery. In the darkness, footsteps pounded, distant at first but growing closer, coming from his right. He ducked back into the first line of trees just in time to see a figure running through the path. Woodrow sharpened his eyes.


    It was a woman, mouth open, panting. Her hair was cut short just below her chin, an odd fashion for a maiden. Stranger still was that she was holding a round shield as she fled, eyes wide, expression determined.


    An arrow narrowly missed the woman¡¯s shoulder. She stopped in her tracks, bent low on the ground to cover her neck and chest, and raised the shield to block another arrow aimed at her throat. The woman removed the arrow that was stuck¡ªit was a shield made of tough leather, rough wood, and animal bones, Woodrow saw¡ªand resumed charging through the path. More footsteps followed hers as men appeared on the path. Men raising wooden clubs and arrows.


    Brutes or bandits.


    Woodrow had seen them on the road, some nights. They always looked the same; filthy, matted hair, mostly bearded, strong, wearing the hide of the first animal they killed, usually a wolf or bear.


    Two archers crouched and drew their strings as the club-wielders chased after the woman. She would not make it to wherever she needed to go if she kept blocking the arrows while the other brutes closed the distance. Woodrow saw the woman¡¯s resolve weaken. She knew she would not make it.


    Woodrow aimed; his dagger flew towards the brutes who were running towards her, hitting the one closest to her in the ankle. He screamed, face contorting into pain. The brute staggered back onto the man behind him so that they both tumbled to the ground. The woman took this moment of luck and sped away. Woodrow was impressed; even with that weight slowing her down, she still had the strength to carry on.


    The brute clutched his ankle, moaning, his fingers curling at the sight of Woodrow¡¯s dagger sticking out of his leg.


    ¡°Where did this thing come from¡ªno, don¡¯t pull it, you idiot!¡± He waved his arm around and pointed to the woman. ¡°Cut her head and bring it back to the chieftain.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad that I won¡¯t feel guilty in doing this,¡± Woodrow muttered under his breath as he sped out of the woods and onto the growling brute on the ground. ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± he said to the brute as he pulled out his dagger.


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    The man howled as his comrade backed away, staring at him. But Woodrow did not hear the screams or see the men. His vision only saw the bright red blood calling his name, dripping from the surface of the dagger. When a single drop of that delicious red was about to drip, Woodrow did not let it go to waste. He held the dagger high above his mouth and let it fall on his tongue.


    He closed his green eyes and felt the rush of wind within him. He must have more. Woodrow opened his eyes and saw the terrified face of the brute. He smiled.


    ¡°Come now, where is your bloodlust? You had it mere moments ago.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes were wide. His lips quivered. And then he screamed for mercy as Woodrow stabbed both ankles and feet of the brute. Woodrow turned his attention to the other and similarly injured him. He cradled the man¡¯s neck, two fingers shushing the mouth. Woodrow kissed the brute¡¯s earlobe, whispering soothing noises into his ear.


    ¡°Now long now,¡± Woodrow whispered. ¡°I will kiss you better.¡±


    The brutes stared at him, the thoughts in their head pinning them in the spot. His eyes darted to the side when the archers caught up with them. Woodrow snarled, revealing his pointed teeth.


    ¡°Demon,¡± the man whispered. His comrade joined him. ¡°Demon!¡±


    Then they were silenced. Not by Woodrow, but by a low growl that vibrated through the forest. It snapped the bloodlust from Woodrow. He became aware of the man he was holding, the sheer terror on their face.


    ¡°No,¡± the man began to whisper. ¡°Not now¡­ not now¡­¡± He looked around wildly, scrabbling away. His hands clawed the earth.


    Woodrow retreated to the dark forest, his head dull and aching. The archers held each other¡¯s arms. They looked at each other, at their comrades down the path, to the trees, uncertain of what to do. Woodrow felt the ground shake. Somewhere in the forest, a creature was prowling. He heard, not far from where he hid, the sound of rocks scattering. Woodrow thought that perhaps the vines themselves would dispatch the brutes, but a high-pitched howl, as if a great number of wolves beckoned to the moon as one, rang through the night. The archers ran back.


    ¡°Come back, you bastards!¡± the brutes on the ground called.


    Woodrow waited in the shade of the trees. If the men feared him, they were now mortified at what made the sounds. They backed away, kicking the ground with their bleeding limbs, shoulder to shoulder, hands bone-white as they held their clubs. Their eyes were glued to the end of the path where they came from.


    Dust poured from the mountain slope. When Woodrow looked up, he saw the great beast. The night clouds parted just in that moment. The beams landed on her fur.


    The creature¡¯s fur glowed under the moonlight. Woodrow saw its pointed ears first, then its brown eyes, its snout sniffing the ground. It paused at the end of the path, ears pricked, eyes fixed on the two men bleeding, begging.


    ¡°Oh, Saints, no, please, no, not like this¡­ please not like this.¡± One of the men began to pray. Oh, now, he begs the Saints, Woodrow thought.


    The creature was beautiful. Seven times the size of a horse. It walked gracefully towards them, fur white as the stars, from head to paws. A direwolf, from the stories of old. Was this what Ryne meant when he said he felt something off in the forest? The direwolf calmly stepped towards the men, and the night heard the men¡¯s fear. As she crept closer, ever so daintily, Woodrow saw that the creature was female.


    The direwolf sniffed the blood on the ground. She licked it, and her eyes, big as windows, followed the trail of blood to the quivering men. Only then did she lick her lips.


    ¡°Oh, Saints¡­¡± Woodrow said as the wolf, quick as lightning, pounced on the men and devoured them. I suppose it was a mercy, to end things quickly. He winced as he heard the sickening crunches, sharp canine fangs grinding bones, of jaws snapping shut. There was the smell of blood again, rich in the air. His impulse urged his body to stand below the wolf and catch the blood pouring from its mouth.


    When she was done, the direwolf licked its paws and wiped the red stain on the edges of its lips. Then she sniffed the ground once more, looked at the other end of the path, and bolted to where the lady was heading.


    ¡°Oh, no.¡± Woodrow immediately followed suit, weaving through the branches.


    The amount of blood he tasted from the brute did not even replenish most of his strength. It only awakened him. He was not sure if he was strong and fast enough to catch up to the direwolf giving chase. He did not wish to see the woman between its teeth.


    Lights appeared on the edge of the road. As Woodrow chased after the direwolf, he saw the familiar sight of a village. Torches were mounted everywhere; on this village¡¯s wooden borders, on the makeshift wooden towers, and inside, where small houses were packed together. The woman just made it in time on the village¡¯s borders. Scouts from the towers rang a bell, Woodrow saw their own archers climb on the towers and poised to shoot the direwolf if it came too close. Woodrow hoped they knew to aim at its eyes. His dagger was ready in his hand.


    The woman stopped short where the light of the torches reached its limit. She collected her breath and turned slowly around to meet the wolf. Instead of welcoming her, the gates of the village swung shut.


    For a wild moment, Woodrow thought that the woman planned to be a sacrifice as the villagers ran and hid since the direwolf could easily swipe down that pathetic border. The woman stared at the wolf, stone-faced.


    ¡°You fool,¡± Woodrow muttered under his breath.


    Woodrow was about to throw his dagger, aiming for the wolf¡¯s neck, when the forest behind him slithered past. Woodrow dug his heels. So did the direwolf. She sniffed the ground, then the air, and for once in this night, she looked apprehensive. She pawed at the ground and began to retrace her steps, ears pricked, tail alert.


    And then the forest brambles shot up from the ground. They formed a small wall, much more menacing than the village defenses, curling and whipping at the direwolf. She snarled and bit at one bramble before darting away. Woodrow observed that these were the similar brambles that attacked them on their first traverse through the dark woods. Why they did not protect the woman from the bandits was a mystery.


    Woodrow noticed as the briars rose that the woman picked up a scabbard from the ground. She unsheathed the scabbard and revealed a sword not unlike the one Claude inherited from his father. Except this one was polished. She did not sheath it until the direwolf was long gone. Only when the briars and sharp branches slinked back into the dark forest did she relax her posture and breathe hard. She whistled to the guards to let her through.


    Then she turned around and paced forward, looking side to side, and said in a loud voice, ¡°You might as well come out.¡± Woodrow froze. ¡°I saw you as you stopped those brutes from attacking. A flash of red hair. Since the forest does not attack you, I think you¡¯re safe.¡±


    Woodrow waited in the shadows. Revealing himself will alert them to the existence of the monastery. Should he remove his monastic robes? No. Something in him wanted to play the monk for a long while. He had been playing it for so long¡­


    Woodrow stepped out of the dark forest and into the light of the torches hanging on the walls of her village. As he stepped closer, he showed her his dagger in his hand and put it back in his cloak. He saw the archers aim at him. The woman was alert, her hand gripping the scabbard firmly. Woodrow held her gaze as removed his hood, revealing the bright red of his hair.


    ¡°That¡¯s a rare color. Where are you from, foreigner?¡±


    ¡°Wish that I knew, miss. Memory¡¯s a bit foggy. But what I can tell you is that I was separated from my brothers in the forest back there.¡±


    ¡°A pretty monk that can use a weapon lost in the middle of the woods. Pray, can your other brothers fight?¡±


    Woodrow didn¡¯t know why, but he wanted to keep telling the truth to her. Or as much of the truth as necessary. His first instinct was to charm her, but he knew that he could not resist what would come after he used his power. And those arrows were right above him. He responded. ¡°Well, they can certainly land a hit. But two of them prefer to be docile and heal.¡±


    The woman held his gaze. She secured the scabbard on her hip. ¡°I have never heard an order of clergy that fought before. Do you have a name, monk?¡±


    ¡°Woodrow.¡±


    The woman stared him down. She shrugged at the name. ¡°Come inside my village, Woodrow. Capable as you are, you saw how the great beast that prowls these parts at night.¡± She held out a hand in the air, signaling the men that she was her guest. The drawn bowstrings relaxed.


    Woodrow walked closer and stopped at a respectable distance. The woman searched his face. Woodrow thought it was a good move; she had to memorize the face of a stranger. Woodrow analyzed her in turn; the short hair that fell just below her chin, her stern eyes. Her clothes. She was not dressed like an ordinary maiden with a cloth that covered her hair and a long skirt. She wore a soldier¡¯s light armor. Her chest was covered with a thick pad made of animal hide and bone, like the shield she now carried. Instead of a skirt, she wore pants and boots.


    When the wooden gates opened to receive them, she said to Woodrow, ¡°I¡¯ll tell them you got separated from your brothers while hunting berries in the forest. They would crowd on you if I tell them you¡¯re a monk who knows how to fight and has the speed to down a brute twice his size.¡±

 Chapter 9 - The Village of Kent (Part 3)

    ---WOODROW---


    Wooden doors banged open as the villagers stepped out of their huts to welcome this woman. It was unusual for them to be all awake at this hour. Being with Wilbur and Ryne for so long, he inspected their skin for any marks of illness and searched for anyone who was ailing: struggling to breathe, to walk, to talk. His search came empty. They all looked healthy enough. Most of them looked strong.


    ¡°Since when did this dark forest protect you?¡± Woodrow asked as villagers started to crowd closer. They nodded their heads as the woman passed them, and their stares lingered on Woodrow. Whispers pecked his skull. Those who stared and looked warily wore the plain clothes of the common people. Those who Woodrow assumed could fight had wooden spears and sharp poles in their hands.


    ¡°A fortnight ago,¡± the woman replied. ¡°Before that, it was just a dark dead forest through all my years growing up. It doesn¡¯t protect us from human enemies, though. We have problems with bandits these couple of nights, as you saw.¡±


    She paused and looked back at Woodrow. ¡°You should have seen it, the first time the still trees moved. We heard the howl from the mountains. A long howl that chilled my chest and made all the children in this village cry for their mothers. Then the next night we heard grunting and sniffing from outside the walls. And when we saw those eyes looking at us from the distance, we thought it was the last thing we would see.¡±


    The woman closed her eyes and shivered. ¡°I was about to order everyone that could not fight to shut themselves in their huts while the bravest of my men and I held our spears and poles to kill it. But when it approached close enough, the briars saved us and snapped at the great direwolf until she left.¡±


    The woman stopped in front of a house near a communal fire. This hut was built bigger than the rest, with a roof thickened by twice the amount of dried straws and twigs. An elder¡¯s house. The woman stopped near the communal fire, and Woodrow saw most of the villagers surround them and the roaring fire in a circle. Some sat on boulders and logs while others sat comfortably on the ground. Woodrow saw not far from the elder¡¯s hut was a good size of land where they planted rye and potatoes. The miasma clearly had not reached this part of the dark forest yet.


    ¡°As for the bandit problem, that great direwolf helped in curbing it the first couple of nights. Our enemies are prone to looting and burning villages in the middle of the night. Recently, they ended up in the bowels of the beast.¡± The woman smiled, thinking of the memory. Then her smile dropped. ¡°It did not last. Once we all realized that the beast only came out from the mountains at night, the bandits charged and attacked us in the daylight. I don¡¯t know why the dark forest does not protect us from them, but we are left to defend ourselves once the sun is up.¡±


    Woodrow listened to her story. After a moment, he asked, ¡°Why were you out there this night if you knew about the direwolf?¡±


    The woman raised the shield she was carrying. ¡°We don¡¯t have enough resources here to build shields. I needed to steal what they stole from others.¡±


    ¡°That was foolish.¡±


    ¡°Finally, someone agrees.¡± Another voice said.


    It came from a big man a good head taller than Woodrow, squeezing through the crowd and looking directly at the woman. He was fit and firm, the kind of body that was naturally blessed with muscles even with scarcity of food. Lucky bastard, Woodrow thought. There were only a handful of these men in the past monasteries. Usually, they were the leader¡¯s guards or next-in-command. These were the designated bailiffs and hunters. He glanced in Woodrow¡¯s direction briefly as he came closer, then fixed the woman a stern look, towering over her.


    ¡°I heard from the scouts that you went off to the bandit¡¯s camp without anyone. What were you thinking?¡± He growled. ¡°You can¡¯t just leave without permission, Agate.¡±


    Agate frowned and she bristled. She dug the shield into the ground and looked up at him. She spat. ¡°Permission? You forget yourself, Harlan. The village of Kent is still under my authority before our battle.¡± She pointed to the far end of the crowd. ¡°That is where your tribe lies. Honor our rules and stay where you are before the challenge.¡±


    Woodrow looked over at where she was pointing. There was another communal fire a short distance from where they were standing. A group of men gathered around the fire, and some women and children carried ewers and jars. They threw glances in Woodrow¡¯s direction and at the shield before turning themselves back to the fire.


    ¡°I only meant¡­ to think what could have happened if you¡ª¡± Harlan huffed and closed his eyes. He breathed. ¡°You should follow your own rules and notify your men.¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Oh, now we establish that I am the elder? Should we call off the challenge, then? Ready to accept my authority to lead in front of the other backstabbers?¡±


    ¡°I will never backstab you, Agate,¡± Harlan said.


    They stared at each other. ¡°I didn¡¯t want anyone to come with me just in case the plan failed. It is foolish, and I didn¡¯t want anyone else to lose their lives from it. I was desperate. We needed that shield. You know we do. If I failed, well, then you finally get what you want.¡±


    ¡°Agate.¡±


    ¡°But everything worked out in the end.¡± She jerked her thumb to Woodrow. ¡°The monk came in just in time. My own guardian angel.¡±


    Harlan''s eyes focused on Woodrow again. Woodrow winked and smiled. Harlan nodded.


    Agate rearranged her expression into a blank stare as she picked up her shield. She marched forward. Woodrow followed her. ¡°I shall see you this midnight, Harlan.¡±


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    ¡°We can¡ª¡± Harlan began to say before Agate cut him off.


    ¡°Be ready.¡±


    The crowd parted as they walked. Harlan stared at Agate before lumbering back to the side of the village where other men waited. There were older children gawking at the shield. Agate allowed them to touch it. Woodrow saw that she was well-liked as they passed each house and family. They called to her and Woodrow watched her features soften. Her shoulders dropped. The stiffness in her arms relaxed. She smiled and told them to go to bed, promising to tell the story another night.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the monk?¡± They called after her.


    ¡°My guest,¡± was all Agate said. ¡°Make him feel welcome.¡± She barked a name and a scout appeared. A young man who quailed under Agate¡¯s stare. ¡°Distract Harlan and his men. Throw the feast now, hours before the challenge. Tell them that I am getting ready. Right now, though, we have urgent matters to discuss.¡±


    Woodrow wiggled his fingers and eyebrows at the little children, amused as they hid back behind their mother¡¯s skirts. He winked at the nervous scout, making him fumble with his salute.


    They walked until they no longer heard voices and the crackle of the communal fire. They walked into the shadows and neared the other side of the village. The walls of the village were made from the same wood of the dark forest, which meant it made for flimsy defenses. It will fall easily apart from the swing of an iron sword.


    Agate was quiet all this time. Woodrow broke the silence. ¡°Tension in the air, I feel.¡±


    ¡°The bandit leader came yesterday with his shield. If not for Harlan wrestling his way, I would never have managed to land a hit. And still, it failed to land. Their leader was strong even without armor. But now that I managed to steal it, he would think twice about harassing our village.¡±


    She turned around and faced Woodrow. She was of regular height for a woman, but Woodrow noticed the months of training that sculpted her form.


    ¡°My father died a few days ago due to a cough that never got better. He had it for years. The sounds he made for the rest of his life¡­" she held both her arms and frowned. "In the mornings, into the night, even as he was sleeping. He went from a mighty elder who could swing an axe to a husk of his former self. He could not even hold his walking cane properly.¡±


    Agate looked down as if to wipe a strand of hair, but Woodrow noticed a short tear leaking from her eye. ¡°I was supposed to be the one who led them next. I trained hard with Harlan to be the defenders of this village. But not even a few moments after his last breath, they challenged my authority with a midnight match between mine and Harlan¡¯s strength. I suppose it¡¯s fair. They would not want someone weak again. But to think Harlan agreed to it is¡ª¡± she huffed and kicked a stone.


    ¡°You feel betrayed,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°You know Harlan well?¡±


    ¡°Since we were children.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he was forced as you to accept the challenge. Did you ever talk to him?¡±


    ¡°No. I was furious.¡± Agate looked back at the fire. ¡°He did try. He sent scouts to me and made many peace offerings just for a chance to talk. But I inherited my father¡¯s stubbornness. If they want to see a fight, then so be it. If I lose, then at least I showed what I could do.¡± She held Woodrow¡¯s gaze. ¡°I want you to teach me how to fight.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°I saw you. Quick as a spear darting out of the woods like that. And your aim was good. I do not wish to be a marksman, but my instincts tell me that sparring with you will make me a better fighter for tonight.¡±


    Woodrow stared at her. It was like Ryne all over again. What is with people now asking him to help them fight?


    ¡°There is no way I will best Harlan in single combat of strength. But maybe I can beat him in other ways, like speed or agility. I must prove to them all that I can beat the strongest of them.¡±


    Woodrow saw the determination in her eyes. The village of Kent is a warrior¡¯s community, he thought. Is this the reason why Woodrow was sent here? To train the late elder¡¯s daughter? For the right to rule? No, there must be something more.


    Woodrow had realized where they were a few steps off from the village border. The seclusion of the dark trees waited for them. Woodrow nodded and nudged Agate to lead the way. Once they had found a clearing, Woodrow took a few steps back and faced her.


    ¡°Show me what you know. Which weapons will you use for this combat?¡±


    ¡°Poles.¡±


    Agate drew from behind a tree two long wooden sticks. Woodrow raised his eyes at her, wondering if she hid weapons all over the boundary of the village. Once Woodrow caught his weapon, they circled each other. Woodrow let Agate close the distance and blocked her strike. When Agate slid underneath to swipe at Woodrow¡¯s feet, he leaped and struck her from behind.


    ¡°That is my favorite move. Who taught you how to fight?¡±


    ¡°Papa when he was stronger. And some of his friends.¡±


    ¡°Did he teach Harlan as well?¡± Woodrow asked. When Agate nodded, he said, ¡°Then don¡¯t do the things he would expect. Surprise him a little,¡± Woodrow said. As he did, he sidestepped and bumped Agate¡¯s shoulder. In the confusion, he knocked her knuckles with her pole, making her drop it. Before it fell on the ground, Woodrow brought it back to her hand using his own pole.


    ¡°I feel he likes you. Catch him by surprise. Flirt with him as you fight. Then strike his chest and torso.¡± Woodrow meant it as a joke, but Agate punched him in the chest. Woodrow sucked in a breath and raised his pole to strike.


    They bumped into each other. It was not like Claude who was clumsy. Agate knew what she was doing. Her steps were sure and her lunges were precise. The only problem was their size.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to disarm him. You can¡¯t. He¡¯s built bigger and stronger than you. Putting you in close quarters will only allow him to take your weapon from you. Is he quick?¡±


    ¡°No. He¡¯s strong.¡±


    ¡°Good. You have the advantage on that one. You¡¯re much lighter than he is. You were right in taking advantage of your agility. Keep running around him and defend yourself from his attacks and once you feel him breathing heavily, hit him in the thighs or knees and watch him fall. Does he have any weaknesses?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t checked to look. We¡¯ve always been fighting off bandits, but my eyes were on the enemy, not him.¡± Agate¡¯s eyes were fierce. ¡°There¡¯s another thing you should know about the outcome of this challenge. If he wins, I marry him. That was the condition he set. Of all the stupid things! He could have said to the others to respect my authority if he truly cared. But, no, he had to be all stupid about it.¡±


    Agate fumed and she came for Woodrow with her pole, using it as a sword. Woodrow parried with ease. He backed away, baiting Agate as she struck, and when he felt a tree behind him, he sidestepped and tripped Agate. Her arms flailed as she tried to grab the tree, but Woodrow grabbed her tunic and helped her up.


    ¡°You will lose if you do not control your temper,¡± Woodrow said as he released her.


    Agate blew out the hair plastered on her cheeks in frustration. She nodded and breathed to calm the embers within her. But just as they raised their poles to spar once more, they heard rustling near them.


    A scout was sent, the nervous one from before. ¡°The feast is about to begin,¡± the scout said and was dismissed, stealing another glance at Woodrow. When Agate returned the poles to the back of the tree, Woodrow saw her hand twitch. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath from her lips.


    Her voice shook a little. ¡°Thank you, Brother. Now pray to the Saints that I win.¡±

 Chapter 9 - The Village of Kent (Part 4)

    ---WOODROW---


    The villagers of Kent circled the communal fire. Roasting over the fire was a pig of decent size, golden brown, its dripping fat causing the fire to spark. They greeted her, but Woodrow saw that they were all nervous. A glance towards the side alerted Woodrow to the hulking figure of Harlan walking towards them. He had eyes only for Agate.


    ¡°I welcome you to sup with me before the battle,¡± Agate said through gritted teeth.


    Harlan bowed his head. ¡°I appreciate your hospitality, child of our departed elder.¡±


    It was a customary greeting, Woodrow observed. He saw from behind Harlan the men with him earlier. Their smaller communal fire was snuffed out.


    Agate called out to the villagers. ¡°No more hostility. This night, we feast as one village. Harlan and the rest of my late father¡¯s men are welcome back into the fold.¡± Then, she looked at Harlan squarely in the face. ¡°For after this night, things are settled and the village of Kent will have an elder that deserves to lead.¡±


    Harlan held Agate¡¯s eyes. To Woodrow, he looked sad. He hid his features well enough and led his men into the warmth of the fire. They sat together, Agate and Harlan, shoulder to shoulder. The rest of the men were wary of each other; he saw one shoulder bump into the arm of another and both men stared each other down. They offered thanks to Saint Edmund, and tore through the pig, Agate and Harlan ensuring that all had an equal share of the roast. During the meal, Harlan and Agate watched their village carefully. Woodrow thought they looked like parent birds watching over their hatchlings. Woodrow saw how they both stopped someone discreetly reaching for another serving of roast pig when they became too greedy. He saw how they offered another ale to one holding an empty wooden mug. They both took care of the villagers. They just did not watch each other doing it.


    Woodrow missed the sounds of chatter over the fireplace, how voices became louder as the influence of a hearty meal and ale kicked in. The familiar jovial tune of communal supper; laughter, claps, jeers, taunts, differing pitches weaving together. Woodrow closed his eyes to it. He breathed. His stomach churned.


    ¡°Brother monk,¡± Harlan called out to him, offering a bowl of broth.


    Woodrow smiled and raised his hand. ¡°I am not hungry, thank you. And I don¡¯t think I can stomach much food now that I know what is about to happen after this feast.¡±


    Agate, next to Harlan, shrugged. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    Woodrow pulled his attention away from the hunger stabbing his stomach and aching his muscles. But he was in his element, at least. The fire was welcoming. Hovering near them were faces of glee. Oily mouths dug into the meat. Slippery fingers held jugs and cups of ale. He even saw some of them kiss over the fire, hands holding and fumbling. Woodrow saw Harlan¡¯s fingers twitch towards Agate as if controlling himself to offer her food or ale or a pat on the shoulder.


    Woodrow¡¯s other appetite stirred. His diet was different than the rest of his brothers. He had that common in Ryne too. The majority of his nourishment came from blood, but a small part of him needed something else from people. Their vitality. Their youth. Their affection. Woodrow closed his eyes once more as the laughter grew louder from Agate¡¯s side of the camp. This kind of music was a prelude to a night of pleasure. Woodrow wanted to experience it again; his powers to activate and be replenished at the same time. Taking from another their warm breaths and bare skin and giving in return his green eyes and kisses with no promises.


    Just one of them would do, Woodrow thought darkly. No one will be the wiser. I could excuse myself and take someone. Not enough to kill, but enough to quell this blasted hunger. The scout! Where is he?


    Woodrow scanned the sea of faces and noticed that the scout was already looking at him. The scout looked away shyly but returned his gaze not long after. Him. Woodrow¡¯s vision blurred then sharpened, focusing on the face of the youth. He bit his lip and tapped his knee. Woodrow was about to excuse himself to his host. But then there was a sudden pain in his chest. A strike of recollection.


    The way he charmed the couple who got lost in the gardens of Fairstep monastery. Wilbur had told him that his green eyes glowed for three nights after his risky charm. And the villagers of Fairstep after the festival¡­ husks afterward, senseless, laughing by themselves and sickling the air.


    Woodrow snapped out of his hunger and forced himself to focus on the chatter instead. Maybe he can pick up some useful information about this village, and distract himself with other thoughts. But all he heard were the things already mentioned by Agate. The elder, the challenge for leadership, the great direwolf, the bandits.


    And the familiar sound of a brawl happening some ways away.


    Woodrow leaned in, tuning his ears to the sound. He felt the tension from somewhere. Anger and confusion. There were sounds of punching and wincing and swearing. Grunts and breaths were being knocked out. Woodrow stood and yelled. ¡°Stop that!¡±


    The villagers around the fire paused. All eyes were on him, their hands or cups pressed to open mouths. Then Agate stood and saw over the fire on the shadowy areas where some of the men were landing hits. Agate¡¯s guards were fighting with Harlan¡¯s men.


    ¡°I just said no fighting!¡± And she sped towards the group of men, Harlan close beside her. Agate felt him move and raised her hand. ¡°No, you stay here and watch over the people. I¡¯ll deal with this. I have some words for your men, anyway.¡±


    Harlan slumped back, unsure. Woodrow was thinking if he should go with Agate and help placate the crowd. Even without charm, he can be very persuasive. But he had another idea. He must distract the rest gathered here from the tension being settled over there. The villagers were already looking at each other worriedly, standing up and hiding their bowls and mugs. Before he knew it, Woodrow clapped his hands to bring the attention back to him.


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    ¡°Who here has a round object or fruit on them?¡±


    He cupped his hands in the air, waiting for something to land on them. He looked at the crowd expectantly. A ball dropped from the night air and he caught it. Barely making contact with his skin, Woodrow juggled it high in the air. ¡°More,¡± he said to the crowd. ¡°More!¡±


    The crowd cheered and became lively once more. Their teeth shone with oil, and some even sputtered and coughed in the middle of their drink. They spat it out and laughed. Woodrow stuck out his tongue in concentration, eyes trained on the increasing objects he juggled: the ball, a pear, an apple, another ball, and a block of wood that was probably a child¡¯s toy. And then Woodrow began to sing a familiar tune of drinking. The maidens squealed and the men chanted the words out, thumping their knuckles against their knees, pounding the ground with their fists. The woman clapped in time with the tune and Woodrow¡¯s beautiful voice rang around the communal fire. He even caught a glance of Agate¡¯s startled, but amused face, arms crossed as she reprimanded the men. The men themselves stopped their brawl and stared at Woodrow¡¯s tricks. Woodrow called to them.


    ¡°Plenty of cheer here, folks, if you¡¯re quite done fighting over there. Join in once you have calmed down.¡± Then Woodrow added, ¡°Look at all your fellow men. You are supposed to be one tribe.¡± Then slyly, he winked at Harlan and looked steadily at Agate. ¡°An elder knows to set aside differences for the good of their people. They know how to communicate well and not let emotions get the better of them.¡±


    He had missed this, too, being in the communal fire, with all the people looking at him now with his hood off. Woodrow felt light. He smiled at the villages who stared at him. There were murmurs around and some of the maidens hid behind their hands and whispered and nudged each other. Some of the couples blocked their partner¡¯s view from seeing him.


    The villagers laughed in addressing the tension Woodrow had deflated. Agate, for the first time that he had seen her tonight, laughed. So did the men around her. And once the drinking song was finished, another one was called, and this time, Harlan led the song. But not before Woodrow caught all the objects in his hand neatly, winked, flashed a brilliant smile at the crowd, and bowed. Clapping and whistling followed, and he saw the scout relax. He winked at him again and the scout winked back, having gained confidence with the ale and perhaps emboldened with the song.


    Woodrow saw the men clap each other on their backs and guide each other gently to the fire. They could not resist the good cheer, especially after being separated into two tribes, Woodrow thought. They just needed to be reminded of their camaraderie, that¡¯s all.


    But as the villagers chanted another verse of the drinking song, the energy that seized Woodrow left him breathless and wanting more.


    The stares had made him feel powerful. As Woodrow pulled their attention, he felt it, that familiar delicious charge in the air, a chain of lightning, a spark in the chorus, of butterflies landing on petals. He felt the pleasure turn tangible. He felt the tension shift from being mildly apprehensive to becoming prickly and sensual.


    Woodrow breathed in the smell of smoke and ale to calm himself. He watched Agate rejoin him. She was holding two mugs of ale.


    ¡°I¡¯d offer you one, but I have a feeling that you would refuse it,¡± she said. ¡°The lecture found its mark.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°It was for you both. You, who seems to be hardheaded, and him who seems to be soft-hearted. Kind of like the scout who keeps glancing in my direction. What is his name, anyway?¡± Woodrow did not remember the name when Agate called him earlier.


    ¡°Jerome. Orphaned since he was a child. Parents killed by other outlaws while scavenging for food on a particularly harsh winter. He is frail for battle but his skittish nature is perfect for scouting.¡± Agate smiled a little on her mug. ¡°I like his loyalty. He does not sleep until he is certain that there are no obvious signs of trouble. He checks the bushes and dark woods some nights just to be extra careful.¡±


    ¡°He seems to be anxious,¡± Woodrow commented. Agate only nodded gently. ¡°Thank goodness you don¡¯t give him a hard time for it.¡±


    ¡°We need to be tough in this village. It¡¯s just our way. But community is equally important. A sense of belonging. We would work with our weaknesses and hone our strengths, and thankfully, Jerome has channeled his weakness into being¡­ careful.¡± Agate took a sip of her ale as Woodrow observed Jerome. He was still smiling with his friends; some archers and some women. ¡°Any other lectures for me, good monk?¡±


    ¡°Talk to Harlan now and be rid of this right-for-leadership nonsense. Talk using actual words to strike at the hearts of the other men. You all need to learn to quell your anger first before acting, especially you.¡±


    Woodrow welcomed Agate¡¯s rebuke but she sighed and accepted his words. Woodrow continued. ¡°Harlan does not want to fight you, Agate. He seems to try to mediate between the men. He is unsure of how to approach you without causing you to be angrier and making things worse. What you should be doing is arranging your forces to deal with the immediate problems with bandits. The dark forest does not seem to prevent human threats but otherwise reacts to otherworldly, supernatural ones. Stop dividing your tribe and start working together. Imagine the strength if all your forces are united. You understand your people¡¯s concerns. Now address them.¡±


    Agate let that sink in. ¡°You have a knack for leadership yourself, monk. If you were not wearing your monastic habit, I¡¯d say you could be a fine soldier. Or general of a small group of soldiers.¡± Woodrow thought of Ryne and his message. Agate breathed. ¡°I know what I must do.¡±


    Agate stood and left for a big house beyond the reach of the communal fire, just as Harlan finished his song and sat beside Woodrow. He must have thought that she did not want his company for he looked at her retreating figure sadly. But then his eyes landed on Woodrow and he smiled.


    ¡°What good cheer, monk! I¡¯d never thought that¡­¡± Harlan trailed off, shaking his head.


    ¡°What? That monks are capable of producing raucous cheer?¡± Woodrow chuckled. ¡°Well, I¡¯m the exception, I think. We¡­ our brothers and I, that is, we run our monasteries differently. There are nights that I would join the villagers before and make sure to hear their grievances in a more¡­ comfortable setting. I find that their true worries are revealed near the warmth of a fire with good food than inside our altars.¡±


    Harlan nodded. ¡°It suits you. You are handsome and easy to be around. It seems you can disarm them with a smile and if not that, then your party tricks.¡±


    They chuckled together, and when Woodrow spotted him looking at the house where Agate disappeared, Woodrow said, ¡°Oh, just go to her, man. Tell her how you feel about her and deal with her wrath afterward. Just be sure you state what you mean plainly before she kicks you out and slams the door right in your face.¡±


    He arranged his face to act surprised, then confused, but when Woodrow simply stared at him with a knowing look, Harlan gulped. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°I just do. Now go to her, and be done with this foolishness of combat. This is the same counsel I gave her.¡±


    Harlan, all muscles of him, quivered as if what he was about to do was the scariest thing. He stood and was about to follow her when he snapped his fingers. ¡°Wait! There are flowers she likes! Right near here. I tried to nurture a few just for these occasions. Follow me, brother monk. I¡¯ll tell the rest of the men to watch the village.¡±

 Chapter 9 - The Village of Kent (Part 5 - END)

    ---WOODROW---


    Woodrow followed Harlan outside the village of Kent, leaving the crackling fire and the sounds of merrymaking.


    He was amused by the fact that a person like Agate liked a particular type of flower. Woodrow guessed her favorite things were shields and spears and strong ale. He was also equally surprised that Harlan nurtured that particular flower to placate her moods. It was a sweet gesture.


    They walked a couple of ways off the path, the torches that hung throughout the border wall still casting their faint light. Harlan parted some bushes a few ways away from the dark forest. He bent down and plucked a handful of white lilies. He held it out to Woodrow for inspection.


    Woodrow approved. They looked well-cared for, not a petal wilting.


    ¡°I am nervous,¡± Harlan said, looking down at the flowers and gulping. He breathed and exhaled. His toned body was stiff with nervousness, this tall strong man. ¡°We were childhood friends. Well, most of us in the village are. But I thought me and Agate were closer than the rest. Then things got odd when we grew older and I towered over her. She did not need to defend me anymore. Back when we were little, I was clumsy with the spear, you see. But I eventually learned how to use it properly with training. And I thought now I could do the same for her. Now that I am stronger. I just wanted to protect her. But she doesn¡¯t want to be protected.¡±


    ¡°Why not tell her this yourself?¡±


    ¡°I tried. I couldn¡¯t find the right words. And now she sees me as a threat to her authority.¡±


    ¡°Well, you did settle the terms of the challenge.¡±


    ¡°I was doing it for her!¡± Harlan said, frustrated. ¡°But I said it all wrong. We got into a heated argument and I just said ''fine, then be my wife and we can rule the place together''.¡± Harlan slapped his face and groaned. ¡°I was so stupid. I wanted to take it back but she was furious, so I had to let her cool off a bit. And then there was the funeral, and the direwolf, and the bandits¡­¡±


    Woodrow sympathized. ¡°It¡¯s not that difficult. Approach her slowly. Now¡¯s your chance while she¡¯s¡­ receptive.¡±


    Woodrow can usually perceive the emotions of people accurately. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was built with that or given to him by his dark rebirth. Harlan seemed genuine, but then again, Woodrow was weak. Harlan was unsure, but Woodrow could tell he was gathering his resolve and forming his thoughts.


    ¡°Take courage, man, and simply speak the truth. Here, practice on me if you have to.¡±


    Woodrow meant it as a joke, to ease the situation, but Harlan swallowed and nodded. He met Woodrow¡¯s eyes and opened his mouth, not finding it strange to be doing this with Woodrow, and Woodrow decided that he liked Harlan. There was a simplicity to him; he seemed genuine enough with his motives. He was like a boy in a grown man¡¯s body; eager, easily hurt, but still needed guidance.


    ¡°Agate, I have admired you since we were little," he began. "I was so stupid to have said what I said. It was me being caught off guard... and from the pressure of everything. From losing your father, from the men, and with the direwolf roaming around, and the bandits, and it just came out without meaning to. I just want you to know that I will never challenge your authority--well, unless it''s really, really important and that I will follow you wherever you go. I apologize for everything and I should have done more to let you feel that.¡±


    ¡°Harlan, that was perfect,¡± Woodrow said.


    It touched Woodrow, this confession. Suddenly, his senses became murky. The sounds of merrymaking disappeared, replaced by Harlan¡¯s strong heartbeat beating in his chest, pulsing in his neck. ¡°F-follow with some pleasant words if she accepts the flowers,¡± Woodrow said distractedly. He tried to ground himself in this scene with Harlan. Woodrow took the lilies from Harlan and smelled them dramatically. He blinked rapidly at Harlan, acting.


    Harlan coughed. ¡°I¡­ think of you often when I am alone and wonder how you must be handling all these. If you would allow it, let me be your confidante, just like how we used to talk when we were younger. I would never betray your confidence.¡±


    ¡°More,¡± Wilbur encouraged. ¡°This is the part where you tell her what you like about her. If she allows it. Stop if she does not.¡±


    ¡°I like how you take care of Jerome and the rest. I like how graceful you are in battle. I like how stubborn you are. It¡¯s just that sometimes, I worry that your stubbornness could lead to your death. Like your stunt with the shield. I like your leadership, your voice, your hands. I like how neat your hair looks, and I like you¡­ but please, you have to believe that there are friends in your corner who want to take care of you, too.¡±


    Harlan¡¯s face began to lose its intensity as he spoke. He blinked slowly, his speech becoming toneless. He did not realize that he was grabbing Woodrow¡¯s face. They both did not realize they were breathing hard. Woodrow had dropped the lilies, white petals falling on the ground. His fangs had sharpened and Harlan blinked as Woodrow spoke.


    ¡°More, tell me more,¡± Woodrow said dreamily. ¡°Fill my ears with your desires, sweet Harlan.¡±


    Harlan did not notice that Woodrow¡¯s eyes glowed green. Woodrow was not aware when he moved Harlan¡¯s hands from his cheek to his lips, kissing one finger and bring his strong hand behind his neck. Woodrow placed his arms on Harlan¡¯s neck and kissed his nose.


    ¡°I desire¡­ you¡­¡± Harlan said, eyes unseeing. His head was swaying and his body was rooted to the ground.


    Woodrow opened his mouth and bit into the soft skin of Harlan¡¯s neck and there the sweetness, the boldness, and the heat of Harlan¡¯s desire flowed from his body onto Woodrow¡¯s. Harlan closed his eyes and murmured, grabbing hold of Woodrow¡¯s back. He fell to the ground as Woodrow cradled him. The lean monk carrying a tree. Harlan closed his eyes, dropping his hands finally as Woodrow kept draining him of his desire. And Woodrow¡­ Woodrow was lost to both his appetites.


    The only thing that stopped him was the glowing yellow eyes that stared back at him on the mountain path when he looked up, eyes big as saucers.


    Woodrow gasped and was shaken back from his drunken-like state. Without thinking, he threw his dagger at one of the great direwolf¡¯s eyes, but a branch blocked it. Harlan fell to the ground, groaning. Woodrow saw his bite marks and called for help. The direwolf winced and growled just as Woodrow snatched his dagger back.


    The wolf was about to pounce when the scouts from nearby shot arrows at the wolf, and Woodrow felt the branches of the forest move behind him.


    He wiped the blood from his lips, realization slapping his now burning senses awake. The clarity came with a crushing blow, noticing Harlan¡¯s slumped body on the ground.


    ¡°No,¡± Woodrow whispered. How much had he drained? He stopped the blood pouring from Harlan¡¯s neck. ¡°Over here!¡± Woodrow shouted.


    Scouts rang the bell and alerted the villagers indoors to hide. He did not notice that he lost control, that Harlan¡¯s sweet words reawakened the darkness in him and caused his body to strike. The last thing he remembered was Harlan and his flowers. Now both were crumpled on the ground.


    Agate was the one who came first, carrying her newly acquired shield. ¡°What happened? The scouts saw the great direwolf.¡± She saw Harlan on the ground and the lilies, but before Woodrow could explain, the vines of the forest built a wall around them to protect them from the pouncing wolf.


    Harlan stirred and Agate dropped her shield to cover Woodrow and Harlan. Just then, an arrow shot over her head and Woodrow thought for a wild moment that there was a traitor in their midst. But Woodrow saw from the path the bandit archers from before. Their arrows flew toward the direwolf, but one swish of its tail sent them to the ground. The briars continued to restrain the wolf; one sharp branch was already retraining one of her paws before she broke free. Noting that their weapons did nothing to the direwolf, they aimed instead at the fighters of Kent. The men from before poured out of the border walls, carrying torches and weapons.


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    Woodrow sped towards them, pulling one man down just as an arrow was about to strike him in the chest. ¡°Go towards the forest and aim your poles there.¡± Then he shouted to the archers overhead. ¡°Protect your fighters. Distract the enemy while they hide in the forest.¡±


    As Woodrow ran back to Agate and Harlan, arrows from both sides rained. Agate was raising her shield still over Harlan¡¯s body, protecting it from harm. ¡°What happened?¡± Agate demanded. She slapped Harlan awake, but he only groaned in response, his eyelids fluttering.


    Woodrow had to lie. ¡°He wanted to apologize to you by plucking the flowers he cared for in secret. The lilies that you liked. And then the direwolf attacked. It scratched his neck.¡±


    Agate, eyes wide, looked at the flowers on the ground. ¡°You damned fool,¡± Agate cried out and slapped Harlan again on the face. Woodrow carried Harlan¡¯s arm while Agate took another and they brought him inside as the fighters of Kent clashed with the archers outside. And then Woodrow heard the pounding of hooves on the ground.


    The bandit leader had come with his troops, wearing a helmet made of animal bone; this one looked like it was of a horse, just like his mount. He swung his great club in the air, shouting, ¡°Burn the part of the forest not near the wolf. Cut off their protection. Then burn their blasted wall.¡± He growled, grabbed his horse¡¯s mane, and kicked its side, speeding down the path. He gritted his teeth, scanning the village for his mark.


    He found her, cradling the body of her finest warrior. He bellowed and pointed his great club¡ªa large wooden weapon reinforced with iron spikes¡ªat Agate. ¡°Leave her to me!¡± He ordered his men. Woodrow saw then the other thing he carried as he bounded towards them; another shield, larger and heavier than the one Agate stole. This one had an iron cast on its center. It would be more difficult to pierce.


    Woodrow and Agate looked at each other. They carried Harlan, one arm each behind their necks, and hurriedly took him inside the village walls before the bandit leader came to them. Once inside, Jerome and the other scouts gathered close.


    Woodrow saw the men, staggering faintly from the hearty meal and ale, collect their thin wooden weapons. The women joined as well, replacing their gowns with padded leggings and wooden bracers. Woodrow panicked, thinking that they were in no condition to fend off an ambush. He saw the children run to the elder¡¯s house, fortified with other guards made up of villagers; maybe their own parents, aunts, or uncles.


    ¡°Get Harlan safe inside my father¡¯s house with the rest of the children. If I don¡¯t make it, he will be next to lead. Do you all understand?¡± Agate shouted through the chaos, looking at the crowd near her. Screams and swears became louder outside. Jerome nodded and together with the others, pulled Harlan to safety.


    Agate was already rushing out the gates when Woodrow screamed in her ear. ¡°Take on the rest of the bandit camp. I¡¯ll deal with their leader.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Do not be stubborn! His club is screaming only for your blood.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, so wherever I go, he will follow. He will strike my men with one swing if I go help them with the enemy archers.¡± Agate raised her shield and placed a hand on Woodrow¡¯s arm. ¡°I am ready for him. I know some valuable new moves. And I thank Saint Oswald that you are here this night and on our side.¡±


    With a nod, she left Woodrow and charged through the battlefield. The greater direwolf was still being seized by the branches and brambles. She stepped on them, swiping at the dark forest to let her go. Her white fur reflected the orange hue of a fire spreading from the dark forest to the wooden border walls of Kent. The bandits and villagers clashed against one another, going through the part of the forest that was not yet aflame. And when the bandit leader saw Agate rush out with his shield, taunting him with the treasure she stole, he sped his horse towards her, looking like he wanted to trample on her head. Woodrow threw a sharp stone from the ground, hitting the eye of the horse and making itself and its rider crash down.


    Agate flung herself on the bandit leader and kicked his animal bone helmet away and crushed it beneath her boots. The bandit leader grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the ground, but she kicked him in the face with her free leg. She scrambled away, kicking up dirt. When they recovered, both stood and stared at each other. The bandit leader raised his club and Agate unsheathed her sword.


    They lunged for each other.


    Woodrow forced his head to turn towards the other side of the battle. There were bodies on the ground, though thankfully, it was not one he recognized. They all wore the hides of animals, dead fur clinging to dead skin. The scent of blood was like mead in the air. He charged through the forest, dagger firmly in hand, and sliced at the neck of the first enemy archer he saw. He sliced the throat of the next man, then the next. Some villagers were climbing trees and throwing their poles at the unsuspecting men below. They spotted him, his red hair like a faded candle in the shadows. But what he hoped he didn¡¯t see was the fashion in which he disposed of the enemy camp.


    A horn sounded on the battlefield. It was the call for reinforcements. He hurried out of the trees and grappled the bandit with the horn. Too late, he saw a handful of club wielders and archers run towards the forest. The bandit spat at him and clawed his cheek, but then he paused.


    ¡°You¡­¡± he said, eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯re the redheaded demon.¡±


    He must be amongst those that chased Agate. Sure enough, Woodrow saw that he had a bow behind his back. He sucked in a breath and let his dark instincts take over.


    ¡°Look at me. Look at me. Don¡¯t be frightened now. I won¡¯t hurt you. I promise I won¡¯t.¡± Woodrow coated his words in honey, just enough from the strength he had gathered from Harlan.


    Woodrow helped the man up and saw that the archer blinked under his spell. He saw Agate running around the bandit leader, taunting him and blocking his strikes with the shield. But she relied on dodging and swiping at the leader when he raised his club. Good, Woodrow thought. Then he turned his attention back to the charmed archer.


    ¡°Your brothers must be dealt with. Strike at their hearts. Make them fall.¡±


    Woodrow felt his power leave him. But it was enough. The archer turned around slowly and drew his bowstring on one of the incoming brutes. His arrow landed on the center of his ally¡¯s chest. When that brute fell, the others looked around wildly. The charmed archer hit another, then another, dwindling the reinforcements he had summoned.


    There were only two remaining when they noticed who was drawing the bowstrings. Traitor, they screamed, as one of the club-wielders bludgeoned the archer. No matter, Woodrow made quick work of them. He crept from his position just behind the tree, threw his dagger between the eyes of the other, and sunk his teeth into the closest brute. Woodrow felt his body sing. Life was returning to it. Bloodlust and sweet pleasure mixing. His heartbeat returned to normal. He heard the sounds of splintering wood and saw that a piece of the border wall had fallen.


    And then he heard a scream.


    He turned around just in time to see Agate pierce the bandit leader¡¯s chest. Dark blood poured from the wound. The bandit leader fell back, clutching his chest, wincing and groaning. His knees gave out. He fell to the ground right below the great direwolf.


    It was only then that the dark forest let go of her. The greater direwolf, agitated, took one look at the bloodied whimpering mess beneath her and she snatched him up between her jaws. And then she bounded off, back into the mountains.


    Agate stood for a moment, processing what just happened, and then she dropped on the ground, and breathed deep, her shoulders rising and falling. She picked up the greater iron shield and raised it high. She announced her victory.


    ¡°For the village of Kent! For my father!¡± She bellowed.


    The first few villagers that came out of the woods bellowed in return and chanted her name when they saw her carrying her spoils. They called for the villagers still in the forest. Woodrow walked to her. He nudged her shoulder.


    ¡°There goes your bandit problem,¡± he said.


    ¡°We could not have done this without you. Thank you, monk. Thank you, Woodrow.¡± Agate hugged him. Then she jumped back when she heard the wall crash down, burned. But Jerome and the other scouts and archers douse the flames with buckets of water. She directed the villagers emerging from the forest to help.


    Agate sighed in relief. ¡°At least all that training was not for naught.¡± She wiped her brow and inspected herself in the iron reflected on the shield. ¡°I was already apologizing to the ones in support of Harlan. I told them that if they wanted him to lead, I would step down, but the conditions of marriage would be nulled. And then I heard you screaming outside. Almost immediately, Jerome shot a warning arrow outside and rang the bell. He felt uneasy in the middle of my conversation with the men and headed to the towers where he spotted the bandits.¡±


    ¡°I think now the men might support you. With that win and your leadership tonight.¡± Woodrow pointed to the shield. Strangely, he noticed that his reflection was odd. He shrugged it off, thinking that the iron made the red of his hair blurry.


    Agate clapped him on the back. ¡°I suppose this calls for another victory feast,¡± she said. Then seriously, she looked at the villagers going back inside. Her eyes fell on the bodies. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Saints. ¡°No familiar face dead. All seem to have survived.¡±


    The glow of the after-battle was within them. They both chuckled for having survived, hair plastered to cheeks. Agate was about to say something, when her face dropped, and saw the vines wrap around Woodrow¡¯s waist.


    ¡°You have two shields,¡± Woodrow called when he knew what was about to happen. ¡°You need to lead your village together. I shall come back for you if the forest allows. I shall help you rebuild!¡±


    Agate was holding out her hand to him when Woodrow was carried by the dark forest, back into the tunnels, and Rothfield monastery. Ryne was waiting for him, patiently.


    He dusted himself off, taking in Ryne''s steady appearance. He did not notice Wilbur appear beside him. The first question he asked was, ¡°Do we have space for villagers here?¡±

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 1)

    ---RYNE---


    ¡°You seem far away. Where are you headed?¡± Claude said, looking at me from the granges. ¡°Is everything all right?¡±


    He was circling the new batch of sprouting crops. He had brought his shepherd¡¯s staff and was leaning on it, watching me. Woodrow had called off his training for the time being, uncertain of when the dark forest would summon them back to the village of Grant and Kent.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said. ¡°Yes, some things are weighing me down.¡± I was sitting on our usual spot at the steps of the church, resting my chin on my open palms.


    ¡°Tell me about them.¡± Claude dug his staff deep into the earth, leaving it there like a twisted wooden sentinel as he walked toward me.


    I shook my head. Just a while ago, he was practicing by himself on the field, swishing his staff, striking and lunging at the empty air. I threw berries at him, and he chuckled, running to his staff, blocking the berries and batting them away at first. Then he realized it must seem a waste of perfectly juicy berries, so he caught them with his mouth instead.


    We made a game out of it. We cheered, gradually louder, our eyes wide, each time the berries landed on his tongue. When he gathered a mouthful, he squished it all, the pink-red juice dripping down his mouth. Like blood.


    That vision stole the laughter out of my throat, shadowing it with the vision of my brothers, feeding.


    Claude noticed. He swallowed the rest of the berries, coughing a little because of the spice. But earlier, too, I told him to not worry. I told him to continue with his sword practice.


    He touched my shoulder gently, sitting down next to me. It was rapidly approaching dusk. A strong wind roared up above our heads. ¡°Tell me what¡¯s wrong,¡± he said again.


    I chose to be partly honest with him, even though I wanted to tell him all. I felt his heat radiating from his neck and cheeks and breath. He was like a warm candle himself, a light you kept close as you scribbled your innermost thoughts.


    I looked at him. ¡°My brothers contacted two different villages last night as they wandered through the dark forest, somewhere close to Mount Lhottem. You remember that Brother Wilbur is our healer and horticulturist? He¡¯s hard at work developing some cure for a new disease he discovered using ores he found in a tunnel in the mountain. Claude, I¡­¡± I closed my eyes, fearing what would happen if I chose to drop the words I was juggling on the tip of my tongue. I decided to risk it. ¡°You know what an apothecary is? He¡¯s like that. Only, he wears the robes of a monk, as well.¡±


    Claude nodded immediately. ¡°Well, we already established that you monks were special.¡± He pondered. ¡°What disease did he discover?¡±


    I blew out a breath, relieved. I had thought that finally, this strangeness would make him uneasy.


    ¡°It¡¯s some sort of mutated plague. Oh, Claude¡­ it has ravaged the village there. Wilbur spared me the details, but the way I imagined it was much more dreadful. Empty huts, empty beds, empty cribs. Soon, there will be no one to mourn for them. And the village would be part of the forest. Dark. Soulless.¡± I shivered. Claude held an arm around me, sending me warmth. ¡°He has the cure now, but the thought that it could go wrong¡­¡±


    Claude squeezed my shoulder as I buried my face in my hands. ¡°Will he not get the sickness himself when he goes back there?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°My brother Wilbur is¡­ resilient to illness.¡± All manner of illness, I thought. ¡°And there¡¯s a boy so young and so frail. Tatum Worthe, his name is. Wilbur won¡¯t abandon him. None of us would.¡±


    Claude did not move for a moment. Then slowly, he spoke close to me. ¡°Of course, none of you would.¡± And then he put his head next to mine and we sat there for a moment until the cold wind blew at our faces.


    We sat upright. Claude looked at his shepherd¡¯s staff and the crops, biting his lips slowly. I just then noticed that earlier today, he did not want to continue with his writing, and I had forgotten to teach him the Old Language of the Saints.


    ¡°You seem distracted yourself, friend. What troubles you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing compared to what you¡¯ve all been going through.¡±


    ¡°No, go on. Please distract me from these thoughts.¡±


    Claude started scribbling in the soil with his finger. ¡°It¡¯s about apprenticeship again. I know that the future isn¡¯t guaranteed for most of us. Maybe one day, this all won¡¯t matter. But I just can¡¯t help but think that it isn¡¯t right that we should be sticking to one profession for the rest of our lives. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s fair that we get to be one thing until we grow old.¡±


    Are these his dreams of becoming a soldier again? I thought.


    He flashed a smile. ¡°Maybe being here with you gave me hope of better days to come. But on those better days, would I be allowed to¡­¡± Claude huffed. ¡°I ran into the brat noble in the town square. Vincent Bahram, first son of our noble ruler. He was with his friends collecting tributes from the smaller cottages. Usually, it was the tax collector accompanied by the lord¡¯s knights that did those rounds, but the brat must be bored.¡±


    ¡°What were you doing there? What does he look like?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Buying a loaf from the bakery and sending one of our pigs to the butcher¡¯s shop,¡± he answered. "Vincent looks like your typical noble. Blonde, like you, though his hair is getting darker with age. He¡¯s one year older than us, I think. He looks well-fed.¡±


    Claude shrugged. Anger flashed in his face. ¡°He caught me looking at the different wooden signs swinging on the roofs. ¡®Brewery¡¯, ¡®Tannery¡¯, ¡®Bakery¡¯. It felt good to read the world around me. It¡¯s like¡­ the town has more life in it. Like names of objects give it some sort of spirit, I think. Anyway, Vincent thought I was looking at the drawing of the bread since most townspeople can¡¯t read nor write, but when he saw me squinting and mumbling out the words of the bread, that was when he pointed to me and mocked me reading.¡± He sucked in a breath, callused hands balling into fists.


    I shared the anger he felt; of people telling me what I could or couldn¡¯t do. I bumped his knee. I noticed that we were bumping knees as a way of comforting each other.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let him discourage you from learning about the world.¡± I matched his expression, my brows knitting together. ¡°These people, they¡¯re mostly the same. Even amongst their own kind, they drag each other down. Never stop achieving what you think is best for you or your family, Claude.¡±


    He blinked, and a smile slowly spread across his face. ¡°Aye to that, friend. Thank you.¡±


    I once again heard Knox¡¯s opinions about the hierarchy of things. I hated how things worked, even though it was a necessity for our survival. We needed to follow the rules to cover our tracks. Still¡­


    ¡°Claude, when you get better at your letters, I would like to teach you the language of the Saints. Old Yarbro. The language of the clergy, of some nobles, and the Saint-King himself.¡±


    I¡¯d like to think that Claude was getting used to big news arriving at his doorstep, metaphorically speaking, but his face is still a controlled fa?ade of surprise and glee and doubt. But it was good that he was more receptive now. We knew the implications it meant. Maybe when he sets out into the world, he can make a new name for himself. He can reinvent his past to forge a new good future.


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    I swallowed, Woodrow¡¯s words buzzing in my mind. One day, he will decide to move on. Even if he remains on their farm, he will get taller, he will get older, and he will have to find more natural companions than I.


    It was laughable that I was not even thinking about the Unending Chaos. I was just thinking about him; the end of our friendship seemed more daunting than the end of the realm.


    But if that day of parting will come, I will be comforted in the fact that he would know the language of the Saints by heart. That the language of the clergy and nobles will make him valuable¡­ too valuable to be a common soldier easily deployed in senseless skirmishes. I clasped my hands together in the dark now, praying to the Miracles Above that Claude finds himself in the service of a good ruler.


    The night came early. Owls hooted in the forest. I walked Claude to the path with the arched trees. He squeezed my arm and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. But then he shook his head and went on his way.


    When he had gone, I went to the crypts. Woodrow and I passed each other at the church door¡¯s entrance. He raised his brow at me. I shook my head. ¡°The dark forest does not move,¡± I said as he planted himself on the granges, waiting.


    I already heard the clinking of Wilbur¡¯s glasses and vials when I pulled the lever that revealed the secret entrance down to the crypts. He was arranging his things on the sarcophagus he slept on.


    It had been a while since Wilbur held his glass bottles, and the sounds of clinking were like bright bells in the quiet crypt. He was darker than the shadows, his cloak swishing as he prepared his ingredients and tools.


    There was an unlit torch near me. I whispered Gaelmar''s name and the warmth coursed through my outstretched hand to ignite it. Wilbur looked up, blinking when the torch roared.


    I went by his side. "Let''s go heal Tatum."


    Wilbur gestured to the ice-blue ores he had mined. He held out an iron bowl and iron pestle to me. I knew what had to be done. As one, we broke off a piece of the ores and placed them on the bowls. We crushed them with the pestle, gently at first, the sounds of glass crunching on the ground. Then faster, grinding them into coarse dust.


    We looked at each other when we were finished. The rest of the ice quartz winked at us on the flat surface. We thought the same thing. Brother Ealhstan would have made quick work with this. It would take him a pinch, a firm squeeze, and all this would be done in a moment. We grunted, swallowed, and broke off another piece, crushed them, and broke another until two large ice quartz were turned to powder. Wilbur held his bowl of glinting blue up to the light and admired our efforts. He smiled just as we felt the monster inside us strain against his cage.


    I went to the altar and prayed, my arms aching from the effort of pounding the antidote he was making.


    Blake taunted me. "You cannot do all this. Without your other brothers, you will fail. Look at you all, already weary."


    "Gaelmar, give me strength. Brothers, I am with you." I whispered, closing my eyes and summoning the faces of my brothers.


    When Blake had settled, Woodrow entered the church with berries and small eggs from the dark forest. "You''re tired. Here, cook something for yourself."


    I grabbed them from his hands and put the eggs in the cooking pot on the granges, lighting the black branches underneath. As the water began to bubble, I remembered Claude¡¯s words from before. Of how the Saints had a way of blessing the food of their comrades.


    Hearty, healthy meals do have the power to bring people together. Along with benevolent hosts and their earnest wish to keep their comrades strong and nourished, I can imagine how they would go about blessing the ingredients. I suppose it would feel like how Gaelmar was showing me to cast the many properties and manifestations of his kindflame power.


    And then, I felt it.


    There was a warm wind in me, one that only I could feel. I felt a part of my strength leave me, feel it pour from my heart and into the modest soft-boiled eggs cooking in the pot, and I knew that it would be something special.


    I stared at the fading faint glow of my hands. I must have blessed it. The cooking pot too, had glowed briefly.


    I tasted it. It did nothing for me, but maybe¡­ I grabbed a wooden canister from the kitchen and transferred half of the soup into it.


    I went back inside the monastery, thinking of storing the canister back in the cupboards. But praying to keep Blake silent and accidentally blessing the food took a lot out of me, so when I climbed the steps up the church, I slumped under Gaelmar¡¯s statue, my limbs weary. The sounds of grunting and crushing ores ushered me to sleep.


    When I opened my eyes again, everything was silent.


    I went down the crypts and saw Wilbur looking frustrated and Woodrow looking perplexed. They were trying to light a suspended glass bottle over thin strips of wood. The content of the glass bottle was a mixture of powdered ice quartz, the soil from the garden, and purified water from the stream. Woodrow was trying to light one kindling by sparking two dry stones.


    It lighted, but the mixture did not boil.


    Gaelmar guided me. I knew that it would not burn without my fire in this sanctuary. ¡°Here,¡± I said, taking the kindling from under the glass bottle and lighted it with the earlier flame from the torch when I first came down the crypt. Only when I placed that flame under the bottle did it begin to boil.


    Wilbur waited for it to rise to a certain temperature. Then he swirled it around, introducing the minerals of the quartz to the lacking garden soil. Wilbur repeated the process of heating it back to the flame then swirling it until gradually the mixture turned from the stubborn separation of black and blue to a glowing dark-blue liquid. Wilbur stopped and brought it close to us, close to the torchlight, eyes wide in triumph. Even Woodrow was impressed. He clapped his hands as Wilbur and I hurried to the cloister garth to awaken the soil of the shivering maiden.


    "Wilbur, wait," I said, stopping behind in front of the statue of Saint Gaelmar. He turned around and I grabbed the neck of the bottle and blew on it. The mixture glowed a brief blue before it settled into the dark soil again. The glow from my chest was not as quick to fade.


    "Did you bless it? Or awaken it?" Wilbur asked.


    I nodded. I heard Woodrow behind us go back to the granges. When Wilbur and I stood below the giant oak tree, he let out a breath and muttered that he hoped this worked. He poured the dark blue liquid gently on the soil of the shivering maiden, making sure that not a precious drop was wasted. We watched.


    The soil did not show any sign that it was reacting well to the mixture. Wilbur¡¯s eyes were focused on the spot where the bud grew. Then I felt something tug at my finger, a gentle force. I placed that finger on the soil and closed my eyes to a vision of a brilliant blue flower with light-blue nectar flowing from it.


    ¡°Wilbur, it¡¯s¡ª"


    And just like that, the soil churned softly. Not like the burrowing of the ground when the vines erupted last night. But softly, as if digesting the minerals of the ice quartz. It glowed faintly once more, and as it did, the bud of the shivering maiden shyly peeked from the ground, and when three whole buds were out in the open, it unfurled and showed us one seed each in their mouths.


    Three seeds to replace three flowers, just like the yellowtongues.


    The shivering maiden¡¯s nectar dripped from its fresh petals and Wilbur scrambled for another empty glass bottle to collect it.


    "I thought it would take longer," Wilbur whispered.


    When the shivering maiden gave no more, Wilbur collected the three flowers gently from the ground and replaced them with the three seeds. We stood and Wilbur hugged me. He gripped my shoulders, his face joyful and relieved.


    ¡°Ryne, I can save him!¡± Wilbur was ready to spring back to the crypts to make the antidote.


    I smiled, squeezed his arm, and nudged him to go on while I dipped my finger back in the sleeping soil. The new batch of shivering maidens will remain there again until we make another ice quartz soil mixture. The soil needs constant nourishment; it needs wood to burn like in the fireplace. But I would spare Wilbur that knowledge.


    Back at the crypts, Wilbur was already boiling fresh water in a larger glass bowl, infused with the petals of the shivering maiden. He waited until the color of the flower bled into the bubbling water. When it was done, he scooped out the petals using a strainer. Wilbur set aside the infused bowl and set the wet petals to dry near the fire. He then placed it in an iron bowl, covered that bowl with another iron bowl, and placed it on top of the flame. It smoked, and the smell was a crisp floral incense.


    ¡°You could make that into a rare scent for the nave,¡± I said.


    He smiled and checked the flowers, cooking and stirring and shaking them. They dried to a crisp not long after. And when they did, Wilbur again crushed them with a mortar and pestle until they were fine dust. These he added to the earlier infused bowl, making it a richer blue. That bowl he poured into several smaller bottles that he added to his satchels.


    Wilbur took a sip from the remaining bowl. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "This is it. This is the antidote."


    As if the forest heard, I sensed vines slithering underground rapidly approaching Rothfield monastery even before Woodrow called. Wilbur was ready for it. He blew out the flame that he used in his experiments and hurried up the stairs, out of the church, and into the granges.


    "Wilbur, wait!" I stopped him and gave him half the canister of soup. "For Tatum, if his appetite returns.


    Wilbur nodded. "Thank you, Ryne." He stowed it in his pocket, joining Woodrow at his side.


    We waited, my two brothers bracing themselves. The ground shook, and the vines erupted, grabbing both my brothers by the waist.


    Then the forest vines slithered their way near my foot and wrapped themselves around my waist. I only managed to let out a breath of surprise when the vines took me along with Woodrow. I shared one look of confusion with Wilbur before I was taken through a large earthen tunnel.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 2)

    ¡ªWILBUR¡ª


    Wilbur hurried to the hut nearest the dark forest as soon as the vines released him. The air of the village had turned colder. He was unsure if it was the mountain¡¯s cold breath or if this chill was the last collective breath of the entire village of Grant. The communal fire looked even dimmer tonight.


    There was no candlelight in the sickly boy¡¯s hut. Wilbur crouched down under the window and whispered Tatum''s name. Nothing. Not a stir, not a sound.


    ¡°Tatum,¡± Wilbur whispered, wishing that a living soul still lived within. He remembered Swithin telling him that he heard the different heartbeats of his patients back at Shoreglass Monastery. Swithin pointed to the ones whose hearts were almost fading and those that banged on their chests. Wilbur had no gifts of keen senses. Still, he closed his eyes and strained his ears to the faintest sounds. A bedsheet, a rustle of twig-made bedding, a scuffle of bare feet.


    ¡°Wilbur¡­¡± Tatum said weakly from inside.


    Wilbur did not hesitate. The window was not too high, but Wilbur was unsure if he had the grace and strength to squeeze through. He removed his satchel and placed it gently on the ground. He took two potent bottles of medicine and stored them in his pockets: the feverfluke and shivering maiden antidotes. They swirled along with the canister of egg-and-berries soup.


    He leaped through the window and landed on his feet in Tatum¡¯s small hut. Not as graceful as Woodrow nor as effortless as Swithin, but the shadows helped to pull him safely. He found Tatum lying on the bed, breathing heavily. Dried blood dotted his pillowcase. It reeked of the awful polluted metal stench. Wilbur swallowed.


    "Wilbur¡­" the boy said, again weakly. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous. Father Clifton told me I¡¯ll be with my family soon.¡± Then he coughed, lips shaped like a trumpet, lungs full of bile. It hurt Wilbur to listen. But Tatum smiled. His eyes were the only things bright in the tiny boy. He shivered.


    Father Clifton can go bite it, Wilbur thought. He drew from his pockets the antidotes. In the hut''s darkness, it glowed a brilliant yellow and blue. They shone, reflected in the tiny boy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I told you. Your mother told me I help take care of you. Here, drink this. It will help you get better.¡±


    Wilbur knelt down at Tatum¡¯s side. The boy was shaking. He did not even have a decent blanket to cover himself. Wilbur frowned and touched his cheek. Tatum sucked in a breath. ¡°I know,¡± Wilbur said soothingly. ¡°My hands are cold. I¡¯ve been walking through the dark forest to find you again. I said so, didn¡¯t I?¡± Wilbur felt his fever. Tatum has not long.


    He prepared the antidotes, setting them both on the ground. He grabbed Tatum¡¯s empty bowl and poured a mixture of feverflukes and shivering maiden. It was like the liquid gold of the sun dropped into the vast blue lake. Then the colors swirled together, mixing into the rich green of the forest.


    ¡°You bring me colorful things,¡± Tatum said.


    He tasted the antidote again, just to check, and confirmed its potency. It tasted like strong wine and it reminded Wilbur of a time when the winds were sweet.


    ¡°You have seen feverfluke flowers, yes? Well, these came from my garden,¡± Wilbur said.


    ¡°I would like to see them someday.¡±


    ¡°Drink this and you will.¡±


    Carefully, Wilbur placed his hand under Tatum¡¯s neck and raised him high enough for the boy to properly swallow the medicine. He was so light, that Wilbur might as well be holding the fleece. Tatum¡¯s lips were dry and cracked. His lungs strained with each breath.


    He brought the wooden bowl slowly to Tatum¡¯s cracked lips and watched the liquid antidote moisten it. If he had cotton balls, he would have dabbed them onto those lips and patiently squeezed the liquid until the bowl was empty. If only there was a way to inject the antidote into the human body so that medicine could still be administered quickly and without moving the patient.


    Wilbur waited for the boy¡¯s reaction. He watched the liquid go down his throat and observed the unsteady rise and fall of his bony chest. Wilbur¡¯s hands were always steady. Ryne had said so. Especially when handling the sick, tending to his gardens, and doing his lab experiments. But his fingers shook slightly as he held the bowl. It was half empty, and Wilbur had hoped that Tatum¡¯s body would react by now.


    When he finished the bowl, Tatum did not open his eyes. He softly closed his lips and licked them. ¡°If flowers tasted that nice, why don¡¯t we use more of them before?¡±


    Wilbur set both the boy and the bowl down gently. He smiled. ¡°These are flowers made with something else. Other ingredients to help cure you.¡± He had this conversation before: at the beginning with Ryne. ¡°You add several right ingredients and follow closely a procedure. It¡¯s like cooking. Not just everything goes into the cooking pot and you have to make sure your ingredients are of high quality.¡±


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    He paused and looked at the boy in front of him. There was faint moonlight tonight. Tatum¡¯s figure was like the small sharp brambles that hid behind the arched trees that formed a straight path towards Rothfield. Wilbur became uneasy. Something should happen by now. He checked the potion again. Maybe it wasn¡¯t enough? But he wanted to start with the lowest dose possible for a new medicine. He was contemplating mixing another bottle, just to be sure, until Tatum¡¯s chest began to wheeze, and he coughed.


    Tatum frowned and touched his stomach. The bile that clung to his lungs had become more audible, like crackling wood. He looked at Wilbur, afraid and unsure. ¡°Wilbur?¡±


    Wilbur patted his back with gentle force. ¡°This is good, Tatum. The bile needs to be expelled.¡±


    Tatum coughed, and he pointed to the window. Wilbur helped him back up gently, almost carrying him, and when his little face was level with the window, he coughed his corruption outside. Wilbur, being a professional, saw the black thing fly from his mouth and onto the soil. When he set Tatum back down, Wilbur saw the vile thing turn into ash. Stirred by the wind and polluting the air once more.


    The plague, the miasma, caused by the Chaos. So that was what it looked like for Ryne. Or, no. He mentioned that it comes in different forms.


    Perhaps it takes on many appearances too as it mutates sickness to infect the body.


    Wilbur turned his attention back to Tatum. The boy was touching his chest again, but the wheezing had lessened. His eyes were wide. ¡°I can breathe better.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not completely healed yet, but yes, you¡¯re on the way to recovery.¡± Wilbur deflated, sighing his worries away. He had done it. The garden of Rothfield had produced another cure, as the granges kept producing spring crops.


    ¡°Your eyes,¡± Tatum suddenly said. ¡°They¡¯re glowing.¡±


    Wilbur averted his gaze and stood, controlling his joy under the cover of stowing away the empty bottle back in his pocket.


    ¡°No, don¡¯t hide it. It had glowed since last night. I thought you were a cat before you crept out of the dark woods. Then I thought you came to collect me.¡± When Wilbur looked at Tatum again, he said, ¡°They¡¯re not so bright now.¡±


    ¡°It happens when we feel strongly. When we feel happy or angry,¡± Wilbur said. He kneeled in front of Tatum.


    ¡°We?¡±


    Wilbur nodded. ¡°I have two other brothers with me now. There used to be more of us, but we got separated.¡±


    Tatum stared. ¡°Do they also heal like you do?¡±


    ¡°No. Well, I¡¯m not sure. My little brother¡­ he has a way of healing the land. And he has been with me since the beginning. He knows how to care for people,¡± Wilbur smiled.¡± You remind me of him,¡± he added softly.


    In the silence, a soft rumbling came. The sound was familiar to Wilbur. It embarrassed Tatum, surprising him. He placed a hand on his stomach. Wilbur silently retrieved the canister of food from his pocket and showed it to Tatum. He opened it, and the boy closed his eyes to the scent of the soup. To Wilbur¡¯s surprise, the soup was still warm. He poured it into the wooden bowl, silently thanking Ryne. Wilbur could have easily gone back to the elder¡¯s cottage, but he would rather not see Father Clifton tonight.


    Tatum was grateful. With the little strength that returned to him, he brought the wooden bowl to his mouth with shaking arms. Wilbur was ready to catch it if it wobbled way too much. Tatum savored it. He smiled and closed his eyes, and Wilbur saw how some of the bruise-like markings on his body faded away slowly.


    ¡°The others¡­ they are slowly dying," Tatum softly said.


    Wilbur winced. This was the painful part. He had only medicine for one patient at this time. He cannot save all of the villagers of Grant. The woman''s wailing from last night pierced his heart. I am truly sorry, he thought.


    What kind of phjysicaian-monk picks favorites? A voice came from him. Wilbur was not sure if it was Blake or his conscience.


    ¡°I know my mama told you to heal me, but there are other more important people in the village. Like our carpenter and butcher. Like Father Clifton. Like other stronger children. Even when days I was strong, I was still weak. I was still inside most of the time helping Mam when my brothers were out trapping rabbits.¡±


    Wilbur was silent, for it was like listening to Ryne. He shook his head and touched Tatum¡¯s bony shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve held on longer than they have. Longer than the rest. Clearly, you have strength in you. It may not look like it now, but I know that someday, your true strength will resurface. Keep holding on, Tatum.¡±


    Tatum blinked. He smiled slowly. ¡°Your eyes are glowing again. I am happy that they glowed when I spat that thing out of me. You¡¯re my guardian angel, Wilbur.¡± And then Tatum hugged him.


    Wilbur froze. He was smaller, even smaller than Ryne. Younger, too. But it felt like that first warm memory when Ryne talked and hugged him when he made his favorite jam. When Ryne started to trust him and follow him like his shadow. Wilbur¡¯s hands shook where they hovered, just above Tatum''s shoulder blade. Then he patted Tatum¡¯s back and shushed him, setting him down gently on the bed. Just in time, too. For the boy yawned. By his expression, Wilbur guessed it had been ages since he yawned so contentedly like that.


    ¡°I shall come back tomorrow,¡± Wilbur said.


    Tatum nodded and slowly closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep while Wilbur was still there. But Wilbur did not yet leave. He stayed with Tatum, simply watching him, his breathing, his markings. Quietly, he crept closer and pricked Tatum''s small finger with his sharp nails. He waited until there was enough drop of blood to collect. He swiped it with his nail and tasted it.


    Good. It tasted more like decent-quality blood than rancid meat and metal. There was something else there as well. The drowsiness was not just a product of a hearty meal and sickness. The medicine. Wilbur suspected it had side effects. He would analyze this later.


    He went near the window and was about to jump. But he looked back at Tatum, smoothed his black hair, and dusted the dried blood off his pillowcase. If only he could carry him back to Rothfield. But no, the boy was not fit for travel and was not ready to know the mysteries of Rothfield and the monks dwelling in it.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 3)

    ¡ªRYNE¡ª


    I was not sure if I felt scared or excited when the vines carried us underground. The thrill was in my throat. Years I wondered what it would feel like to ride on horseback. And now the first thing I experienced in fast travel was the way of roots and vines. I closed my eyes to protect them from dirt that flew to my face. When the vines released me, I barely had time to compose myself when I saw myself face to face with a strongly built woman with short hair.


    She was standing just beyond a village wall made of dark trees. We were under the glow of many torches attached to the walls. Scouts stood on makeshift wooden towers. By her appearance, I knew that this was Agate, the acting elder of the village of Kent. It seemed she was waiting for us to appear.


    She blinked at me first, taking in my appearance. Then she threw a questioning look at Woodrow. He simply shrugged and told her that the forest had taken me with him that night. I must solve a purpose here, it seems.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± She asked, kneeling at eye level. She searched my face.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t have the sickness. I just look like this.¡±


    She chewed her bottom lip. ¡°You don¡¯t look much of a fighter, Brother Ryne. In body. But I see a fighting spirit in your eyes. If it is the forest¡¯s decision for you to come, then I welcome you to Kent.¡±


    Agate whistled and village doors opened. Villagers already craned their necks from within, looking at who their leader had brought. They seemed to be expecting someone. They carried and passed torches, their faces glowing orange near the flames. When they saw Woodrow, they cheered and clapped. Children tugged at their parent¡¯s sleeves. They pointed and giggled. The maidens of this village were braver than the villages we built or encountered. They did not hide at all their affection towards Woodrow, even when they only met him just last night. Woodrow nodded and waved at every one of them. It was a familiar sight.


    Woodrow whispered to me as Agate led us inside. ¡°As you can see, she isn¡¯t easily shaken. But keep your hood down.¡±


    When they saw me bobbing beside Woodrow, the villagers of Kent slowly became guarded. Some of the smiles receded if not replaced with a firm straight line. This, too, was familiar to me. Being with Claude and being in a secluded monastery with my brothers had given me the freedom to show my appearance. The villagers grouped behind us as we passed them, gathering close to a communal fire. I knew that if I was not with Woodrow or Agate, I would not be trapped here for questioning.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Agate said suddenly. We stopped near a great house made of strong forest hardwood. The elder¡¯s house. Her father¡¯s house. Her house. Hm. So, it was entirely up to the forest who gets to make furniture and homes out of its trees. ¡°You saved my people, Woodrow. Without you, there would be casualties.¡±


    ¡°Well, me and the alpha wolf,¡± Woodrow said before he realized what Agate just said. He looked at her with a measured expression. ¡°No one died? Harlan, is he¡­?¡±


    Agate went rigid for a moment, saying nothing as she climbed up the small steps leading to her doors. She swung them open. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ you¡¯ll see.¡±


    The room was dark save for a torch attached to a wall in the far corner. In the shadows were a handful of men and women sitting on cots and quietly talking. They were drinking from wooden cups and passing around bowls of gruel. Their faces and arms were marked by gashes but I saw now grievous wound in sight. They looked up expectedly at Agate and broke into faces of glee when they saw Woodrow.


    ¡°All right, you can go outside. But no roughhousing.¡± Agate jerked her thumb to the door and we stepped aside to let the warriors pass, save one man. ¡°Any improvements?¡± She asked the man. The man shook his head sadly and was dismissed.


    In the corner was a big shaking figure directly below the only torch in the house. A man was groaning softly, his breaths hitched when we got closer enough to hear.


    ¡°Harlan, it¡¯s Agate. I¡¯ve brought someone to see you.¡±


    For all the time I heard her speak tonight, this was the softest. There was a large wooden basin of water with a clean rag floating in it. She kneeled next to him and proceeded to wash Harlan¡¯s arms and forehead. Woodrow stood. I saw his fists clench. I walked past Woodrow slowly to see the man lying on the cot.


    Harlan looked to be an imposing figure, but in that cot, shivering as he gripped tightly on thick wool blankets, he looked small. I supposed his skin looked a natural brown even without the sunlight, but that was only based on the way it looked now; washed away like old wood on the shore. He bit his lip and blinked rapidly at the flame. He did not flinch when Agate wiped his sweat, but after she was through, Harlan reached one free hand towards the torchlight, letting it hover there before dropping it back to his side and shivering.


    ¡°I have checked his body for any other battle wounds. So did our healer. Any marks from a dart with poison or a poison-tipped arrowhead that grazed his skin. But there was nothing save for two small holes in his neck.¡±


    Woodrow squirmed when Agate showed him the two purple dots on Harlan¡¯s neck. Wordlessly, I inspected the bite wound and how it affected Harlan. I touched his arm and neck. I checked his pulse. He was not so feverish, after all. His heart, though beating loudly, did not race. I felt Woodrow move behind me.


    The moment Harlan saw him, he sprung to life. He meant to grab Woodrow, fingers reaching for his face. Woodrow jumped back, alarmed.


    ¡°You keep whispering to me in my sleep. Your red hair. It¡¯s the only thing I see in the blackness. Join me, please. Please¡­¡±


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    ¡°He¡¯s delirious¡­¡± Agate said softly, biting her thumb. She stared at Harlan¡¯s flailing arms.


    He was mumbling incoherently now, whispering only for Woodrow¡¯s name over and over again. Woodrow¡¯s face crumpled, and his body wanted to hide in the shadows in shame. I knew what he remembered. It was the villagers of Fairstep: how he charmed them into husks for a long while. When we left the monastery, they were left mute, unable to plow the fields and do their chores without guidance and repeated orders. Harlan was now feeling the same effects. All he thought about was Woodrow.


    I pleaded with Agate. ¡°Elder, could you please leave us for a moment? Just us three. If you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    She locked eyes with me, and then at Woodrow. He nodded at her. ¡°I¡¯ll just be outside these doors.¡±


    She gave Harlan a long look before she closed the doors behind her. Not even seconds after she did, Woodrow spat, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to!¡± He was pressing the back of his thumbs on his closed eyes. ¡°I always did not mean to¡­ what do we do, Ryne? Can you help him? Can he be saved?¡± His voice shook.


    I closed my eyes and focused on Gaelmar. I asked in my heart what I must do. For a long time, there was silence, save for Harlan¡¯s spasms and sharp inhalations. He was still searching for Woodrow, whispering his name. Soon, though, I felt a tangible warm force flowing from Harlan. I followed this thread back to the door and realized that there was a strong warm connection between Harlan and Agate. I called Woodrow and told him what Gaelmar was showing me. He snapped his fingers and quickly told me the nature of their relationship, and how Harlan fancied Agate, ever since their days of training. I opened my eyes to silence. Woodrow was caressing Harlan¡¯s brow, the man¡¯s head on his lap.


    ¡°He was picking the flowers he wanted to give her before I¡­¡± Woodrow faltered. ¡°There now, Harlan. I am here. You have been longing to see me again, yes? You poor thing, always missing out on all the action. You must be with your leader always.¡±


    Harlan stopped shivering as Woodrow held him. His big hands wrapped around Woodrow¡¯s slender arms. Harlan murmured as Woodrow crooned to him. ¡°I am sorry,¡± Woodrow kept saying in his ear. ¡°I am sorry. Come back to us, Harlan. Come back to Agate. Remember her, your love for her.¡±


    For a moment, Harlan¡¯s eyes fluttered open and he looked at Woodrow as if he was beginning to see him through his haze. But then he closed his eyes again and his breath hitched. An idea started to form in my head. And as I did, I heard it: a soft breath in my ear. I could not make it out, but I felt what it told me to do.


    ¡°These flowers. I have a strong feeling that we need them to break your charm.¡±


    Woodrow was silent for a moment. He looked at the wooden floorboards and considered a plan that he was brewing. ¡°I think I know what must be done.¡± He went for the door. He stopped when he was about to pull it open. ¡°If only I could charm people into healing themselves.¡±


    Woodrow slipped outside. While he was gone, I looked at Harlan¡¯s shaking figure once more. His eyes were glued back to the flame, searching for the familiar red hair that charmed him. Charm people into healing themselves, Woodrow said. I wonder¡­


    I heard the stirring of warm wind inside me again. It whispered a few words from Old Yarbro, the Language of the Saints. It filled my lungs and my breath with what to say next. The words were familiar. It was like the Prayer of Awakening I uttered when rousing the granges and cloister garth, mixed with the Prayer of Dispelling the miasma every day. But mostly, it felt like the Prayer of Banishment or Silence I cast to keep Blake still.


    Woodrow returned with a confused-looking Agate. She was holding the lilies that Harlan must have wanted to give her. ¡°Stand near him,¡± I said to her. ¡°His mind¡¯s confused, and what he needs now is an anchor to ground him before his mind slips completely. Talk to him. Remind him of the good times you shared.¡±


    Agate sat next to Harlan again. For a moment, she just stared at the body. Then she punched her fist into the floorboards. ¡°Rise, soldier! How long will you lay there swaddled like a babe? You had this big talk of working together just last night and now you leave me by myself taking care of this village. Nay, Harlan. Fight with me. Lead with me as you promised.¡±


    We watched her and listened as her tone became gentler as she recounted their childhood together. The warm wind in me pooled in my heart. Now. I went with them and sat cross-legged opposite Agate and touched Harlan¡¯s chest and neck, where Woodrow had bitten him.


    I whispered to Harlan. ¡°Get out of the darkness and listen to her words, Harlan of Kent. Remember her. Remember yourself.¡±


    I focused on the stories of their childhood as Agate recounted them. The times they snuck away to collect wild berries. The tricks they played on Agate¡¯s father and his men. The time they rode and tamed a forest boar. The first time they drew weapons against each other. It felt as if I was cupping the words spilling out of her mouth and channeling that stream of fond memories to Harlan¡¯s heart.


    Harlan began to calm down. His breathing steadied as Woodrow¡¯s spell lifted. I looked straight at Wilbur and beckoned him to come sit with me. He did so, unsure.


    ¡°When I give the signal, do the opposite of what you did and release him. When you charm people, you say that you only need to pull them to you when certain requirements have been met, yes?¡± Like arranging locks of their hair or doing something they would like, Woodrow had said, once. ¡°Now, push away.¡±


    Woodrow understood. As Agate turned away to show Harlan the white lilies he nurtured for her. Woodrow whispered calmly to Harlan, ¡°I release you to your love, Harlan.¡± His eyes glowed warm green.


    Agate spun around just in time for Woodrow to take a step back. ¡°And this is what caused your demise you amend fool! You could have¡­ you could have given this to me any day, and I would have accepted them. You could have¡­¡± Agate¡¯s voice faltered and wiped fat tears from her eyes. She bit her lips. ¡°First my father, then you too?¡±


    ¡°I did not want to upset you further¡­¡± Harlan croaked out softly. ¡°You found them. I¡­ am glad that you like them.¡± Harlan smiled at Agate. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± he added.


    Agate looked as if she was struck. Then, slowly, a blush spread across her face. She gripped the stem of the flowers as if she wanted to throttle Harlan with it, to shove it down his throat, to wrap it around his neck.


    Harlan turned to look at me and Woodrow. ¡°Though it looks like I I manage to find myself going somewhere after all¡­¡± He looked around the room, lost and confused. ¡°What am I doing inside the elder¡¯s cottage? Where are the others? Who are you?¡± He said to me. Then he focused his gaze on the figure slowly retreating to the corner. ¡°Woodrow?¡±


    They stared at each other wordlessly. I can almost feel the thoughts forming behind Harlan¡¯s confused stare.


    Agate spoke. ¡°Easy, Harlan. The little monk is Ryne. He is one of Woodrow¡¯s brothers. It seems the ark forest has taken a liking to their mysterious brotherhood. How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Harlan said quickly. ¡°But¡­ I am not sure what happened. One moment I was with Woodrow over there, then I felt a sharp pain graze my neck, and then nothing. I just felt cold.¡± He raised himself and cracked his neck and fingers. I noticed that Woodrow¡¯s bite wounds had gone. ¡°My muscles ache a little, but I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll fill you in.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave you two alone,¡± Woodrow said suddenly. He nudged me to get up and join him outside. Harlan was still looking at us oddly when we stood outside the porch.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 4)

    ---RYNE---


    Woodrow slumped against the wooden doorframe and breathed out heavily. His eyes were shut tight. I let him compose himself as he slid down to the porch, burying his face in his arms.


    Woodrow¡¯s cloak muffled his voice. "I think the purpose was that if I charmed them to drain them, then that person would be in that state for who knows how long." He looked up at me with watery green eyes. ¡°How did you know what to do?¡±


    I went by his side, leaning against the door. ¡°I think Gaelmar showed me how. He always shows me how to do it. It always feels like a tingling warmth or buzzing in my lungs.¡±


    Some of the villagers were looking at us from their place near the communal fire. Woodrow looked back at them, but his eyes were seeing something else.


    ¡°The poor villagers at Fairstep monastery,¡± he said, voice quaking. ¡°Do you think they have recovered?¡± When I did not respond, Woodrow added, ¡°If part of undoing my charm was to let the afflicted remember who their true love is, I hope that the victims of Fairstep had many people in their hearts.¡±


    Woodrow arranged himself on the floor, sitting cross-legged. He looked at his long fingers. ¡°It is so deadly to wield this power, Ryne. It is like constantly holding a huge sharp butcher¡¯s knife as a skilled swordsman. If I¡¯m not careful and when I am at my weakest state, I don¡¯t know who I could be charming next.¡± He looked directly at me. ¡°I used to love this power once. The possibilities of charming almost anyone.¡± He shifted his gaze, looking behind me, then looking back at the villagers still walking around the fire. ¡°It took me a while before I realized that I was yearning for something. More than food. That yearning will ruin me. I have half a mind to abandon you and hide myself in the dark forest if not for the fact that I am safest from the world if I was with you and Wilbur. You will make sure to control me.¡±


    I did not like how he had phrased it, but I understood what he meant. I let a moment pass, then I patted his shoulder, like a cat. ¡°That¡¯s right. We will watch out for each other.¡±


    Woodrow smirked. ¡°We haven¡¯t done that in so many years. Looking out for each other. I must have been such a pain in the arse.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Yes. Frequently.¡±


    ¡°At first, we protected each other out of duty and necessity. Now¡­ well, I¡¯d like to think this is more. It certainly feels grander.¡±


    The fire roared. We turned our attention back to it. Every so often, faces would look in this direction, waiting eagerly for the strongest members of their village. They brought out crops from their storage shed. The children helped the women pluck feathers out of a goose. They were preparing for supper. Though looking closely at the meat, it looked like a celebration.


    ¡°One of the better villages we¡¯ve seen, eh? Very tight-knit,¡± Woodrow commented.


    I just realized. I did not feel the miasma floating around here. I was not sure why that was until I saw how the villagers moved. I squinted and observed how they interacted. There was a trail of warmth here, I felt it hovering and entangling in the air. The villagers of Kent lived for each other. They helped each other survive. Woodrow had told me earlier how Agate put everyone¡¯s skills to good use. I thought about it. Could it be that simple? That believing in community managed to prevent, or at least, postpone the effects of miasma?


    The door behind us opened. The villagers snapped to attention as Agate stepped out into the warm fire. Then behind her, the looming figure of Harlan, twice her size. His skin was almost back to its normal brown color. Woodrow and I both withdrew to the shadows behind the door. A collective quiet, then applause, the sounds of good cheer, and the pounding of wooden poles on the dirt.


    Harlan waved at them all and grinned. Agate led him down from the porch to the eager crowd. All of the villagers save for the scouts on the towers left the communal fire, abandoning their meal preparations. Agate spoke over them once the noise stopped.


    ¡°You all have trusted my father to lead you before his death. I know how scared all of you were when mighty Kent could no longer wield his war axe. Especially now in these darker times.¡± The villagers, men, women, and children listened to her, not daring to make noise. ¡°I have tried to be strong for you by proving my worth. But I realize now how foolish that was.¡± Slowly, she looked at Harlan and all the villagers who looked like her finest warriors. I realized that they were the ones resting inside the elder¡¯s house. ¡°We need to depend on each other, now more than ever, if we intend to survive. We know that we each have our strengths and weaknesses. We need to find people that fill in those weaknesses as we hone them.¡±


    Agate stood tall and raised Harlan¡¯s arm. Harlan looked ready, steadily looking at the crowd as Agate shouted the last of her speech. ¡°And so, I have asked strong Harlan here to help me in leading this village, if you will have him. I know that two elders are too much for this small village and that it goes against tradition, but I assure you that we will split the responsibility fairly amongst us and to those that we deem trustworthy. We will make sure to protect you as best we can if you follow us.¡± She scanned every face there was in front of her before speaking again. ¡°What say you, villagers of Kent?¡±


    They responded as one, cheering louder than before. The ones closest to Harlan and Agate rushed towards them, sweeping beside them, and clapping their backs as they pulled them deeper, the crowd folding over them. They cheered their names, parading them as if they were newlyweds. The children swarmed their legs and giggled as Harlan playfully grabbed them. The women and men congratulated Agate. I heard an old man say that her father would be proud. She smiled a true smile.


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    They were already close to the communal fire when Agate said loudly, ¡°Halt! I forgot my manners from all this excitement.¡± She looked back at us and raised a hand. ¡°We¡¯re having yet another feast, monks! Dine with us!¡±


    Kind faces walked us to rejoin Harlan and Agate near the communal fire, but we insisted on helping prepare the meal. Woodrow went to the pigs while some children handed me a small wicker basket and directed me to the small plot of land where turnips and parsnips were growing.


    I walked down the path until I saw a small fenced fertile land that the dark forest provided them. The crops looked healthy enough, but curiously, I placed my finger on the soil. I felt nothing. It seemed that I was too far away from Rothfield to feel Gaelmar¡¯s connection with the land. I shrugged and harvested the ready crops.


    Before I brought this to the women, I observed the heart of the festivities; the communal fire. It roared mightier tonight, I imagined, than other past nights. I watched the faces of glee, of laughter, as Woodrow made faces when his hands reached into the open chest of the pig. Harlan held the hands of one elderly woman, listening to her as she patted his face. Older girls were braiding one another¡¯s hair, and a mixture of young girls and boys were playing with blunted wooden sticks. I caught Woodrow looking up at them and smirking.


    ¡°Thank you for healing that big oaf,¡± Agate said from behind me. I startled as she chuckled. ¡°You are easily spooked for someone who just traveled through vines and seen the condition of my brethren.¡±


    She smiled and kept her distance. I had a feeling that she was testing my reflexes, seeing how things worked around here. Her next question confirmed it.


    ¡°Woodrow mentioned that there were fighters amongst your brotherhood?¡±


    I chose my words carefully. ¡°Woodrow is one of our better fighters, yes. Though there is one that is mightier than him.¡± Agate arched a brow. I continued, ¡°Harlan reminds me of him, actually. My big brother. A gentle giant.¡±


    ¡°How fortunate that you have a tank amongst your members and how unfortunate that you have lost him temporarily.¡±


    ¡°A tank?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Someone who can take a lot of beating on a battlefield. Someone who has a lot of strength.¡±


    ¡°He was likely more to raise houses, raise cattle and sheep than be on the battlefield,¡± I said. ¡°And he was likely more to be diplomatic than end a conflict with brute force. I miss him terribly.¡±


    Agate considered. ¡°A gentle giant, indeed.¡± Her eyes fell onto the crops I was holding. She looked back at the small plot of land behind me. ¡°We have been blessed for years, thank the Saints.¡±


    Her face was appreciative but uncertain. I should warn her. She seemed to be the type of person who values honesty, as suspicious as she is. And she is no stranger to the mystery of the dark woods. ¡°Elder Agate, there is a blight going around in some parts of the realm. We know this because we have seen it.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m afraid of.¡± She bit her lips and looked down. She looked pained. ¡°We have three new additions to the village. Three babes are born following one another. I was thinking of bartering or trading with another village, but with the recent attacks in the form of giant wolves and bandits, I couldn¡¯t send my scouts. My father traded with another village once, but we are not sure if that village still stands. It was years ago.¡±


    Now. I felt a fluttering of warmth in my chest. The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to organize them. ¡°I would like to invite you back to Rothfield Monastery. The corruption of the crops¡­ it does not stay in our grounds.¡±


    Agate blinked. She pouted, though it looked like a forced placating gesture. ¡°What makes your monastery so special?¡±


    ¡°Would you believe Saint Gaelmar himself cares for the land?¡±


    Her face was careful, but her eyes moved with the thoughts churning behind them. The vines revealed Woodrow to her. The vines revealed me to her. She knew that the dark forest had some connection to us. Her eyes flew to Woodrow, observing once again how odd it was for his features and behavior to be a monk; all smiles and lithe movements and a perfect presence for merrymaking. She then considered me.


    ¡°Lift your hood and look at me,¡± Agate said.


    I blinked at her and slowly let my hair free. I looked up for her to scrutinize. She scanned my features, her face firm. But for once I did not fear being judged or mocked. Once she was done, she combed my hair back and arranged my sleeves.


    ¡°I shall present you to the village this way, so there is no mystery to our future host. When the time comes, that is. We may very well simply trade with you while we remain rooted here.¡± Agate shrugged.


    ¡°Is it all right?¡±


    ¡°We are not so easily spooked. Besides, you are with me and it is a festive night.¡±


    She encouraged me with a nod and we walked side by side to the communal fire. So close was I to her that I was stepping on her shadow. I traded a look with Woodrow, his glee momentarily gone. He wiped the mess from his hands on the apron they gave him and walked towards us, eyes flying towards any villager who looked frightened.


    ¡°He does not have the sickness,¡± Agate called out to the men. ¡°He was born into the world with these scars. A fighter in the womb!¡±


    A few villagers made soft pleasant noises. Woodrow¡¯s red hair brightened as he came close to the communal fire.


    Agate led me to the center. The villagers surrounded me, stopping their preparations to gawk at my face. I let them, though my fingers shook and my knees threatened to give out. ¡°This brother monk had offered us a place in their grounds if we find ourselves hungry. We have always feared that our supplies may not last, but here our new friends offered us hope. Tonight, we not only celebrate Harlan and me, but with Brother Woodrow and Brother Ryne of Rothfield! If not for them, some of us would be buried in the ground.¡± She looked at Harlan with steady eyes. ¡°If not for them, I would not have the strength to carry on.¡±


    There was joyful noise, and suddenly they were all moving as one again, back to their stations. Only Woodrow and I remained on the fire with Harlan and Agate. Then he was dragged by the arm back to the messy wooden long table with buckets for collecting blood and scraps of meat while someone took the basket of crops from me and rolled them to another round wooden table. The children took turns cutting them. I thought I felt a flicker of warmth course through me as I let the crops go. I also thought that I saw them glow before they were sliced. Hope, Agate said.


    I felt it suddenly in this village as the great fire roared. I also felt the love they had for each other. Brotherhood, camaraderie, mutual respect¡­ influenced by Woodrow, yes, I felt his influence here as well. Not his powers, but his natural charm. Hands helped each other up, hands that passed crops and meat. Hands passing cups and bowls of ale. Hands wiping away smudges from little children¡¯s faces.


    They brought out a big brass cooking pot from the elder¡¯s house, not unlike the one we had back at Rothfield, but larger, requiring five villagers to place it over the communal fire. They added water to it, then the scraps of meat, then the diced crops. They even had a small treasure of their own; a small barrel of salt that Agate stole from the bandit camp! They added a pinch of it and the villagers smiled warmly looking at the glow of the fire.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 5)

    ---RYNE---


    The villagers of Kent waited eagerly as the cooking pot boiled. We watched as the steam escaped from breaking bubbles. Some of the villagers brought out logs for the children and elderly to sit on. The babies that Agate mentioned sat on the laps of their mothers; two of them giggling enthusiastically at the sight of the flame, while one of them slept softly nestled on one arm.


    Only the scouts remained dutiful at their posts; rigid and alert. Maybe they would take turns partaking in the festivities and patrolling. Maybe they would simply be handed food for later.


    The hope I felt fluttered in my chest, and I knew Gaelmar was guiding me again. I closed my eyes and listened to the signs. When I opened them, I saw the communal fire pulse, scattering embers that stretched like a blanket covering those nearby. These around and beyond did not notice.


    The vision was as clear as if Gaelmar himself spoke to me once more. Bless the food.


    A pretty melody that came from wooden pipes pulled me out of the connection. I blinked and the fire gave no signs of being holy. The smell of the meat was mouthwatering now. Some of the villagers closed their eyes to it, noses turned up in the air, lips curving upward. The children squealed as those resting from the elder¡¯s cottage earlier teased them. Burly and huge, they growled like animals and pretended to snatch their plump little legs.


    Woodrow caught my eyes as I scanned for him. I patted the seat next to me. He smiled as he passed through the villagers like red silk.


    ¡°Gaelmar wants me to bless the food,¡± I said when he sat down.


    Woodrow arched a brow. Like the standard prayer before meals or the extra spice of glowing Saint-like blessing?¡± When I chuckled in reply, he added, ¡°Of course.¡±


    As if on cue, Agate stood when the meal was ready. The crowd hushed their silent chatter. ¡°We know to give thanks before each meal. But what coincidence to have foreign monks as present company!¡± She looked at me and nodded her head gently. ¡°Brother Ryne, would you please do the honors?¡±


    My heart leaped, though from being called to pray over the meal with many villagers staring at my unhooded face or from the chance that I would now use Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame to help a village, I was not sure.


    I stood, then paused, my feet unable to join Agate in her position near the bubbling cooking pot. Woodrow touched my arm, smiled, and pushed me so that I had no choice but to walk up to her. I gulped as I passed each stare.


    When I was beside Agate and looking over the crowd, I tried to keep my composure. But my knees shook and my lower lip trembled. Suddenly, the crowd blurred and I felt myself wobbling. I felt the world tilting. I looked away as I tried to catch my breath. It felt like my tongue swelled and was blocking the inside of my mouth.


    It was only when I caught Woodrow¡¯s steady gaze that I recollected myself. There was no humor in his face, only channeling a determined look. He gave me a nod of confidence. I slowly breathed out and brought to my mind memories of his antics. The ease of his charm. The assuredness. The playful tone.


    The swelling and squeezing sensation relaxed. I took in a full breath of that delicious stew and smiled my warmest at the crowd. They did not seem to notice that I was unraveling.


    In a voice that I barely recognized as my own, I said, loudly and clearly, ¡°I thank each and every one of you for welcoming me and my brother to your village. To Agate and Harlan, may you always be strong to watch over this village. Let us close our eyes and feel the warmth of the Saints.¡±


    Eyelids closed and heads bowed, save for Woodrow and mine. I uttered a prayer for sustenance and strength, for vitality and defense. And when the villagers repeated after me, saying the name of the Saints, leaving Gaelmar for last, my hands glowed so brightly that I thought for sure the villagers would notice. But only Woodrow looked away, blinded by the light. I stretched my hands out, casting the kindflame¡¯s light into the cooking pot.


    Woodrow looked back at me just as the glow faded and the villagers¡¯ eyes blinked open. I was not even tired. It was as if, I felt a little bit of my strength returning.


    And I think I knew what it was: I think it was when the villagers uttered Gaelmar¡¯s name when we prayed.


    Harlan¡¯s voice boomed from nearby, almost making me jump. ¡°We feast! We feast on new traditions. And I offer my first toast to Agate. For finally having good sense!¡±


    The village erupted into laughter as Agate jabbed Harlan¡¯s ribs softly. But she too chuckled, her shoulders shaking. Later, she offered me a bowl of hot stew. The villagers formed two lines with their empty bowls and empty mugs. She had an odd look about her when she handed it to me.


    ¡°That¡¯s strange. I did not notice your hair being pale blonde.¡± Her eyes scanned my face again. ¡°And you seem to have color in your cheeks. Hm.¡± She shrugged and busied herself with handing out the meal to the villagers.


    Harlan was beside her, doing the same, though his line was mostly made of fighters. I saw him tell one scout to keep bringing hot meals to the rest. I helped Agate with handing out the food. The food that I just blessed. It looked nothing, like an ordinary meal, just like back at the granges. But I just knew it carried a small portion of Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame. Woodrow came up beside me, immediately scouring my face. He said nothing, only helped in handing out food and drink.


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    ¡°Brother Woodrow, care to entertain once more?¡± Agate called after a while.


    Woodrow smiled. ¡°Gladly.¡± He let the wooden bowl go and winked at the maiden he served last.


    And there he went; a figure of red revelry. As the wood pipe player ate, Woodrow took charge of his instrument and played a high, rapid tune. The men stamped their feet and the children who were in the middle of eating played with their friends. They tugged each other and pushed each other around the fire. Mouth chortled and spat at the sight.


    ¡°It must be a delight to have him around,¡± Agate commented. Her eyes looked up at Woodrow between handing out bowls and drinks.


    ¡°Oh, he gets overbearing some nights,¡± I replied.


    ¡°By the way, Gaelmar isn¡¯t usually the name we call. He was the Saint who disappeared suddenly from the sacred texts, right? We haven¡¯t had a decent priest wandering around these parts for years, but I do remember him suddenly vanishing at some point. Maybe with him around, the Saints could have stopped the darkness for good.¡± I did not speak. I felt the warmth in me lessen. Agate went on. ¡°Anyway, we pray to the mighty Saint Oswald. May he give us strength to fight off each adversary every day.¡±


    So that was what people nowadays think of Gaelmar.


    Or maybe it was only in this village, who knows? I touched my chest, feeling my heartbeat. Did I feel sad for him? I was not sure if Gaelmar heard that through me or if he was aware of it, but I tried to comfort him. I pressed the palm of my hand on top of my beating heart. Soon, they will know that you did not abandon your friends.


    The celebration went on. When all the villagers had been served, Harlan and Agate took their seats in a flattened mound overseeing the merrymaking. The people were dancing, with Woodrow in the center of it all, his red hair the only flash amongst a sea of brown, black, and a few light-heads. I was glad for him. Finally, he can be himself again and let the worries of our journey be temporarily forgotten. I stayed near the new elders¡¯ sides. They received well-wishers with smiles and grace. Harlan was more receptive, shaking their hands and letting his brow be kissed.


    And then a howl, so loud, as if many wolves were crying in unison, shook our core. The sound was like a spear thrown in the center of an empty field. Danger.


    Agate and Harlan froze, hands clasped in mid-congratulations. Harlan¡¯s big hands had clasped the small wrinkled hands of an old man. The music stopped. The fire under the cooking pot hid its flames. The children stopped playing and quickly scampered behind their mothers and guardians. Woodrow and I locked eyes.


    The sounds of the forest immediately followed suit. We heard the familiar sounds of brambles erupting from the ground, uncoiling and crackling and whipping. Sharp yelps and growls and barks responded.


    The villagers huddled together; those who did not know how to fight. The scouts from ahead sounded the alarm, one after another. Some blocked their ears with their hands. Harlan and Agate jumped into action. So did the rest of the fighters.


    Wooden bowls and mugs were left abandoned. They fell to the ground, spinning, and being stomped on as men, women, and children, either fled from the communal fire or ran to grab their sharp wooden weapons. Shouts replaced the chorus of songs, and the stampeding of boots replaced claps and cheers.


    A thin man holding a horn and a wooden bow approached Agate. She called him Jerome. ¡°Several lesser direwolves near the village border, elder,¡± he reported. ¡°They are spilling from the mountains. They¡¯re not as big as the great white one, but they are many. The forest is trying to hold them back, but some are nearing the village.¡±


    ¡°Why do they attack now? Blast!¡± Agate swore. Her face twisted fiercely. ¡°Children, frail, and elderly, inside my house!¡± She called some names. ¡°Guard them with your life until we send in reinforcements!¡±


    The fighters were already forming a line inside the walls. Activity from the towers: one archer loosened his string. It hit its mark. There was a sharp yelp and then growls. Claws scratched at the wooden gates together with the sound of whipping brambles.


    ¡°Formation!¡± Harlan bellowed.


    He was at the head of the line while Agate ran to grab her shields. She gave a round common shield to Harlan and an iron sword while she carried a sturdier shield reinforced with iron. I watched as the gates splintered, torn by sharp claws desperate to get in. Frantically, I looked back at the elder¡¯s house and saw the guards stationed there pointing their sticks outward.


    ¡°Once one direwolf gets inside, then all of them will,¡± Agate said. ¡°Let not one pass you by. Aim true.¡±


    The fighters raised the spears and poles high, while the sounds of arrows continued to fly overhead. Some landed on their mark, and some missed, thudding the ground, we heard. To my horror, one of the direwolves leaped high enough to almost snatch in its maw an archer standing on the lower towers.


    Woodrow and I stood together. My hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. Woodrow only had eyes for the splintered wall, ready to sprint if need be. Then the world fell silent. The walls held their ground. The prowls, growls, and barks ceased. The only sounds were distant vines and arrows missing their mark.


    ¡°Save your arrows!¡± Agate shouted to the men.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± Harlan called.


    ¡°They¡¯re just sitting there. When we try to hit them, they dodge it quickly,¡± one of the archers said.


    Harlan and Agate looked at each other, concerned. The fighters raised their poles high, hands shaking in anticipation.


    Then an eerie howling began; a howling of many wolves from nearby and distant seized them all, making the fighters shake with fear. They dropped their weapons and blocked their ears. Some even screamed in agony. Even Harlan and Agate dropped their shields, their teeth grinding. More children begin to wail from the elder¡¯s house. The guards stationed there fell to the ground. Only Woodrow and I were immune somehow. Perhaps all my brothers were. We looked at each other. Woodrow collected Harlan while I rushed towards Agate and helped her block out the sound. She looked at me for a moment, then closed her eyes as the howls got louder.


    In the middle of this chaos, I heard him, soft as a whisper in a distant cave. Agents of Chaos, these creatures are. They are spreading doom. Rally the fighters, Ryne. Have faith.


    I raised my voice to call for Woodrow. ¡°Woodrow, I need your help. How do you do it? How do you charm people into following your commands? Gaelmar wants me to do sort of the same thing.¡±


    "Don''t do what I do," Woodrow said, eyes wide. He was cradling Harlan¡¯s tall figure. ¡°You encourage them. You highlight their best qualities and comfort them. Think of how you would do it. What makes you think would bring them together?¡±

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 6)

    I cannot charm like Woodrow, but I realized at that moment that I did not need to be like him.


    I closed my eyes and summoned mental images of this night, saturated with the warm glow of the communal embers¡­ how Agate and Harlan comforted their people, how the children played with each other, how everyone had a place here provided they contributed with their own set of skills. I saw timid Jerome scurry through post after post, still, a bow in his hand, looking beyond the wall and over his companions.


    I remembered the communal fire itself, the pleasant scent of meat and crops cooking in the brass pot, hard skin turning soft, flesh softening... how it was shared amongst everyone, food and drink passed in each hand until everyone had supper sitting on their laps.


    I remembered the fluctuating music, how the women and men danced with each other; skirts, pants, and boots dragging and thumping across the grounds. I remembered the way Harlan looked at Agate, how I knew he would do anything to defend her, and how Agate near me would do anything for her village.


    ¡°You would all protect each other, I see that,¡± I whispered. ¡°You have hope of fighting this darkness, so long as you all are working together. This is not the night that hope dies, Agate. Believe that the Saints are here to protect you. To help you protect your people.¡±


    I tried to do what Woodrow did, except the opposite. Gaelmar was the Saint of Hope, and I channeled my hope to Agate. ¡°Be strong elder, and rise. May Saint Gaelmar protect you and keep you warm.¡±


    Agate winced, but slowly, her brows unknitted, her lips parted. Her eyes were fixed on mine; her dark pupils dilating. Our faces were so close to each other that the tips of our noses almost touched. I was pressing my hands to hers, to help block out the dreadful sound. But she was starting to breathe calmly. Her lungs kept pace with my steady breaths.


    That¡¯s right, I thought. I channeled all the pleasant images in my mind to her. I saw her expression slowly shift from terrified to determined.


    From the corner of my eye, the figure of Woodrow looked right at me.


    Agate breathed outward, regaining her composure. The set of her jaw was rigid with determination. She held my hands and helped me up as she stood. The dreadful howling still echoed and all the fighters, including Harlan, still quailed on the ground. But Agate was standing over them all.


    He kicked Harlan in the knee. When Harlan stumbled, Agate pinned his arms away from his ears, ¡°Listen to the little brother, Harlan. Rise and fight with me, fellow elder!¡±


    For a brief moment, he looked astonished to see her so fierce. His desperate, watery eyes went to mine. I held them with my own as I dropped to the ground and laced my words with the same images, channeling the warmth they produced and¡­


    And there it is. The word. Rally. Gaelmar was guiding me on its meaning, its warmth. I felt its weight in my heart and let it flow freely. ¡°Rise, Harlan of Kent, and be with your partner. Fulfill your promise to her father, to her, and to the village. May Saint Gaelmar protect you and keep you warm.¡±


    I saw the dread leave him, slowly, He squared his shoulders and nodded at Agate, claiming his weapons from the ground, and turned to the rest of the fighters. He nodded encouragingly at me as I repeated the prayer. I held each chin, each face. I spoke to them.


    ¡°Your acting elder here has taken it upon herself to go alone and not harm anyone else when she went into the bandit lair,¡± I said.


    ¡°I see that you work with your weaknesses, and I see that you would lend each other a helping hand. It is just my hope that you will lend a helping hand with not only each other but begin to trust more people outside of it,¡± I said.


    ¡°Only when you allow yourselves to fight the common enemy, and more importantly, not pull each other down, and protect each other will you be truly fortified,¡± I said.


    ¡°May Saint Gaelmar protect you and keep you warm,¡± I said.


    One by one they stood. I thought my strength again would leave me with each fighter whom I healed, but whenever I uttered Saint Gaelmar¡¯s name and they believed in his power, my strength returned to me. I looked at the remaining fighters at the elder¡¯s house and the archers at the towers. They were still on the ground blocking their ears. Although I felt strong, I also felt that I could not heal all of them that night.


    Agate suddenly thumped the ground with her shield. Harlan followed. Then, slowly, all the fighters around them did the same. She hummed a hymn that was pleasing and friendly mixed with the wretched howling outside. Harlan responded to her hymn in kind. Then all the fighters did. They spoke of a man with orange robes who always had a smile for everyone. A gentle man who was crucial on the battlefield, cooking food and warming beds, and telling stories. A man who wields a holy flame that banished the chill of darkness. Gaelmar, the Saint of Hope.


    Another surge of strength flowed through me, like warm waves of air, filling me with warmth, and then in an instant, I saw how I affected the fighters and Agate when I blessed their food.


    I saw motes of different colors hovering in their hearts. I somehow knew what they symbolized. Strength. Without knowing quite how, blessing the food with certain crops and prayers gave them all additional strength. And perhaps courage. It only took this moment for my prayer to activate.


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    When I turned around for Woodrow, he was now positively staring at me with wide green eyes. I winked at him as he did at me so many times, and I bellowed to the whole village, surprisingly louder than all the howls.


    ¡°Let Gaelmar fill you all with his warmth. Let your courage and hope for this village dispel the dread! You are fighters of Kent! The howls of direwolves will not be your undoing!¡±


    The low embers of the communal fire roared to life once more. And warm wind circled the whole village. I saw it breeze through the guards and the archers above us. Slowly, they heard the hymn to Gaelmar. Confused at first, they were slow in responding, but once they recognized what their brethren and leaders were doing, all joined in the chorus, thumping their wooden poles and spear or stomping their feet.


    Agate stopped the pounding of her shield and called to the archers. ¡°As one, draw your strings and aim at their mouths.¡±


    The archers nodded. They aimed low, pulled back their arms, and released. I held my breath as the arrows flew. At once, the howling stopped, replaced with many yelps. The howls of dread were gone. Now there were nasty snarls and the return of claws breaking the wooden gates.


    Jerome from one of the towers shouted, ¡°The border will break, elders.¡±


    Agate nodded at him and to all of us. ¡°Let them come. We are ready.¡± I walked back to her and matched her questioning look with what I hoped was a determined face.


    ¡°I am ready as well,¡± I said.


    ¡°Ryne!¡± Woodrow shouted, alarmed. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. His face was wild with worry and concern.


    ¡°Something about what Agate said¡­ about Gaelmar not being a fighter. I think¡­ he wants me to fight,¡± I whispered calmly.


    ¡°That is too much! These are monsters!¡±


    ¡°I carry the hope of a mighty Saint in me. You saw what I could do. Trust me.¡± I motioned to the boys and girls my age who had gathered their weapons, before being sent away by Agate inside the elder¡¯s house. ¡°I am old enough. Protect them, Woodrow. I have the power of the Saint in me,¡± I said again.


    And something in me sparked, and I felt a force so fierce, it threatened to tear through my chest.


    ¡°Wilbur will kill me. You have no experience in battle!¡± Woodrow shouted.


    ¡°Then let this be an impromptu learning experience.¡± Before Woodrow argued further, I closed my eyes to the vision of the dark brambles curling and slicing away most of the black direwolves. I saw how the slain direwolves turned to ash, and how the ash went back to the mountains, or were picked up by the cold stray wind. I had an awful hunch that they would manifest back in another village, town, walled city, or kingdom somewhere.


    Another vision swam. Gaelmar showed me in that instant where these black direwolves came from. I saw only blackness. No, I saw a dark churning storm cloud, with streaks of lightning occasionally bursting inside its many bellies. As it rumbled, the cloud parted and released a vile smoke of what I now know was miasma. The miasma twisted themselves into a shape¡ªthe shape of the direwolves¡ªand they were scattered throughout the realms. In caves, in mountains, in other shadowed areas.


    When I returned, I told Woodrow, ¡°The direwolves come from the Unending Chaos.¡±


    ¡°Blast it all,¡± Woodrow swore.


    ¡°It will never end.¡± I knew what this meant. ¡°Woodrow, we need to get them to the monastery tonight. We need to get them to Rothfield.¡±


    And then another vision blinded me, scattering away Woodrow¡¯s face. Gaelmar showed me the white wolf Woodrow told me about. She licked her paws and looked down at this village and many villages underneath the mountain path. Then she ran back to the mountains. Next, she stood near a lava pool. On its edges were large boulders that had curious black-crimson ores sticking out of them. She circled once and made her bed near the fire opals.


    Woodrow yanked me back from the vision.


    Snarls came from the village wall; sharp fangs and paws reached through the hole the direwolves had made. The archers kept shooting overhead, but a number of them came down to reinforce the wall, hitting the beasts with poles and wooden clubs. When one of the beasts destroyed another part of the wall and was about to grab a fighter, a skinnier youth came from above and hit the direwolf on the head, killing it and turning it into ash. It was Jerome, the timid scout.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let any of you fall,¡± he said.


    The fighters near us cheered him on. Woodrow clapped his hands. Agate and Harlan looked at each other and nodded. ¡°Defend each other as best you can. Protect the children of Kent.¡±


    Woodrow grabbed his trusted weapon. ¡°The only thing these beasts would be tasting is the sharp tip of my dagger.¡±


    Harlan barked out orders. ¡°Man the wall. Hold out as best you can.¡± He led with the fortifications, pushing against the wall until it groaned. Jerome climbed back on one of the towers and kept firing his arrows until there were no more. Then he went back down to strike any reaching paw or snout.


    As more and more archers ran out of arrows, they added their strength to the village walls.


    I tapped deep into my heart and tried to sense the dark forest, if it is within reach of my power that night, to see different villages affected like this. To my horror, there were. Direwolves attacking smaller villages. Just on the edge of the dark forest. Some of those villagers that escaped managed to survive by traveling with guards and knights, the banner of which was obscured to me.


    The village wall broke down and one, two, three, direwolves darted past us, already scattering the men huddled together. They swiped at them with their paws, targeting a fighter, but they were far enough to only be left with mere scratches.


    They were fast!


    But Woodrow was faster. He immediately threw his dagger towards the eye of one direwolf, grabbed a sharp pole that a fighter dropped, and plunged it into its chest. The direwolf turned to ash. Agate and Harlan raised their shield to defend against the attacks and swung their swords at any that entered.


    The fighters were in good coordination. They screamed, swinging in unison at the beasts. Some tricked them into falling onto another group of fighters¡¯ waiting spikes, while the burliest amongst them took one direwolf head-on.


    One direwolf was about to charge through the fighters and aimed at the elder¡¯s house. I saw the guards there ready their wooden spears. A man, young and thin, blocked its path and waved his hand around to try to distract it.


    It was Jerome again. He had no weapons.


    I looked frantically for Woodrow, but he was in the thick of battle, distracting a few direwolves himself as the fighters around him struck. Ash was falling over them like raindrops. Wildly, I whistled and the lesser direwolf that was licking its fangs at Jerome spun to face me.


    I placed my palm out, and said with all my might, ¡°Burn.¡±

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 7)

    The creature¡¯s head erupted into flames and I felt a great deal of my strength sucked as fuel for that holy flame.


    I fell to the ground as the lesser direwolf charged back to its pack, howling in pain. It was like lighting dried kindling with a torch. All the other direwolves caught fire as it passed them, and now all of them were scampering away, rolling on the ground until they stilled or turned into ash. It turned out that their fur was highly flammable to my blessed fire.


    The fighters cheered as they saw some of the wolves catch fire. They scampered outside where they met their end, either through brambles coiling and strangling them, or burned to a crisp with my offensive flame. I couldn¡¯t very well call it kindflame now, could I?


    Jerome helped me up. ¡°Go back to the elder¡¯s house, brother. You¡¯ll be safer there.¡±


    Woodrow came up behind me and told Jerome that it was fine. ¡°He¡¯s tougher than he looks,¡± he said.


    Throwing a worried look in my direction, Jerome grabbed a wooden spear lying on the ground and went back to Agate¡¯s side. I heard her shout, ¡°Good man!¡±


    I leaned onto Woodrow, allowing him to support my weight. He let me grip his arm as my head pounded dully. I answered him without waiting for him to ask. ¡°It felt like a great wind knocked my lungs. But I am fine. It will cost me greatly, but look how big an impact I made!¡± I gasped.


    Woodrow shook his head. ¡°You must reserve your strength. If you are the greatest weapon we have and only have limited firepower and range in you, then leave your flame for the big white one if she comes.¡± He looked sullen, and then out of the blue, he chuckled loudly. ¡°This was what I was worried about when you came into the cloister garth. Wilbur and I were discussing if you can summon great balls of flame. Now we know.¡±


    There was a great snapping of wood as the walls broke down completely. They splintered away to reveal the other remaining direwolves. Thankfully, their numbers were whittled down enough. There were seven of them remaining; enough for the fighters to surround them. Woodrow and I nodded at each other. He ran to rejoin the fighters as I dragged back unconscious bloody bodies with the help of Jerome and some others. I have strength enough for that. As I was dragging a moaning body from the field, I saw Harlan punch one beast in the snout and Agate banging one on the head with her shield. They looked good together, fighting as one.


    The dark forest coiled around the fighters and direwolves. I had not realized I was already out in the open, right outside the destroyed border wall, as I pulled the unconscious and the weak inside. The fighters pushed the snarling, growling beasts into the forest where brambles whipped and dragged them away.


    But I also saw the familiar shapes of vines on one side, and heard the burrowing of the soil, and then the shape of my brother Wilbur gently but firmly being placed on an elevated mound a few distance away from us. The vines pointed in our direction before they slunk back underground.


    Woodrow and I exchanged bewildered looks as Wilbur spotted us and the skirmish. His eyes and mouth popped open when he absorbed all the wreckage and the fighting. Then he sprinted down towards us from the path. It was the most animated I ever saw him.


    ¡°No, what are you doing, you fool? Turn back!¡± Woodrow yelled, arms flapping, calling his attention. But Wilbur had eyes only for me. As he was running, some of the direwolves noticed him and ran in his direction.


    ¡°No!¡± Woodrow and I both yelled. We ran after them. I saw Wilbur¡¯s hand reach into his satchels, holding a glass bottle of brown-colored liquid. He raised his arms, yelling at us, ¡°Stand back!¡±


    We stopped just as he smashed the bottle on the ground when the direwolves were near enough. The bottle exploded, causing a blast of air that caught the attention of both fighters and the five remaining beasts. Wilbur raised another, threatening to throw it at them. Some of them recoiled, walking back¡­ to where the forest grabbed one direwolf and ended it.


    Wilbur looked at me, holding my face. His hair was disheveled but he was otherwise fine. I let him hold me for a moment before breaking free from his grip. ¡°Later. Right now, we have injuries to tend to.¡± I saw that the bottle he was holding was empty. Whatever it was he made, he only concocted one of it. He bluffed.


    We left Woodrow in the fray, still holding back the beasts. He aimed at one direwolf, but missed its eye. The quick dagger stuck itself in the wolf''s hind legs. I passed Agate and Harlan, making eye contact with them and pointing at Wilbur. ¡°He¡¯s with us. He came to help!¡±


    They nodded and raised their shields to give us time to head back. Wilbur scanned the village and helped me carry more unconscious bodies in vacant tents or any shelter we could find. I helped Wilbur lift a particularly heavy, unconscious man whose eye was torn. Little by little, we cleared the grounds of groaning bodies. Wilbur winced as he smelled the blood. Quickly, I reached into his satchels and found the wooden vial from before and collected the blood from the injured. Wilbur watched me but said nothing. I placed the blood-filled container back in his satchel.


    I went back outside. Just as I was about to collect a discarded spear to throw back to a waiting hand somewhere, one of the direwolves looked me in the eye. It had broken free from the rest and was slowly approaching me, baring its fangs, and smelling the air. I stepped back, ready to cast the holy flame, but when it was near enough, it stopped and just stared at me, ears pricked.


    And then it howled, just a common short howl, and bolted away, nipping at the rest to follow him. They ran through the path, far away, and bounded for the part of the forest that was burned down, and onto a path that was burned away. I stared at them, wondering. Did they surrender?


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    Everything was silent once more.


    The battle had stopped. I went outside to the fighters standing, stances amused and wary as the direwolves sped away. The dark forest did not move. The brambles slinked back into the depths. Then, slowly, one of the fighters cried out, and it rippled throughout. Calls of victory and celebration rang from the border and into the ruined village of Kent.


    Woodrow wiped his face, now holding his dagger. He had a smile on his face, but we shared a look, knowing that it was not the end. The village of Kent will not survive another night.


    I passed through the sweaty bodies of celebrating fighters, noting their bruises and claw marks, until I saw the two elders.


    ¡°The one you allowed into your village is called Wilbur, our healer and guardian,¡± I said. ¡°He will take care of your wounded. Woodrow, on the other hand, will care for your weary.¡± I looked hard at Agate. ¡°Elder, more will come tomorrow night.¡±


    She did not ask how I knew this. She only searched my eyes as if trying to untangle a knot with her gaze. Agate nodded and called Harlan. When they were both side to side, with Harlan full of ash sticking to his sweaty skin, Agate said, ¡°We are not safe here anymore. We might have to take shelter in their home.¡± To me, she said, ¡°Thank you. We will tell the rest of the villagers. I have a strong feeling that they would be easy to convince if it comes to that.¡±


    Harlan observed the wreckage that was once their wall and saw a crumbled wooden tower. He scratched his head. ¡°I just have one question. How did your brother make the ground explode?¡±


    ¡°He knows¡­ things,¡± I said simply.


    Harlan did not press, probably feeling the calming wave of the after-battle. He simply nodded and agreed with Agate. ¡°Though, I wonder where those direwolves ran off to? The scouts said they came from the mountains, but they went off a different path.¡±


    We felt the earth shake. Realizing what would happen, I flinched as the vines erupted to grab me. They were quicker now, not even bothering to slither around Agate and Harlan. They tripped as the vines rose and were about to seize me. I raised my hands, yelling, ¡°I¡¯m still not done here!¡±


    But the vines grabbed my waist and arms tight. Before I was taken underground, I called out to the elders, ¡°Follow my brothers! They would know what to do!¡±


    ¡°Us?!¡± I heard Woodrow protest as I was brought through a new tunnel.


    As I resurfaced, I saw immediately the mouth of a mountain. Mount Lhottem must have many entrances. This entrance was like a yawning beast itself; the top of the entrance was shaped like overgrown fangs. I did not know why my brothers were not with me. I took in my surroundings and heard soft crunches from a path behind me. The path was a wreck, just like the wooden border. Dark trees were uprooted and boulders smashed. I focused inward. I had no weapons, but still had the strength to fight off a pack of direwolves. If the dark forest thought that I could handle this myself, then I was ready.


    The soft crunching came closer through that path. I thought I saw a darker shadow moving towards me, but it was too far for even my eyes to see clearly. The steps, though, sounded oddly familiar¡­


    The shape turned into a figure¡­ the figure of a person... of about my height. They stepped over roots and trod lightly on the crushed stones. My heart was racing fast when I slowly realized why I recognized those steps.


    ¡°Claude!¡± I yelled.


    Something was glinting on his side. I did not realize that the moon showed its pleasant pale face that night. No¡­ What is he doing here?!


    I was about to yell his name again when I felt a sudden chill drape over me. I heard the snarls before I saw the direwolves gaining on Claude on either side. Only two direwolves. The dark forest must have dealt with one. But the dark forest cannot protect Claude from the beasts now, not when the path he was on was damaged like that.


    I gestured wildly at him, shouting his name. His head shot up, and he paused in his steps. ¡°Ryne?¡± He called when he recognized my voice. ¡°Ryne? There was a new path on the farm. I thought I imagined it, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop moving!¡± I shouted desperately.


    The wolves were so close and I was still so far. Claude did not see them yet, blocked by more twisted and bent trees. I held my outstretched hand, shaking with fear at the sight of those fangs thirsty for soft skin.


    ¡°Gaelmar, protect him!¡±


    I closed my eyes and tumbled to the ground as a warm surge of strength left me breathless. I saw, just as Claude turned around when the closest direwolf lunged at him, a short burst of flame that flew from my hand and landed squarely on the one whose jaws were aiming at my friend¡¯s shoulder.


    Claude did not see the flame, but both direwolves yelped as we both struck them down. Claude quickly dodged the direwolf¡¯s swipe as it got distracted by my offensive flame, and he applied Woodrow¡¯s tutelage, using a false step to trick the direwolf. He hopped to one side as the wolf pawed the ground. Quickly, Claude hit the direwolve¡¯s paw, slicing it off. When the direwolf fell, Claude brought the sword into its head. Unfortunately, he only grazed the beast. The other one turned rapidly to ash in the air.


    The direwolf pushed him out of the path and into level ground, close to me. As it was about to strike again, Claude felt for me, pushing me behind him, and used his sword to block the direwolve¡¯s claws. I held out my hand just in time to the sound of claw banging against sword. Claude held his breath and closed his eyes as my fingers touched the blade.


    It glowed.


    The wolf yelped and was thrown back by a great force. I noticed that I kept half of my strength which was usually required when casting balls of flame. The direwolf turned into ash, leaving an ugly scent of singed fur.


    We saw the ash float in the air, and a darker smoke-like essence lift and float back to the mountaintops. We caught our breaths. Once Claude recovered, he turned to face me, checking me for injuries.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said. I was checking him, in turn. ¡°What are you doing all the way over here?¡±


    ¡°Asks the monk without his brothers!¡± Claude replied.


    It was wild to see him here in the middle of the night. Even wilder than seeing direwolves attack villagers. ¡°There was a village in trouble. We came just in time when those direwolves attacked. We tended to the injured. Woodrow helped with the attack.¡±


    ¡°Those are direwolves¡­¡± He stared at me. ¡°The stories of my father are coming back to life.¡± His tone did not sound frightened. It sounded awed. He was not shaken at all.


    Then Claude looked at his sword. ¡°I had a dream about Da. How he was striking the air with this sword. I dreamt that the sword was broken. So, I got up in the middle of the night and went to our shed and took it out. But then I thought I heard howls coming from the forest and that¡¯s when I noticed that there was a new path that formed.


    ¡°And you followed it?¡± I asked incredulously.


    ¡°I was curious,¡± he shrugged. ¡°I felt something, too. Like this voice you get inside your head sometimes, you know? I just kept walking and it was as if the branches were making way for me. Then I found you, and those great wolves.¡±

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 8)

    ---RYNE---


    I was heaving as he recounted his story. He could have died. I supposed this strong concern for someone else''s well-being was what Wilbur felt for me. It felt new to me, to care for someone as I care for him. Yes, there were the many infirmed and injured whose lips called for warm milk, for medicine, for Wilbur¡¯s¡ªand sometimes¡ªmy name, but this was different.


    We were quiet for a while, and then Claude asked, ¡°Whatever¡¯s happening with the mountains and the forest, would it reach Rothfield?¡±


    ¡°I think the dark forest protects Rothfield somehow, Claude,¡± I answered carefully. Why I was more open to other villagers and not my only friend in some areas of my life, I wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°And it isn¡¯t just here in Mount Lhottem. Other mountains and probably other terrains, like deep lakes and roads must be affected. You heard about the early snow, yes? It is not just here.¡± I saw worry pass his face. ¡°But I think we can get through this.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    I did not answer him directly. ¡°Something about Rothfield is special, can you believe that?¡± I broached the topic delicately. ¡°Something about it is bright and good and we¡­ can feel how to work with whatever positive force is in there.¡±


    He fixed me with a solemn look. He nodded and smiled. ¡°Yes. I believe there is a bright force there.¡±


    Relief flooded me. It was so easy to talk to him.


    There was another softer growl from somewhere and I whipped my head around to check for furry foes. There were none. When I returned my gaze, Claude looked sheepish. His hand was on his stomach.


    Laughter erupted from me before I contained it. I could not help it. He was grinning himself, his hand scratching the back of his head.


    ¡°Here,¡± I said and took from my side the canister of soup that I blessed earlier. Back at Rothfield.


    ¡°You are always prepared,¡± Claude commented, eyes wide.


    I pushed him to finish it all, telling him honestly that I had already eaten at the village before it was attacked.


    ¡°A proper celebration? I missed those¡­¡± he commented as he supped gratefully. When he had finished, he returned the empty canister to me, hoisted his sword, and placed its flat base on top of his shoulder. ¡°Well, where to next this night?¡±


    I blinked at him. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that meeting you here and stopping two wolves from old folktales isn¡¯t the only reason coincidence set me on this path this night.¡± Claude suddenly arched a brow, thoughtful. "Say, what happened to the other wolf?"


    "Never mind about that," I said quickly, bringing his attention back to me.


    I felt unsure about this. It¡¯s one thing to bring my brothers into this mess, but Claude? Not to look down upon his station, never that, no, but his childhood and background¡­ he has only known fields and family and carving. He is a child!


    Then again, so was I, if I were to listen to Wilbur and Woodrow. I studied the way he carried himself and how he carried his sword. He¡¯s capable. Woodrow said himself that he was a quick study. If the dark forest thought him to be more than worthy, then maybe this was what was supposed to happen. I couldn¡¯t send him back alone, anyway. Maybe he is safer with me.


    ¡°There are precious ores we need to mine for Wilbur¡¯s experiments. Do you know fire opals? They can be found near dormant pools of lava. We need ones to wake up some flowers in Wilbur¡¯s garden. Some flowers need certain minerals to bloom, just like how crops need fertilizer to grow fast and strong,¡± I explained. Claude was listening intently. I winced. ¡°And we may face a greater foe lying inside.¡± I waited for his response.


    ¡°If you think I¡¯m going to pass an opportunity to finally see inside Mount Lhottem with a friend, and let that friend go by himself with those beasts roaming, then Ryne, forgive me, but you must have lost your head.¡±


    Oh. I did not realize that he meant that I would not be able to defend myself. I smiled and shrugged. We turned around, heading inside the mountain¡¯s maw.


    Claude shuddered when we passed the mouth-like entrance, whispering, ¡°Blast, I forgot we needed a torch.¡± Thankfully, glowworms were hanging on the walls of the cavern, leading us to a big downward tunnel. ¡°Let¡¯s take a moment for our eyes to adjust.¡±


    I grabbed his hand and walked carefully. I felt like there wasn¡¯t any time to waste. We followed the trail of glowworms, all the while guiding my friend carefully. Our fingers curled against each other¡¯s palms. I told him when to duck around a large stone hanging overhead and told him to avoid small holes. I heard his steady breathing and his beating heart. I heard the tip of his sword scratching the mountain wall.


    ¡°You look tired. I hope Wilbur and Woodrow are fine.¡± Claude squinted at me in the dark, his voice echoing. ¡°How do you manage to see so well? You¡¯ve been guiding me without light.¡±


    ¡°Our eyes adjust well at night,¡± I said, squeezing his hand. Claude said no more. He continued to follow me. I was grateful for that.


    He wanted to be a soldier, I remembered. I also remembered in this moment the heightened strength and courage of the villagers of Kent the moment my prayer before meals activated. I turned back and checked his spirit using Gaelmar¡¯s influence. Part of me too wanted to know if I raised his defenses by giving him the crops.


    He glowed. It was not much, but he was glowing a bit of light blue and light red. Maybe that meant he was raised temporarily with might and defense?


    Claude kept bumping into me as he slipped. As we got deeper, soft snores echoed in the tunnels. We crept slowly, hugging the walls, until we saw a soft red light glowing from far ahead. We were near the chamber with the lava pools and fire opals.


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    The alpha direwolf slept ahead.


    We emerged to a spacious cavern. I felt Claude stiffen behind me when he saw the great beast, bigger than the ones we faced. Her white fur was bathed pink by the glow of the lava. I thought Claude would reconsider. He did not. He raised his sword and breathed out, readying himself for a fight. He¡¯d truly make a fine soldier someday, I thought.


    I scanned my surroundings. There were unlit torches made of curious bronze set on the walls of this chamber. It looked as if it was waiting for a fight or a challenge.


    Suddenly I knew what to do. ¡°Claude, I¡¯m not sure how, but when those torches light, it means we have to fight.¡±


    He nodded, drawing his sword and pointing it at the alpha direwolf. Discreetly, I cast kindflame on one torch. As I suspected, when I lit one, the flame jumped to light the rest, filling the chamber with a whooshing sound. Only when the final torch was lit did the alpha direwolf stir from her sleep. She opened her eyes, yawned, and stood. She stretched, claws sharper the Claude¡¯s sword emerging, scratching the ground. She was about to lick her paws when she smelled something in the air. The scent of intruders.


    Her ears pricked, her tail went up, and her eyes fell on us. She growled. Claude slowly walked in front of me.


    ¡°Get to cover, Ryne!¡±


    ¡°And leave you to deal with that? Not a chance.¡±


    The alpha direwolf sprung. I touched Claude¡¯s hand when he blocked the big paw swinging at him and a glowing force pushed her back. Not enough to hurl the beast away, but only singed her fur. She looked stunned and prowled around Claude. She waved her paw, licking her small wound. Then her big eyes saw me. Her eyes suddenly shifted into something like recognition, but then she growled and strained against herself as if she were not in full control of her body. She shook her head, and snarled, dead set on me. They were now eyes of red fury.


    Now. Woodrow said to use most of my power here.


    Claude focused on the wolf, so he did not notice when I grabbed the hilt of his sword. I closed my eyes and channeled most of Gaelmar¡¯s flame. I thought of Woodrow as he battled. I thought of Wilbur as he healed people. I felt Claude¡¯s noble courage and friendship. And I thought of myself, finally doing my part in combating the darkness.


    The sword blazed to life, a light-blue flame surrounding it, but not harming Claude. We felt its pleasant heat. The great white direwolf saw and she stepped back and snapped at us.


    Claude shouted, amazed, and possibly afraid, at what he was witnessing, but still he held the hilt firmly. The alpha direwolf circled around us, clawing the ground and making lunges with her mouth. Claude leaped and swung at her, jumping from my side, but of course, she dodged it with ease. I saw the blade sputter as if a wind was blowing it away and realized that I had to be near Claude for it to light fully.


    I ran to him. The alpha direwolf seemed to register the connection. She stared, then quick as a flash, brushed her tail across the ground and threw pebbles and dust at me. My focus broke. After I spluttered and clawed my eyes for dirt, I saw that the sword¡¯s flame was dying and that the alpha direwolf was about to pounce.


    Claude managed to block the pounce successfully, and aided by the remaining embers, countered it with a swipe of his own.


    The alpha direwolf bled. It did not disappear. Claude and I looked at each other. This creature was not of shadow, but living, real. The beast howled, enraged. She slithered between us, separating us, swishing Claude away with her tail. I called after him but the wolf stared me down and bared her fangs. The sword stopped glowing.


    As the direwolf stared me down, I saw the glow inside her eyes. Past her red pupils was a smaller figure of herself. Her soul. It was a caged pup. A starlight-white fluffy docile pup, ears low on the ground, fur so soft. Startled, I grabbed the beast¡¯s face closer. I spoke to the soul inside.


    ¡°Hear me,¡± I said to the pup.


    The direwolf stilled as the pup inside listened to my voice. Its ears pointed up. She raised her head and barked softly at me. It was like looking at the inner child of the monster. I felt the body of the direwolf bend low. It was as if I was looking through the obscure window of an abandoned house. The pup crawled forward to stare at me. She looked like she was in a dark abandoned cavern herself.


    ¡°I hear you,¡± I said to it calmly.


    Her adult physical body calmed. The fur that stood on its edges softened. I heard Claude approach me, but my eyes were set on the pup.


    ¡°You¡¯re not like the others. You¡¯re trapped.¡±


    She made a pitying sound, and I wanted to snatch her away, reach into those pupils, and take her. Then the pup barked again and whimpered. A distasteful coldness grabbed me. Miasma surrounded the pup, forming a leash around its neck. Her adult form began to growl again.


    Her heart. Strike her heart. She will be fine. Trust me. The voice Gaelmar guided the warmth in me. It flowed from my heart and into my hand.


    ¡°Be brave, young one. Look at me. The miasma will not hurt you anymore. I promise.¡± I encouraged her gently. ¡°Come now, you will be free. Come back to me. Trust me.¡±


    The pup shivered. Slowly, she looked at me with watery, beady eyes. She let out a squeak. Her adult form stilled once more.


    ¡°Strike at her heart, Claude,¡± I whispered calmly.


    Claude, shaking, aimed his sword at her chest. ¡°Show me exactly where,¡± he said.


    I guided his hand downward to its soft fur. ¡°Strike true.¡±


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t realized this before¡­ but she is beautiful.¡±


    And then, we both plunged the sword down into her chest, the fur thick as a mattress. The alpha direwolf¡¯s adult form only yelped a little, and she sank to the ground. I knelt as I carried some of her weight. Still, she did not blink. I cradled her neck and stroked the top of her head. Claude sat with me on the ground and smoothed a free part of her neck. Our pinkie fingers connected. The white fur felt like soft blades of grass sticking between our fingers before evaporating. I smoothed her fur and with my other hand, sank Claude¡¯s sword deeper. She did not make a sound. She stilled, paws limp.


    I looked deep into her eyes and told the pup inside, now struggling free of the fading miasma, I whispered, ¡°I purify you. I unbind you from the Chaos.¡± I pressed my lips to her soft head. I welcome you home to Rothfield.¡±


    The pup inside barked, her tail wagging. It looked like she knew the place. The miasma around her formed into leashes once more; hoops for binding the legs and mouth. But the pup growled at it and with an adorable but ferocious bark, pushed the miasma away like wind blasts bad smoke.


    The body of the direwolf shrunk, its long fur retreating. She finally closed her eyes and glowed softly; a friendly yellow light that turned into floating motes that disappeared in the air. Claude closed his eyes, but I waited for the purification to finish, not daring to break the connection until there was a fluffy ball of fur sitting on my lap.


    The puppy looked up at me, black beady eyes wide. Her head cocked to the side. Claude breathed out while I brought my face close to hers. Her eyes were adorable, like shiny black marbles. A tongue licked my nose. Both of us chuckled as the direwolf pup, quite larger than a common pup, hopped off from my hands and lap and onto the ground, stretching, yawning, and showing her soft canine teeth. She smelled Claude¡¯s boots and his iron sword and then nuzzled her face close to ours. Claude and I held her, bouncing her gently.


    I scratched her behind her ears, down her back. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted a pet dog,¡± I said in awe, remembering how other dogs hated us.


    She barked happily, her tail never stopping to wave in the air. I knew, from looking at how she reacted to my words, that she understood me. We have a connection now, and I will keep her safe for as long as I am able.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 9)

    ---RYNE---


    ¡°Ryne¡­¡± Claude whispered.


    Shadows appeared in the tunnels: shadows that turned into the familiar shapes of my brothers. Woodrow¡¯s red hair peeked out from the walls before Wilbur¡¯s messy brown. Our new furry friend hopped off and stood in front of me, watchful, ears and tail pointed to the cavern ceiling. She growled at Woodrow and Wilbur.


    ¡°Calm, they are my brothers,¡± I told her. She looked back at me, unsure. I knelt and picked her up again, almost cradling her. I brought my lips close to her soft ears, taking a few steps away from Claude. ¡°The scent of the Chaos is in them, but so is their humanity. They have been good to me, especially the brown-haired one.¡±


    She stared at Wilbur, sniffing the air. She still felt tense, but her tail wagged friendly enough. There will be time to adjust.


    Claude and I faced my brothers as they stared back, frozen in place, taking it all in. They looked especially bewildered to find Claude in a cave with a dormant lava pool in the middle of the night. With the pup in hand, I walked over to them and explained what had happened. When I finished the story, my brothers nodded, seemingly understanding; their lips pouted, their eyes reflective, calm¡­ then they spoke at the same time.


    ¡°What were you thinking going into the dark forest yourself, lad?¡± Their eyes checked Claude for injuries. Wilbur was grabbing his arm and feeling for broken bones while Woodrow kept chastising him. He allowed them, grinning at me as I smiled back.


    Woodrow slapped him softly at the back of his head. ¡°You must feel so confident to have taken on wild beasts.¡± He leaned close to Claude so they were eye to eye, face serious. ¡°Do not let it get into your head. Something miraculous has protected not only you but the villagers nearby.¡± He was trying hard not to look in my direction.


    Claude nodded slowly. ¡°I¡­ I know. There was something else guiding me. It felt like the warmth from a hearth.¡± Claude looked at me then. I avoided his gaze.


    He picked up his old iron sword lying on the ground. Rusted, when it once was glowing brilliant blue. He shook it, figuring out how to make it come to life once more. He held it out to me. I grabbed the hilt and when nothing happened, he secured it between his jeans and belt.


    ¡°You really should have a scabbard for that,¡± Woodrow commented.


    Claude¡¯s eyes fell on their robes and saw the tears. ¡°You look rather worse for wear, even for monks.¡± He bit his lip. ¡°If we had our own wool to spare, I¡¯d gladly give you some.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about us,¡± Wilbur said. Once his examinations were done, he sighed and brought his full attention to another matter.


    The pup was now sniffing their boots. She sniffed Wilbur¡¯s the longest and I thought that she was recognizing the bond he and I shared. Without warning, she squatted and released her liquids right on Wilbur¡¯s boot. Claude and I exchanged looks of childish glee. Woodrow turned his face away and clamped his lips, shoulders shaking, choking on his laughter. Wilbur looked at the pup stone-faced until she relieved herself fully.


    ¡°Lovely,¡± Wilbur remarked dryly.


    ¡°She made her mark on you,¡± I offered.


    Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose and I slowly felt like a young child who had brought home something that should not have been brought home. After all, other common monks from other monasteries prohibited pets. But he must realize that everything about us was uncommon. The pup was a giant beast not even hours before.


    ¡°I suppose that you shall take care of it. What will you feed it?¡± Wilbur was looking at the tiny direwolf biting his boots.


    My answer was ready. ¡°The forest will provide.¡±


    ¡°The dark forest with few scampering animals?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± When at last we purified the beast from her corruption, I felt something heavy lift from these parts. I was not sure of it, but perhaps it has a connection to the occurrences of monsters. Or if not that, then something about it made the dark forest less gloomy.


    The tiny furball, happy to have made her show of friendship to my brothers, barked towards the area where she slept. We had not noticed it before, but when she was rampaging in her corrupted adult form, she must have swiped at the boulders containing the fire opals. The ores were scattered all around that area. And in that rubble of brilliant reds was a smattering of sharp, oddly shaped, crude dark stones.


    ¡°Cinder voids¡­¡± Wilbur whispered.


    He hurried to collect them in his satchels. Claude, Woodrow, and I helped in gathering as much as we could, thankful that we did not need any pickaxe or hammer. Claude held one up and looked at its curious shape.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen ores like these. You use these for experiments, Brother Wilbur?¡±


    ¡°Quite,¡± he replied. He bit his lip and said, ¡°Alchemists use them for experiments. The fire opals, as the name suggests, have fire qualities in them, and they believe it can help relieve ailments regarding temperature.¡±


    Claude brought it close to his sword. ¡°Can these be forged into weapons? I¡¯ve heard that some knights of the realm have gemstone swords instead of the common iron ones we have.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Wilbur replied. ¡°That is, I am not sure.¡± He held the fire opal he had just gathered. ¡°These are fragile and unfit for smelting. Their qualities are more for medicine. Although¡­ if one can figure out a way to melt it without damaging its more stable properties¡­¡± he let the thought trail off.


    When we had collected enough, Wilbur turned his full attention back to the pup again. She sat on the ground looking at him innocently.


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    Claude came to my rescue. ¡°I could help take care of it. When I visit.¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡± He raised his hands in defeat. ¡°Fine. It¡¯s not like I can stop you. Or her.¡± Wilbur marched back towards the tunnels, bulky, clacking, the shapes of the fire opals and cinder voids forming within the fabrics of his pockets and satchel.


    He was happy enough when he strode off; satisfied that we got the ores needed to wake the everbanes.


    Claude was holding the puppy for now and it kept looking at me and barking. I nudged Woodrow to go ahead as I grabbed Claude¡¯s arm, preparing to guide him back out of the mountain.


    Woodrow scratched her furry head, smiling down at her. He said to me, ¡°So your reward is to keep her as a furry friend, eh? I suppose it is a welcoming, albeit noisy, presence in the dour monastery.¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t be the only one there to cause a ruckus,¡± I reminded him. The village of Kent will camp near our monastery, right in the granges. The land was spacious and more than adequate to house them. They would have to do without walls and wooden towers, but the dark forest is their protection.


    When I turned around, Claude was watching me. He turned away quickly and recovered. He flashed me a smile. I softly wrapped my hand around his arm and took him through the dark slippery tunnel, out of the cave¡¯s mouth, and back out under the night sky. The moon was still showing her pale face. As we were walking, I felt conscious that Claude must be growing weary of our silent exchanges away from him. But, no, I knew by now he would understand. He always seemed to.


    Claude blinked when he saw the night sky. He placed the puppy on the ground where she crawled between my boots. He was unsure of where to go, looking at the path he came from. I closed my eyes and felt the movement of the dark forest. All was quiet. No direwolves were running around. As if for reassurance, the sweet pup barked happily.


    ¡°The forest shall take you home, Claude,¡± I said quietly.


    He does not speak. He does not move, only staring at the path as his feet remain planted on the ground. I thought he must not have heard me. Suddenly, he turned around and hugged me close, his chin resting under my shoulder.


    ¡°I feel so much tonight,¡± he said. ¡°I never got to go out this late at night. I never got to walk through those dark trees. I never got to ever be so close to Mount Lhottem. I thought that I would grow old never knowing what it looked like nearby, much less be inside it.¡± I felt him grip me tighter. ¡°And I thought we would meet our end inside that cave. I never thought that I would see a direwolf from a story, as beautiful as the moon. And then¡­ and then... Ryne¡­¡± I felt his breath expand his lungs and then deflate. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but wherever you are, the world is alive and strange and scary and wonderful. Everything is new.¡± He patted my back. ¡°Take care, my friend.¡±


    My arms were raised in midair, fingers curled in surprise, unsure if I should hug him back. No one, no boy my age, ever touched me so. Slowly, my arms wrapped around him He was so warm, his breaths and heartbeat steady.


    ¡°Take care, my friend,¡± I said back.


    He smiled, nuzzled the pup, and paused. ¡°What should you name her?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s yours now. Every pet needs a name.¡±


    Oh. I had not thought about that. I bent down and stared at those beady, patient eyes. But of course, what else would be more fitting to Gaelmar¡¯s theme? ¡°Ember,¡± I said easily.


    ¡°Amber?¡±


    ¡°Ember, like fire.¡±


    Claude smiled. ¡°A fitting name. I will see you back at Rothfield, Ember.¡± He patted her head one final time.


    And he was off, the forest welcoming him. Please take care of him like you have always done, I prayed to whatever force there was in the forest. Woodrow clapped me on the back. I picked up Ember, her snout snuggled between my neck.


    ¡°So, what manner of beasts will be there for you to purify, I wonder?¡± Woodrow asked, appearing behind me from the shadows. But the question was left in the air, hovering like the snow and ash surrounding Mount Lhottem.


    ___


    The calmness after the battle brought the reality of the destruction in the village of Kent. Everywhere was splintered wood, either from the wall, the collapsed towers, or the broken spears. They littered the site, resembling more like broken bones and severed arms. I shivered. I hid Ember under my cloak. Only a bit of her face poked out for air. None of the villagers noticed her as we passed them, too dour collecting and cleaning the debris and piling them a couple of feet away.


    Since the vines had not collected us, we knew that I must invite the elders to our monastery to make it official.


    I saw Agate first, hands on her hips, overseeing the cleanup, her shield was propped against her legs. She saw me entering the nonexistent gates and marched up to me.


    ¡°Thank the Saints,¡± she huffed. She shook her head and nodded at the wreckage. ¡°We can¡¯t repair that big of a damage, Ryne. We¡­¡± She breathed out slowly, looking at the ground before meeting my eyes. It must be difficult for her pride to ask for help.


    I beat her to it. ¡°The offer I made earlier awaits, elder Agate.¡±


    ¡°How timely, too.¡± Her tone was dry. ¡°All my life I have lived here. I suppose it is¡­ new to camp somewhere else. We promise not to be trouble, Brother. Not too loud during your prayers. I know the dedication of the clergy.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, elder.¡± I paused and scanned around. She saw me looking.


    ¡°Harlan is in his house tending to the other wounded. We¡¯ve already moved the other villagers to his other huts as well. Your healer, Wilbur, is highly appreciated, but¡­¡± she closed her eyes and made a frustrated, sorrowful sound. ¡°Even he cannot save the grievously injured. He is in my father''s house. Go.¡±


    Frowning, I went back to the elder¡¯s house and upon entering, saw the crumpled mess of groaning, shivering bodies that we pulled from the grounds earlier. This was worse than the first time I saw them. They are so brave, every one of them, to be injured last night yet still choosing to fight.


    Wilbur was bandaging a leg on the far end of the room, the torchlight from outside pointing towards his hunched figure on the wooden floor, still carrying the bulky weight of the newly harvested ores. He looked defeated as he saw me. He shook his head.


    ¡°I have no more healing tonics for wounds such as these. I only have some for illnesses plaguing the land, but not for grievous, fatal injuries. I went ahead and gave them the feverflukes in case an infection starts, but it is up to the natural resistance of their bodies to fight them off.¡± He whispered close to my ear, adding, ¡°Some of them have not long.¡±


    I had thought there were no casualties. But I suppose I was hopeful or foolish. I saw on the straw cots men and women fighters moaning and grunting. Five of them were bandaged up and smelled of the common oils; the natural organic remedies folks use for treatment.


    I released Ember onto the floorboards and went to a man I recognized. He was slight of frame and pale. Jerome. He had a deep wound from his shoulder down to his chest. He shivered when I drew near. When he opened his eyes, he swallowed, lips dry. ¡°I thought¡­ I could help, but I¡­¡±


    ¡°Hush, brave fighter,¡± I said. I touched his forehead and wiped away the sweat. Ember sniffed him, her tail downcast. Slowly, she tugged at my sleeves and licked my fingers. I raised my brows at her.


    Ember went to the opposite side of Jerome and laid her paws on the tip of his gash. And then, without warning, she glowed! A glow whose warmth and aura looked almost identical to my own. I had no strength in me; I was spent purifying and releasing Ember from her captivity. But she was adding her own strength to mine.


    I do not know where she came from or her connection to Rothfield, or the Saints. But this power was unmistakably holy. She raised her glowing head at me, waiting. I touched Jerome¡¯s forehead and placed my palm on his heart.


    Heal, I thought.

 Chapter 10 - Relocation (Part 10 - END)

    ---RYNE---


    Healing him was taking so much from me. Not just my strength, but¡­ more. I could not describe it. Like whatever strength I regained from the prayers earlier abandoned me. Like my life, my breaths were siphoned from my fingertips. Energy flowed from me and through Jerome. I felt like I was drawing water from an empty well. A heavy weight sunk into my chest, crushing my ribs and when Ember yelped, my eyes shot open to find her struggling.


    But Jerome¡¯s wounds were healing, not quite as fast as Wilbur¡¯s, but the gash was not as deep, and the blood had dried. Finally, when I could not take it anymore, when I felt my breaths being sucked out of me and the floors spun and my fingers shook, I released my focus. I shivered from the chill that settled inside me, threatening to tear me apart. Ember fell back as well, lying on the ground panting. I held her tightly in my arms; two small flames combining our remaining warmth.


    ¡°We did it,¡± I whispered to her. ¡°We healed him.¡±


    Jerome had closed his eyes throughout this. His breathing had steadied and it gave me relief to see his chest rise and fall slowly. Wilbur stared at me, wordless. No one else saw what I did. Two other fighters were gravely injured on other cots a few spaces away. Ember crawled from my arms and crept towards them, licking their faces.


    It pained me, too, as I limped to join her. I did not have time to reflect upon what I did. I was aware that it was a miraculous thing; a gigantic feat that was the stuff of legends, perhaps. From a boy who had no supernatural abilities, to this. Ealhstan would have been unable to shake away the sight of me encouraging wounds to heal. But I was tired. I thought that I would stumble for I could not carry even my legs.


    I knelt beside a woman with long braided hair, perhaps arranged by the children earlier. Just a few hours ago we were merrymaking and now she was fighting for her life. And I could not help her, only be with her. The fighter¡¯s eyes were closed, lips moving.


    I held her hand and touched her forehead, and I whispered into her ear, ¡°You¡¯ve fought well. It is time to rest.¡±


    ¡°Is that you...?¡± she murmured.


    I do not know who she meant. Maybe she was thinking of her parents, an old friend, a child. The innocence in her voice did not match her battle-worn appearance.


    The words were out of my mouth before I thought about them. ¡°Go into the light and see the Miracle for yourself, worthy soul.¡±


    I have never been the one to perform funeral rites. It was always Wilbur. He cleaned the bodies and prepared them for burial with the families. But I knew what had to be done. Gaelmar¡¯s influence on me told me what to do sometimes without him directly speaking.


    The woman shuddered, and then she sighed contentedly, the muscles in her arms and hands went lax. She was still. I felt her warmth leave this house and go above. Ember felt it, too, looking upward, looking somber. It hurt to not be able to heal them. I felt frustrated and anxious if this would happen again in the future. So many people that need healing, and I lamented the possibility that I would not have the power to help them, since I only have a limited supply.


    Back in the brotherhood, when we were still whole and blind to our ways, I was desperate to help. And now that I could, I am ashamed that I could not help enough. I could not help all.


    I shuddered to think of it, but what would happen if Claude was gravely injured next to me and I had no power to heal him because I had spent it on others? Who am I to deem which people were more important than others? Woodrow¡¯s words came to mind during the battle, when he told me to save my strength. Who am I to reserve my powers for a greater cause?


    Wilbur placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. It was at this moment that I realized we share the same dilemma; of the impossibility of making more medicines than the ones who need them... of the inability and impossibility to heal everyone in an instant.


    I held his hand. I cleared the thoughts away, for they were unhelpful; buzzing dead bugs in my brain. If I could not heal, then it would be up to Wilbur¡¯s salves and ointments. The power of the miracle and his alchemy. We save as many as we can.


    ¡°There are so many things that I must do with Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame but only have so much fire in me,¡± I told him. ¡°I can only do so much. It is not possible that I can pray, protect, purify, and heal in one day.¡± I looked at his understanding face. ¡°I need you.¡±


    ¡°I am always here,¡± he said softly.


    He held me for a moment. Ember went to my side and placed her cheek against my thighs. We stared as Wilbur placed a blanket over the woman¡¯s cold face.


    ___


    I showed Ember to Harlan and Agate when we were at the communal fire. At first, they were skeptical. Agate searched my face and looked at the small creature pawing at the flame.


    ¡°This was the one that ate bandits and almost ate me?¡± Agate¡¯s arms were crossed. Harlan was beside her, staring at Ember. His fingers twitched towards the puppy.


    I held Ember up to show them. Both elders leaned away, defensively. ¡°This is what remained of the alpha direwolf that was supposed to be the guardian of the many floors of the mountain,¡± I explained, though how I knew of that response was probably Gaelmar¡¯s influence. ¡°Many more beasts will come at night and this part of the forest will not protect you for long. But if you come with us back to Rothfield monastery, there might be more protection. We can plant your crops there, and we will make sure to keep you safe, as best we can.¡±


    ¡°How did it¡­ turn into that?¡± Harlan asked.


    ¡°A miracle,¡± I said. ¡°We were in the mountains when a light appeared and swallowed us whole. I was praying, you see, to Gaelmar, to protect me when the vines sent us on our way. I am not sure if it was him or some other holy influence, but I felt this blessed warmth around me when I opened my eyes. And there she was, docile and¡­ fluffy.¡±


    Agate was not convinced. ¡°How convenient. I hope the Saints don¡¯t just listen to favorites.¡± She knew I was lying, but she said nothing more. ¡°If all it took were three pale monks who have connections somehow to the strange things happening recently, then I would have sent scouts to look for more members of the clergy.¡±


    Harlan and Agate turned their back on us and communed through whispers. After a while, Harlan said exasperatedly, ¡°Yes, and what choice do we have? Sinister forces are approaching and we have¡­ we have lost some strong comrades.¡±


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    I saw Agate¡¯s shoulder fall. The two elders faced us once more and nodded. Agate said, ¡°Thank you for offering us protection, Brother Ryne.¡±


    ¡°I offer you sanctuary,¡± I clarified, and as I said the words, the communal fire burst forth and glowed a bright orange color. Ember, the pup, leaped high in the air as the children squealed and clutched their mothers. Agate and Harlan looked at each other, then at me, then at Woodrow and Wilbur.


    ¡°I can make more medicines back at the monastery for those of you who are sick. I can treat you there.¡± He looked down and traded me a sorrowful look before adding, ¡°I am sorry for the two fighters you have lost tonight.¡±


    ¡°You have done all that you could, Brother. We are grateful. Especially for Jerome,¡± Agate whispered.


    They stood and gathered the remaining villagers. Men, women, and children, injured and scared, filed out into the fields, ragging their legs, and heard the two elder¡¯s plan to relocate. They agreed to it without much resistance and soon, everyone had packed their possessions and placed them around fabrics tied into knots. They slung it along or carried them on their backs. My brothers, Ember, and I waited at the edge of the dark forest. The villagers followed Harlan and Agate. Those of free hands bringing torches, casting shadows underneath the figures below.


    They stopped a few inches away from me.


    Woodrow coughed. ¡°Now what?¡±


    There were no vines to collect us. Instead, I focused on where our main base was¡ªwhere Rothfield was¡ªand faced that direction. It was a quiet beacon that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I hovered my hand in the air and touched the bark of one dark tree. I whispered to it.


    ¡°The village of Kent has been granted sanctuary in Rothfield. They are under Saint Gaelmar¡¯s charity.¡±


    Nothing happened. The woods remained still and forlorn. Then we heard a sharp crack, and then the dark trees shifted, making most of the people jump back. More trees uprooted themselves, bringing along boulders and other large stones with their roots and branches until there was a path of uneven ground. The people called all the Saints¡¯ names for protection, and out of fear.


    My brothers and I walked first. I looked back at Harlan and Agate, drawing them in with a wave of my hand. Slowly, they trudged onward, looking at the trees that had just moved. The villagers walked gingerly like critters sensing a trap. When the last villager stepped through the path, a tree returned to its initial position. As we took each step forward, the sentinel trees rooted themselves back into their original places, dropping the boulders they carried. Harlan and Agate looked at Ember and felt calmer when the dark forest allowed the once-dangerous creature into its depths. Finally, we reached the arched trees that led directly to Rothfield Monastery.


    The people of Kent, together with their elders, marveled at the sight and scope of Rothfield. The children lost their fears and looked upon the structure with wide eyes, tugging at the pants and skirts of their parents. They stepped carefully into the granges.


    ¡°This is where you will stay,¡± I called out to them, holding out my arms. ¡°Choose a spot nearby and build your new home. Harvest the dark trees like you¡¯ve always done and build anew. We permit you.¡±


    Their eyes took in the structure, the fields, and the church doors. They stared at the black dead ground and the crops growing near the steps leading to the nave. They would wonder about that tomorrow. As their eyes trailed down to where my brothers and I stood, a chorus of thanks started. ¡°Bless you, Brother Monk,¡± they said. ¡°Thank you, Brother Ryne. Brother Woodrow. Brother Wilbur.¡±


    The wounded and the elderly clasped Woodrow and Wilbur¡¯s hands. My brothers received them warmly, though I saw some of the villagers shiver at their touch.


    Harlan and the men set to work; they dropped their weapons and the piles of wood they brought along. I saw Wilbur walk in the shadows on the other end of the monastery walls as I led Agate and some of the women, elderly, and children into the church for the night.


    I had forgotten how dark it would be for them inside. I flicked my finger under my cloak and sent a flame upward, lighting the huge chandelier above. I realized it was the first time I lighted those candles. The candles burned low, but enough light to cover the center of the nave, the interior walls gray and cracked. The people pressed together as they entered the church. They looked at their footwear, perhaps wondering if it was proper to bring them inside sacred floors. I invited them with my open hands, smiling, encouraging them to come inside. They walked tentatively, looking at Agate and looking at the torn wooden pews scattered on the edges of the walls.


    ¡°We¡¯ve just started to fix everything,¡± I said sheepishly to Agate. I felt hot around the ears, embarrassed that I had guests inside without so much proper furniture for them to use.


    But the villagers sat on the floor comfortably. The children stared and pointed at the chandelier above their heads. It cast an inviting glow to them all. Their faces and shoulders relaxed.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± One of the children pointed to the only statue remaining at the altar. He looked somberly down at the faces of the frightened people.


    ¡°That is Saint Gaelmar, the Kind Flame,¡± I said.


    ¡°Who is he the Patron Saint of?¡±


    My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was stumped. If Edmund supported scholars, and Oswald protected soldiers and fighters¡­


    A warm wind flowed from the statue to me and through the church doors. The villagers closed their eyes to it, sighing.


    ¡°Outcasts,¡± I answered. ¡°He is the Patron Saint of outcasts and the wielder of hope.¡±


    The elderly murmured. Agate surprised me by inching towards the statue and kneeling. She made the sign of the Saints and prayed to Gaelmar. The rest of the people followed.


    ¡°Thank you for protecting our people, Gaelmar,¡± she whispered. ¡°We have felt your presence as we fought those nasty beasts. I hope you continue to watch over us as we regain our strength here in our hosts¡¯ dwelling.¡±


    I stepped forward, beckoned by a familiar force. I placed the palm of my hand on Agate¡¯s crown and said in a voice that seemed not my own, ¡°The Saints hear your prayers. May you be welcome here for as long as you wish.¡±


    Agate did not stir. I released her from my touch and went to the altar under Gaelmar¡¯s statue, and suddenly, I was reciting Old Yarbro, the Language of the Saints. They did not recognize nor understand my words, but my voice, I thought, was soothing them. They sighed at the prayers I memorized from the sacred texts. I was praying a hymn of welcoming travelers, as monks were sworn to do. If they found it strange, then they kept their mouths shut.


    And when they said the final closing line to any prayer, I felt it.


    Energy, strength, warmth, light, and hope. A stream of hope flowed from them and into me, into Gaelmar. Belief. They have uttered Gaelmar¡¯s name and called him, and now they offered their prayers to him. And he heard. Since I have inherited his kindflame, the prayers fueled my heart.


    I stood there, feeling it all. I felt like a flower about to bloom in summertime in a pleasant meadow. I felt like a river rushing to the sea, bumping and colliding with salmons upstream. I felt like being offered the sweetest pastries from a master baker. I felt my lungs fill with sweet night air.


    When I opened my eyes, I thought that I must have glowed and they had seen me. I thought that I had levitated, carried by the wind. But I was on the ground and their eyes were still shut tight.


    I released them and bade them to rest well. Agate helped the villagers lay out their soft quilts, handing out the mattresses she packed from her house. When they had all lied down, and saw the children smiling at me as I smiled back, I bade goodnight to Agate and closed the church door behind her. She watched me as I left, grateful yet¡­ wary. The men were busy communing with Woodrow, voices barely audible in the distance. Woodrow was showing them to the other side of the monastery. Wilbur was nowhere to be seen.


    I knew what must be done with this new strength.


    I stepped over our batch of crops and walked a few steps away. Feeling that the distance was enough, I planted both of my hands under the dark soil and made it fertile.


    ¡°Wake,¡± I said.


    The energy flowed through me, I saw warm light against my closed eyelids and when I opened them, the black soil was now a fertile brown, ready for planting. I did not have power enough to wake the gardens, but when I passed by the cloisters and looked at the oak tree, I saw, to my amazement, that a single branch of it had sprouted a fan of leaves, dark green in the moonlight.

 !!! ANOUNCEMENT !!!

    From here on out, the story will be the first draft of the story. And I may deviate or completely obliterate my outline. Future chapters will be more like condensed snippets or scenes and may jump from the present to the future and back to the past. I am aware that I am story vomiting at this point. It''s just that I want to finish this story as quickly as possible because I have loads more stories in my head that I want to tell. If I overthink every single bit and polish each scene at this slow speed, I may never finish the story. Work and other life stuff take a huge chunk of my daily hours, so I have to favor quantity over quality. I hope I can improve my skills so that I can write faster and write better at the same time, but as of now, expect redundancy and continuity errors, misspellings, and other writer-y sins. If you don''t want any of that, I completely understand, and thanks for reading, folks!


    From here on out, the story will be the first draft of the story. And I may deviate or completely obliterate my outline. Future chapters will be more like condensed snippets or scenes and may jump from the present to the future and back to the past. I am aware that I am story vomiting at this point. It''s just that I want to finish this story as quickly as possible because I have loads more stories in my head that I want to tell. If I overthink every single bit and polish each scene at this slow speed, I may never finish the story. Work and other life stuff take a huge chunk of my daily hours, so I have to favor quantity over quality. I hope I can improve my skills so that I can write faster and write better at the same time, but as of now, expect redundancy and continuity errors, misspellings, and other writer-y sins. If you don''t want any of that, I completely understand, and thanks for reading, folks!


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    From here on out, the story will be the first draft of the story. And I may deviate or completely obliterate my outline. Future chapters will be more like condensed snippets or scenes and may jump from the present to the future and back to the past. I am aware that I am story vomiting at this point. It''s just that I want to finish this story as quickly as possible because I have loads more stories in my head that I want to tell. If I overthink every single bit and polish each scene at this slow speed, I may never finish the story. Work and other life stuff take a huge chunk of my daily hours, so I have to favor quantity over quality. I hope I can improve my skills so that I can write faster and write better at the same time, but as of now, expect redundancy and continuity errors, misspellings, and other writer-y sins. If you don''t want any of that, I completely understand, and thanks for reading, folks!

 Chapter 11 - Reflection

    ---RYNE---


    Three nights had passed since I granted sanctuary to the village of Kent. Three nights when I allowed them to clear a section of the dark woods some distance away from the monastery grounds. Three nights after the direwolf ambush attacked the villagers.


    Three nights since I exhausted the supply of power and gained it back just as quickly, only for me to use that to wake another section of the granges so Agate and Harlan could plant their crops.


    Three nights since teaming up with Claude to purify the guardian beast in a cavern. And purifying that guardian beast and taming it into this furball crawling around my lap. I stroked Ember¡¯s fur as she rolled onto the dusty concrete floor, remembering the giant beast that was once her form.


    I turned around and observed the structure behind me. For many nights since we started here, I paid little attention to the wreckage of the church, much less the entire monastery. All my life was cobwebs and dust, old books piled on top of each other, grime, mud, blood, and brick walls. I thought it rather charming. But the villagers might be spooked by it. Though, the people of Kent were more open to the weird and macabre. Living within the dark forest and battling direwolves of legend and seeing grotesque, misshapen trees move might have contributed to their openness to my world.


    Still, I felt like my world needed to be cleaned. I swallowed, suddenly embarrassed at the memory of inviting them to the nave. Back then, I was already conscious of the blanket of dust on the floor.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been lying in the dirt and dry twigs for most of our lives, Ryne. This is a solid, strong shelter,¡± Agate said that first night when I apologized for the mess.


    The wooden pews lay broken and scattered to both sides of the nave¡¯s wall as if blown away by some great force. The concrete floor was still thick with dust. Dried, dead ivy clung to the interior walls, and some were creeping in from the shattered windows above.


    I closed my eyes and remembered the brilliant vision of the monastery and of the monastic grounds that Gaelmar showed me. Its crackles, polished marble walls, and columns, its spotless, gleaming floors, the gentle fountain on the forgotten orchard and gardens¡­


    Guilt took hold of my chest. I was supposed to be the caretaker of Rothfield. I had forgotten that role in juggling praying to the Saint for Banishment, dispelling the miasma that constantly hovers in the air, teaching and being with Claude, caring for the crops and garden and all this business with direwolves, blessing the food, purification of corrupted beasts, summoning limited offensive balls of holy flame that can cause great damage to shadow foes, and not forgetting the crucial ability to heal! All in one night.


    It seems like I haven¡¯t recovered from that yet.


    In this empty nave at the statue of Gaelmar¡¯s feet, I could still hear Agate and Harlan¡¯s men chopping away at the dark trees. I checked their progress earlier: Harlan was barking orders to the villagers who owned old, rusted axes.


    Agate knocked the back of his head. ¡°Be quiet, you fool! We¡¯re near a monastery!¡±


    Harlan massaged the back of his head, wincing, He talked low afterward, mumbling and gesturing to which tree they should cut next. The dead trees fell with a slow crack and low thud.


    I can feel Blake wriggling in his chains as my noonday prayers approached. It rattled in my mind, causing a slight headache. Ember growled from the corner of the nave. She scurried towards me and landed on my lap. A warmth that was more than her natural body heat radiated as I patted her head. She knew I was too weak to combat the darkness, and so she shared her flame.


    I uttered the words familiar to me and felt the fire heat the iron chains. Blake slinked back and as I opened my eyes, Ember was panting. I was near her face because my shoulders drooped.


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    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, as I touched her nose. She licked my fingers just as Agate opened the church door.


    My guest shivered as she stepped inside, holding her arms as she inched towards where I knelt. She squinted her eyes, scanning the broken pews and dried ivy that crept along the walls. I stood so she could see me from the long way to the altar.


    She stopped walking and spoke, not needing to shout for her voice to carry over. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find Woodrow or Brother Wilbur. I thought that I might find you here in the dar¡ªinside the church.¡± She gestured outside. ¡°We would invite you to eat with us. To thank you for your hospitality and generosity.¡±


    I wanted to. I wanted to join them and be outside and see Harlan and Jerome and the rest again. It would be nice. But I shook my head and told her that I needed to pray longer first. She nodded and gripped her arms tighter even though no wind passed from the high windows.


    ¡°You¡¯re shivering, still.¡±


    She dropped her hands and let out a long, shaky breath. ¡°It¡¯s cold inside your halls.¡± I noticed her tone was light enough. ¡°It is a good thing that the seeds we carried with us have taken to your fertile soil. You were right. Jerome and two of the scouts said that the leftover grains back in Kent had withered. It was good that we listened to you, and good of you to open your lands for us. Come be with us soon, Brother. May you bless our food again.¡±


    As she walked back outside and shut the door, I locked the church doors. Claude has not visited since that night when I purified Ember¡¯s monstrous corrupted form. I was worried that something might have happened to him, or that if things had finally sunk in for him now was frightened to even dare step foot through the dark forest.


    But, no. I would know if things had gone awry, I think. Still, not seeing the only friend I¡¯ve had was making me restless.


    Thankfully, the work was keeping me occupied. That, and quiet reflection. I sat back in my position under Gaelmar¡¯s statue and closed my eyes, focusing back on the visions of Rothfield that Gaelmar showed me.


    We were meant to rebuild this place. But to rebuild, we must first reflect. It¡¯s not like we have any materials now to even attempt to fix this mess. What I can do is close my eyes¡­ focus on the words Gaelmar has been whispering to me¡­ and focus on their weight.


    In the silence of the nave, my voice was loud and clear.


    First, I repeated the words to scatter away the miasma attempting to always wither our crops.


    ¡°Saint Gaelmar, Saint of Hope, with your influence, dispel the miasma haunting our doors. Let your warmth cast the chill away and let it help nurture the growth of those dwelling in these lands.¡±


    Second, I uttered the words to banish Blake¡¯s influence from my brothers.


    ¡°Saint Gaelmar, Wielder of the Kindflame, banish the darkness within us with your light. Let it burn your foes away and silence their wicked words. Blind them with your presence and hide us in your light.¡±


    I followed that with the words of purification as I stroked Ember¡¯s soft fur. ¡°Blessed Saint Gaelmar, known for forging friendships, I pray to soften the hearts of my foes and rivals so that we remember we are fighting the same battle. Underneath their poisoned talons and deadly fangs lies a friend just within reach.¡±


    Several of the people left small treasures just for this week: candles with the prayers and wishes offered at Gaelmar¡¯s statue. They have knelt under his feet and prayed and gave him thanks. I have felt the course of their prayers through me when I bent to inspect these candles. The tips of the flames rose higher and the incense assaulted me, giving me a bit of strength. Then just like that, all the candles sputtered out, exhausted.


    I was recharged, but I felt uncomfortable as I stared at the black wick and the sad melted candles. I thought, ¡°Is this what prayers and offerings are now to me? Currency? A trade-off to powers?¡±


    I huffed. ¡°Saint Gaelmar, Patron Saint of Outcasts. Guardian of those who don¡¯t belong. Those who knock on wooden doors Those who peek outside windows. Let this land be a shelter for them. Warm our hearths with your fire. May the food replenish us. May it be plenty enough to share.¡±


    My stomach grumbled as I was done with my reflection. If only I had paper, I could have written them down in simple language to the people, so they too could utter them.


    And then it hit me. Of course. I immediately searched Gaelmar¡¯s face and even though he was made of statue, I knew what he wanted me to do.


    I walked around the altar. It was a raised space of broken marble floor. Beside Gaelmar¡¯s statue were mounds of rubble. In the middle of the altar was a dark stain; a permanent shadow where a pulpit could stand.


    Gaelmar meant for me to preach. I felt suddenly cold, like how I felt when Agate asked me to bless the food back at Kent. I felt heavy and cold. He meant for me to comfort the villagers here and soothe their troubled spirits. He wanted me to tell the people that there was hope and light yet.


    I wanted that, too. To help them remember their fighting spirit. And what group of people better to start that with than the villagers from Kent?


    But the nave was dark, and people shivered inside from the cold winds that entered through the high walls. There was wreckage in front of me. This is not a proper place for soothing souls.

 Chapter 12 - The Waxed Seal

    ---CLAUDE---


    Claude stared at the old iron sword his father had left him. He had been staring and holding it as he sat on a bundle of hay inside their old toolshed since the morning after they went to Mount Lhottem. He swung the air with it with different gestures, trying to make blue flames appear, just like when they battled the monstrous form of Ember.


    Through the years, he did not feel anything out of the ordinary from the sword. It was special, certainly, being the only remaining possession, his father left when he disappeared. But not special enough to slay direwolves and wrap itself in odd-colored flames that did not burn him.


    The flame did not sputter or crack or burst into flame. It did nothing but be an iron sword, and Claude saw himself reflected in its body looking sad and a little bit frustrated. He sighed and placed the sword on his lap. He dipped a cloth into a washbasin nearby and decided to clean it.


    As his hands worked, Claude could not stop wondering. In his hands, it was simply an old sword. But that night with Ryne, it had become something from his dreams. The whole night felt like a dream. He had asked himself how a farm boy and a frail monk could ever go down the tunnels and defeat a great giant beast guarding a chamber from the mountain. But his arms and legs felt sore and little tears now threatened to ruin his old jerkin. And he had touched Ember¡¯s docile form when some power purified her. Strange and fun things had happened in his life because of Ryne.


    He wanted to visit him as soon as the sky woke, of course, but he had a strong feeling that Ryne and his brothers might have their hands full.


    ___


    When he walked inside the cottage, Claude knew something was off. There was a quiet thing that was creeping throughout the cottage. All the wooden walls and chairs and chests held their breath. Something warm was cooking over the fire, but he could not smell it. All the candles seemed to burn low.


    On the kitchen table was her mother, a strand of hair free from her cap, face covered by her hand. Claude approached her gently and saw a thick roll of parchment with just one glaring sign: a red mark with the seal of the Bahram House. Claude felt his blood run cold.


    ¡°Whatever we have won¡¯t be enough for the season¡¯s tribute,¡± Lydia said sadly.


    Claude instinctively wanted to say that Lord Bahram knew that all their harvests were brittle, but he had always wanted to seize this cottage back from us. Claude knew they were tenant farmers, and they had paid their dues since before he was born. Now, Bahram was becoming impatient and wanted an excuse to send them out.


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    ¡°He¡­ can¡¯t.¡± That was the only thing that came from his mouth. But Claude knew very well that he could. All of the lords could. ¡°Does Annette know?¡±


    ¡°She was the one who first found the letter. She knew what it meant. She¡¯s being very brave in her room, already packing which of your wooden sculptures to bring with us when we¡­ when we leave. She¡¯s already saying goodbye to all the furniture.¡± Despite the situation, Lydia couldn¡¯t help but chuckle.


    Then she sighed and arranged the lock of her hair. She stood and pushed her chair back and checked whatever meal was cooking in the pot. She brought out two wooden bowls and two fat wooden spoons and poured the hot meal. She laid them out on a tray and set them on the table. Claude did not even remember sitting down and eating. He did not even taste the meal. His hand simply moved on its own, dipping stale bread into the soup, then bringing it to his mouth where his teeth ground it into bits and where his tongue pushed it down his throat to swallow.


    This is our home, he keeps thinking. He feared this day would come. He thought he had been prepared for it, but maybe being with Ryne and feeling light again made him forget the sting he was preparing for. It all came crashing down on him. He looked around the cottage because everywhere had a story. There in the floorboards was where he chipped his tooth. There on the stairs was where he and his brothers chased each other. There in the corner near the candles was where he hid to grab Annete¡¯s little ankles.


    He was vaguely aware of his mother talking between bites. ¡°Maybe Lord Bahram can give us a few more weeks to at least contact Nhim or the rest of your brothers. I know that sending letters is expensive, but maybe if we could just plead with him¡­¡±


    ¡°This is our home,¡± he said to Lydia finally.


    Lydia fell silent and watched her son. By the way he held his spoon, he knew he was about to storm off.


    ¡°Our home is with each other,¡± she said gently. She swallowed, forcing the words out of her mouth. ¡°Lord Bahram has been kind enough to give us a good sum for the house.¡±


    Claude stared at her. ¡°Your father built this house. Your father and his. And Da fixed and rebuilt and expanded it, Ma. This is ours.¡±


    Lydia swallowed and blinked her eyes rapidly. They both remembered the painstaking work Claude¡¯s father had to do to fix most of the floorboards and banisters. He had to work hard to pay for the permit to cut down the healthier trees in the meadow and drag them back to his house when Lydia was pregnant with Annette. He had wanted a separate room for her, and two more for the boys. He strained and groaned and both remembered the sweat on his brow and his back. And now, it would all be for Lord Bahram.


    Lydia did not reply. Both of them couldn¡¯t finish their meals. Claude slowly rose from his chair and walked outside, grabbed his shepherd¡¯s staff, and walked towards the sheep pen. He did not look at the toolshed as he passed it.

 Chapter 13 - Everbane

    ¡ªWILBUR¡ª


    Wilbur was starting to get used to the sounds of nightly activity, having only his two other brothers for company for so long. Distant voices reached their crypt, together with the sounds of dinner and the occasional laughter. Wilbur preferred to be cooped up alone or be content with the company of Ryne, his favorite brother, but having other people to liven up Rothfield monastery was rather pleasant. Unlike the other fake monasteries they¡¯ve inhabited, this one was meant to grant sanctuary to those who needed it. The more people, the better.


    Selfishly, Wilbur felt empowered to have a sense of purpose again. He missed being in his station as a physician. With the ores they harvested, he was already planning on making medicines from the unique flowers lying dormant on the cloister garth. Once he woke them all up again, that is.


    Before everything else, Wilbur must wake up the everbanes, the last of the medicinal plants still slumbering deep underground.


    In the darkness of the crypts, a single flame cast enough light to show all the ingredients needed for this experiment. Wilbur stared at it, the orange flame lit by Ryne¡¯s kindflame powers bestowed on him by Saint Gaelmar.


    His hands were efficient and methodological. He placed a single fire opal in a mortar and began to crush them with the pestle. It broke easily enough, crunching into coarse powder. Wilbur continued with the rest of the fire opals he had gathered, transferring the red powder to one of his many pouches. As he was about to reach for the cinder voids next, he heard the church doors open and the shuffling of footsteps enter. Ryne had begun to invite the villagers of Kent every night. He offered the nave as their temporary shelter as they slept, most of whom were the elderly and frail, the women, and the children. The strongest warriors slept outside in the granges with Harlan, lying on cots or the bare grass. Little by little, the huts grew on the granges.


    Wilbur turned his attention to the cinder voids, noticing that he barely chipped away at the ore. ¡°This might prove tedious,¡± he whispered to himself.


    As he worked on it, he remembered the villagers as he observed them come out from a church service Ryne held. They look better somehow; revitalized within even though they still looked thin and hungry. Still, some of the friendlier children waved at him when they spotted him in the corner. Even Ryne looked better somehow. At least until the next night when he expended his energy in running the monastery and its increasing requirements to be functional.


    He blew out a breath. Wilbur actually wished Claude was with Ryne every day, but the boy had stopped visiting Rothfield monastery ever since their little adventure. He hoped he was not frightened.


    Then Ryne¡¯s voice filled the air. Wilbur smiled. His hair may be longer, but at least Ryne¡¯s voice was still light. When Knox preached, it was condescending and harsh, like a smattering of stones. Ryne¡¯s tone was kind and caring. No wonder people listened to his words of hope. He heard him give thanks to Saint Gaelamr and he felt the wind whoosh from upstairs.


    ¡°Blast it.¡± He was not making any progress in chipping away the cinder voids. With Ryne¡¯s preaching continuing, he placed the cinder void on the ground and began to crush it with his boot. After a few stomps, it cracked in half. ¡°Finally,¡± he whispered triumphantly.


    ¡°I thought you I heard stomping,¡± Woodrow called from somewhere the stairs leading down to the crypts. Wilbur hadn''t realized the night service had ended. ¡°You letting your frustrations out, brother?¡±


    Wilbur looked at him and tossed him a rough shard of cinder void. ¡°Help me crack them into manageable bits.¡±


    Woodrow held it near his eye. ¡°They look like weird worm-like stones clumped together.¡± He placed it on the ground and stomped along with Wilbur. When he was done with his ore, he asked, ¡°How did you make the bottles of explosives?¡±


    Wilbur pointed to his trusty satchel. I discovered some tiny little glass bottles hidden there. Once I smelled one of them, I knew what they could do. I sewed them shut, apparently. You better check your cloak. Maybe you have a little secret there of your own.¡±


    When Woodrow found nothing, he continued helping Wilbur crush the cinder voids until they were out of breath. They paused for air. ¡°I appreciate Brother Ealhstna¡¯s magnificent strength more and more,¡± Woodrow panted.


    Wilbur poured the powder fire opals into a glass bottle with a cover and a long beak-like spout on its side. He placed a metal holder on top of the sacred candle Ryne had lit earlier and positioned the bottle neatly on top. Of that flame.


    It smoked, filling the air with an unpleasant odor that smelled like burnt meat and mossy water. Wilbur added a pinch of cinder voids to the smoking fire opals, causing a tiny spark inside the bottle. Woodrow jumped back reflexively while Wilbur covered his eyes with one hand, squinting at the compound. Wilbur took the weird experiment out of the flame until it cooled then swirled it around until he saw the powder combining and melting into a thick black soup.


    ¡°That smoldering icky black goop is going to wake your flowers?¡± Woodrow asked, incredulous.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen us at work, have you?¡± Wilbur replied.


    Wilbur proceeded to the cloister garth and poured the unsightly mixture on the soil next to the dormant everbane and feverflukes. The silent, wonderful oak tree seemed to be staring down at them.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Woodrow said. One palm finger was pointing at the tree.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Wilbur said. He saw the short fan of leaves on the lowest branches of the once leafless oak tree.


    ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re doing good?¡±


    Wilbur did not know, nor did he answer him. But he hoped so.


    The soil began to react to the burnt black mixture. Woodrow stared at it, and it occurred to Wilbur that it was his first time seeing something of his creation bloom. He made an appreciative whistle as the soil came alive and pushed out the odd slumbering flowers underneath.


    They were shaped like roses but more sinister-looking with curling thorns shaped like a beetle¡¯s pincers. Its color was of brooding blood. Instead of a tightly wrapped shy center, these odd rose-like everbanes showed a sad, pus-filled bulb. Wilbur plucked one gently from the flower. He was afraid that he would pop it right there and then. As soon as he received the bulb, the pincers of the roses moved and cut its own stem and the everbane flower fell to the floor, dead.


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    ¡°Lovely,¡± Woodrow remarked.


    ¡°Something tells me this is poisonous and probably toxic to human hands,¡± Wilbur said as he stared at the sickly-colored bulb.


    ¡°Good thing we¡¯re not proper humans,¡± Woodrow commented as he followed Wilbur back inside the crypt.


    They both held a breath as Wilbur pricked the bulb with his long sharp nails. The pus oozed out like a broken yolk into another glass bottle. It smelled of sulfur and rotten eggs.


    He spooned in fresh water until it turned into a slurry. He mixed half the slurry into the golen medicine made from yellowtongue flowers in one bowl and also mixed the remaining half into the shivering maiden medicine.


    The black sludge reacted to the yellowtongues immediately, turning into a liquid with the color of dark amber. When nothing happened to the shivering maiden mixture, he analyzed it under his microscope and deduced that it needed more water and a reaction to activate it. Wilbur poured fresh water on the mixture and placed it atop the candle¡¯s flame. It bubbled, and once the liquid reduced, the mixture turned into a cream-like paste on the bottom. He extracted the liquid from the solid, putting it into two separate different bowls.


    Wilbur inspected the newer version of medicines under his microscope.


    ¡°Oh, my.¡± Wilbur¡¯s eyes saw the compound and he consulted the diagrams in his journal. ¡°It¡¯s made up of blobs with many keys,¡± he explained to Woodrow, describing the sight. ¡°Imagine the miasma¡¯s sickness as these weird leaves with a pattern that locks itself in the human body¡­ a pattern that keeps changing because of its mutating properties. That¡¯s why my previous medicines won¡¯t work with each wave of miasma. But these new medicines have the same pattern that attaches itself to the locks of some of the current sickness of this wave of miasma, unlocking it, then absorbing and destroying the dangers, curing the person.¡± Wilbur looked thoughtful. ¡°It would be accurate if I could inspect their blood to check, but my guesses are still sound, I think.¡±


    ¡°Right, Ryne mentioned that you can diagnose by sampling their blood. Handy power, by the way,¡± Woorow said. ¡°So¡­ you have a yellowtongue medicine that is a potent version of all the feverfluke flowers,¡± he said, trying to summarize the information given to him. ¡°The. there¡¯s the shivering maiden which is¡­?¡±


    ¡°A genetic crossbreed of some evergreen flowers and weeds with the influence of compatible minerals from ores.¡±


    ¡°How do you combine them?¡±


    Wilbur shrugged. ¡°I studied them. For years all throughout our journeys. Some flowers have certain elemental properties like the elements that make up these precious stones. Fire, wind, water, and earth. They just have to be mixed in the right order.¡±


    ¡°How do you know what order that is? Saints, I sound like Ryne.¡±


    ¡°Through many mistakes and explosive failed experiments. Why do you think I hide my work in all the dungeons of the monasteries we inhabited? And me smelling of weird smoke.¡±


    Woodrow looked at Wilbur. ¡°To think I made fun of your work. I owe you an apology.¡±


    Wilbur and Woodrow looked at each other. ¡°It¡¯s fine. You can make it up to me later.¡± Wilbur sounded grim. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t like it, but it would help the monastery and its new people immensely.¡±


    Wilbur went on. ¡°Back to the shivering maiden. It¡¯s more to do with the death-chill sickness. You know the one. It is the opposite of high fever. Your body doesn¡¯t have the strength to produce warmth and your many organs fail. As for the everbane flowers, I don¡¯t remember making them, but the journal I¡¯d written before our memories were erased showed clues of me being a rather busy alchemist. I procured some strange materials like boar tusks and even silver. I didn¡¯t know where I got the recipe for it.¡±


    Woodrow tapped the surface of the sarcophagus. ¡°You should name them.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Your medicines. So that you keep track of them. Who knows, maybe we will lose our memories again. You should write the names on your journal so that it¡¯s basically spelling it out for you.¡±


    ¡°What happens if somehow Blake tears the pages?¡±


    ¡°At least you tried. You can stow them away if you like. Make copies and hide them all around the monastery. You can slide them through the cracks in the walls or put them inside one of the mouths of those skulls.¡± Woodrow looked thoughtful. ¡°But remember, we didn¡¯t build Rothfield. We¡¯re improving it, sure, but the Saints themselves built this. Blake may have minimal power to destroy this place, at least not in his full strength.¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Wilbur said.


    For three nights, Wilbur tested the properties of the everbane nectar, and the crypt witnessed the many failed experiments of bubbling foam and sputtering flame. Once, a puff of deadly smoke rose and he had to evacuate the crypt and tell Ryne to not let any of the villagers of Kent inside. He grew hungry but satiated his thirst with animal blood. He discovered nothing, save for proving that the first combination of mixing medicines was correct. He cleaned his reliable glass vials and bottles, actually kissing them, and thanking them for sticking with him for this long.


    And then he noticed a small crack forming on the glass bottle he used most. He would need to stop making experiments that failed for a while or risk not doing any experiments at all. He knew the kind of glass that made up his equipment was hard to come by.


    That night as the villagers slept, Wilbur wrote down his findings on the pages of his journals:


    Yellowtongues. A superflower made from combining all the different variations of feverflukes in all the meadows since a hundred years ago. Its distilled nectar cures common high fever at small doses. Cures the odd fever caused by the miasma in its regular dose.


    Note: Woodrow insists I name my medicines. I have no patience for this. I shall call them simply ¡°Fluke I¡±.


    Shivering maidens. A crossbred perennial superflower made from holly, spruce, and winter rose. Cures the common chill in moderate doses. Its distilled nectar cures the deadlier, miasma-induced death-chill in frequent regular doses.


    Note: I shall name the ice-cold medicines ¡°Shivermaid I¡±.


    Everbanes. An odd flower that looks like a sinister rose. The yellow pus has some harmful qualities by themselves. But mixing with ¡°Fluke I¡± and ¡°Shivermaid I¡± medicines improves their potency as well as their effectiveness against the first wave of mutations we saw.


    I shall call them ¡°Fluke II¡± and ¡°Shivermaid II¡±. Again, no patience for names. Ryne helped me name the flowers themselves, for crying out loud.


    The harmful qualities I mentioned earlier: When the everbane¡¯s nectar is mixed with Fluke II and Shivermaid II medicines plus their corresponding waking ores, they turn into elemental explosives when heated above Ryne¡¯s kindflame. One turns into a flaming bomb that could potentially burn enemies while one freezes and slows them down.


    Wilbur yawned and stretched. Dawn was about to creep up from Mount Lhottem. He was about to sleep when he heard Ryne upstairs. He just realized that the boy didn¡¯t sleep in his sarcophagus. Did he even sleep at all? He climbed up the secret passageway and saw Ryne by the entrance, blessing the newer batch of crops that came from Kent. Ryne was smiling, but Wilbur saw his bleary, shadowy eyes.


    The boy will tire himself out if he keeps this up, Wilbur thought.


    He wanted to grab him and wrap his arms around his head and tie him to a chair and force-feed him pottage and bread with cheese. But the rays of the dawn was making him irresistibly sleepy, even though his hands ached for Ryne, and he managed to slither downstairs back into the crypt to lay down on top of his sarcophagus.

 Chapter 14 - Hearts and Livers

    ¡ªWILBUR¡ª


    Wilbur woke and immediately went to the monastic granges and cloistered garth to scoop samples of each soil. Under the microscope, he saw the compounds needed to bring it back to life. Temporarily, anyway. The influence of the miasma was stripping away its nutrients so that the crops grew weak. Add to that the miasma hovering in the air, turning the crops grey and brittle. But Wilbur knew what must be done to fix them. It¡¯s just like his medicines; it¡¯s a puzzle he needed to solve and he was already finding some of the pieces that would fit.


    Wilbur packed his satchels, tucking his small sharp knives into a folded burlap sack. The opportunity hadn¡¯t presented itself before, but now that it had, in the form of a burial site in the Village of Grant, well¡­ Wilbur hoped that cutting open several corpses would prove fruitful. He also wished to see young Tatum Worthe, the little boy whose death-chill he healed.


    Wilbur went up the passageway and into the nave to look for Woodrow in the granges when he saw the redhead with Ryne, sitting on the front steps of the church.


    ¡°You miss Claude and you¡¯re worried why he hasn¡¯t come back,¡± Woodrow stated matter-of-factly. ¡°I see you sulking for some nights now.¡±


    Wilbur crept behind the statue of Saint Gaelmar, out of their sight. The direwolf pup, Ember, leaned her fluffy head on Ryne¡¯s thigh, tail still on the floor.


    Ryne¡¯s shoulders fell. ¡°I¡¯m worried that the terror has sunk. I¡¯m afraid that he ha realize how awful it is to be in my company.¡± Ember whined. ¡°Not that I blame you,¡± Ryne said as he scratched behind her ears.


    Woorow¡¯s tone was patient. ¡°He¡¯s a farmer, Ryne. He has many responsibilities. Agate and Harlan have just told me that this is the usual harvest season. He¡¯s probably busy storing their grains and helping with their endless house chores, on top of taking care of his mother and little sister in a bleak world. He¡¯s the only one they can depend on.¡±


    Ryne leaned his head back. ¡°You¡¯re right. He¡¯s probably busy.¡± He chuckled. ¡°If only I knew exactly how to help him.¡± A moment longer, he added, ¡°It seems selfish now that I think about it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not selfish. You just miss your friend. Cheer up. I sensed Claude enough to know that he misses you too.¡± Woodrow said. Then he pushed Ryne¡¯s head a little, teasing him. ¡°Besides, you don¡¯t exactly look good yourself. All those prayers and blessings are taking a toll on you. Me and Wilbur are worried.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Woodrow. Thank you. Besides, I like to feel useful. And even though you¡¯ll say that whatever we did back at the past monasteries was of service to Blake, you still helped a lot of people. It¡¯s my time to give back.¡±


    ¡°Ryne,¡± Woodrow said firmly, ¡°We are grown men stuck in our prime. You, on the other hand, are stuck as a child. Barely reaching the age where the voice cracks and deepens." Woodrow pinched his arms. "Even though you''re thin, you still have the plumpness of infancy.¡± He scoffed. ¡°I hope Saint Gaelmar knows that.¡± He called as if the Saint was really listening to him.


    Wilbur looked up at the stone face above him. The eyes looked blankly at the floor. ¡°I have the same sentiments.¡±


    Ryne yawned and Woodrow bid him goodnight. Wilbur thought he heard Agata and Harlan call his two brothers, but Woodrow waved apologetically and retreated inside the dark nave. He and Wilbur locked eyes. Woodrow looked down at his satchels.


    ¡°This evening, when the villagers are asleep,¡± Wilbur said, reminding Woodrow of the plan. He motioned to the granges. ¡°I notice you¡¯re not spending much time with your new friends.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s tone was level. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can control myself around them, Wilbur.¡±


    Wilbur understood. He said, ¡°I think I may have a solution. Remember Fairstep Monastery?¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s face scrunched up. ¡°How could I forget?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Wilbur remembered the feast; how Woodrow''s red hair glowed more brilliant than the great flame roaring behind him, how his siren-like call made the villagers forget themselves and the men and women of Fairstep followed the passion hidden in their hearts. They thought it a successful event. But then came the aftermath of the feast; how the people turned into mindless husks slashing the air with their scythes.


    Wilbur went on. ¡°I meant the solution we did back then. We must collect the blood of the healthy, without the need to use your powers directly to charm them. That is how we¡¯re going to feed ourselves now. Yes, I will tell Ryne. Of course. Nothing goes in Rothfield monastery that he won¡¯t know about, since he is technically the one who runs this place.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s so tired,¡± Woodrow agreed, looking back at Ryne''s figure.


    ¡°If we¡¯re successful tonight, we can help him recover and save more of his strength in the coming days.¡±


    ¡°How? He doesn¡¯t drink blood. His powers don¡¯t come from the same source.¡±


    Wilbur pointed to the old toolshed. ¡°Grab two shovels. We¡¯re going to the village of Grant, the place where the vines took me. It''s a dying village. You will help me dig up bodies and harvest their organs. Particularly the heart and liver.¡±


    Woodrow stared at him. Wilbur could hear the questions racing around his head. But Woodrow settled on just one. ¡°Why?¡±


    Wilbur told him about his theory. ¡°The soil is affected by the miasma. Some sacred parts of Rothfiel still managed to survive, but most have been long dead or dormant. And even though he''s awoken, Saint Gaelmar¡¯s influence isn¡¯t strong enough to sustain it and needs Ryne, a small boy who has very limited energy. We need to nourish the soil with the thing it will not reject. Miasma. Particularly, the heart and the liver of the people who died under the grip of miasma-induced sickness.¡±


    ¡°Why the heart and liver?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s the most potent organ of the human body. And their properties seem to fit what the black soil of Rothfield monastery needs.¡±


    ___


    Woodrow and Wilbur shadowstepped into the night, away from the villagers and their night patrol. Wilbur admired the clearing Harlan and his men made and the few wooden huts that Agate and her team built.


    Woodrow saw him staring. ¡°Their builders insisted on constructing an elder¡¯s cottage first, but Harlan and Agate insisted in return that the elder¡¯s house be a communal shelter for the children and women until more huts were built.¡±


    They reached the border of the dark forest. This was the part that Wilbur wasn¡¯t sure would work. The vines only ever listened to Ryne. Otherwise, the dark forest had a mind of its own. Wilbur whispered to it just as Ryne did.


    ¡°We require assistance. Take us to the village of Grant.¡±


    The vines heard him. The ground rumbled, not enough to stir suspicion from the night patrol, their torches in the distance. The thick plants grabbed them by their waists gently and carried them through the underground tunnels. The vines slithered back after dropping them on the area where they first placed Wilbur, waiting for their mission to end.


    Woodrow surveyed the scene. His eyes scanned the dilapidated huts. ¡°Kent was a lot nicer.¡±


    Everything was quiet. There was not a whiff of life in the place, not a faint light that should be coming from the communal fire. Wilbur went to the house where little Tatum was. He called him, but no one answered. No head appeared in the small window of his hut. The entire village was abandoned.


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    Woodrow placed a hand on Wilbur¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t sense a living soul anywhere.¡±


    Wilbur sighed, thinking of Tatum. It suddenly struck him that maybe the Shivermaiden I didn¡¯t work after all, and it terrified Wilbur that he may dig up Tatum on the soil. But he put such thoughts to the back of his mind. He would deal with it when he saw him below the ground. He would not harvest his organs. Wilbur would bury him in Rothfield.


    ¡°There was a woman there,¡¯ Wilbur said, pointing to the visible mound that was their hurried gravesite. ¡°She wailed as if she was pushing out all the air inside of her. Letus not touch the body she mourned over. I know the place to avoid.¡±


    They walked down the hill and silently removed the Saints¡¯ marks on their graves. Wilbur brought his shovel down and began to dig until he hit wood. He opened the casket and saw the corpse. He sliced the chest and noticed Woodrow continue digging elsewhere. He collected the ingredients he needed and closed the casket whispering, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Thank you.¡±


    Woodrow asked, ¡°Why is it again that we need shovels when we can dig faster with our bare hands?¡±


    Wilbur pointed to the ground. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly dry earth, is it? The ground feels like mud. If you want to ruin your clothes badly, then be my guest.¡± Wilbur looked at his brother. Woodrow was blanching. ¡°And this from the speedy soldier who¡¯s efficient in dealing death blows.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s different when they¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°Just think that we need them for Rothfield, and for Ryne. At least they¡¯re contributing to the greater good, and I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t mind.¡± Wilbur stowed the heart in the thick burlap sack in his satchel.


    They continued well into the night, grunting with effort. The burlap sack where he stowed the organs grew heavy. Once, Woodrow stopped and shook his head, burying the coffin again. ¡°Young,¡± he simply said. When Wilbur encountered his own small coffin, he murmured a prayer like Ryne would have done.


    Woodrow wiped the thick, undrinkable, unsavory blood from his hands on the mud, making a face. ¡°You have a stronger stomach than I. Please tell me you have enough hearts and livers.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll do for now,¡± Wilbur said weighing the sack. It looked like Brother Swithin¡¯s catch after a hunt.


    ¡°What happens if you run out of organs?¡±


    Wilbur looked at him. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be running out of organs anytime soon.¡±


    Woodrow grimaced. His eyes wandered over the mound. ¡°Poor shmucks. To have died because you hadn¡¯t yet invented your potions. He helped Wilbur up. ¡°You¡¯re right, though. What we can do is to move forward.¡±


    They returned to Rothfield, Wilbur pressing the burlap sack close to his chest. It was handy that the fabric was thick enough to not let the blood seep out. He went straight to the dungeons and was dismayed that Ryne was still awake, haunting the cloister garth. Woodrow blocked the sack behind him.


    Ryne pointed to the everbane. ¡°You harvested it? What did it look like?¡±


    ¡°I have a sketch in my journal. I¡¯ll show you later,¡± Wilbur said. Ember was coming towards them, nose up in the air. He had to push her away gently with his boot. ¡°Why are you still up?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. I decided to walk around and something just told me to look at the moon under this oak tree. I thought I¡¯d look for you but both of you were gone.¡±


    They all looked at the oak tree with the symmetric branches, resembling the antlers of a stag.


    Under the moonbeams, Ryne glowed. He closed his eyes and walked to the parts of the monastery that were still covered in thick brambles; the areas they didn''t have access to. Wilbur and Woodrow followed him. These brambles and forest vines were thicker than the ones they encountered in the dark forest, wound tighter with thorns as thick and as tall as Ryne. Wilbur had been afraid the first night they arrived in Rothfield that the thorns would suddenly shoot out if he came too close. Ryne placed both of his palms on the surface of the brambles and said, ¡°Reveal.¡±


    The glow from his heart passed through his arms and into the sinister-looking cage. They glowed and cracked like frozen arms. Dust flew as they moved, slithering slowly back to the ground. The moonlight cast its faint beams on a structure hiding behind the brambles that Wilbur and Ryne instantly recognized.


    ¡°An infirmary¡­¡± Ryne whispered.


    Rothfield Infirmary had two marble columns before the entrance. Wilbur checked the brick walls of the infirmary. They looked old but stable enough as he pushed hard. The air surrounding it was thick with the smell of forest. Ryne led the way, touching the marble columns as he entered.


    There were already cots inside the infirmary; five beds on each side and a sturdy long table at the head of the infirmary, raised on a platform. The long desk had two candles on each edge, almost waiting for Ryne to light them. He placed one finger on the wick and gave it life. As soon as he did, the other candle lighted itself along with the torches on the walls. Dries leaves curled on the cots, but they looked comfortable enough. Nothing a little laundering won¡¯t fix.


    ¡°Sit down, Wilbur,¡± Ryne said. He pointed to the chair facing the cots.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Ryne wiped the dust and leaves off the chair and performed a gesture for Wilbur to sit. The flames sputtered immediately as he did, welcoming the new healer of Rothfield. Wilbur gripped the burlap sack tighter.


    ¡°There¡¯s a door here with a lock,¡± Woodrow said.


    Wilbur spotted a shelf under the table. A single key rattled when he pulled it open. He put it carefully on the metal lock of the wooden door and pushed. There was another more spacious room behind the infirmary proper. A large ornate table made of both stone and hardwood lay waiting at the center of this room. When Ryne touched its surface, the torches that were bolted around these walls roared to life.


    It was supposed to be his new lab, Wilbur just knew.


    The dark brothers pointed at the new things inside. There was a small window to let in a slant of moonlight. It fell perfectly on the lab table. They found several empty barrels stacked on the corner. Willbur was already thinking of its uses. One could be filled with water from the stream. One would be filled with other such liquids. Maybe one could be filled with salt to preserve the unsightly things in his burlap sack. Woodrow almost tripped on a section of the floor used to carry fluid out of the lab and out into the dark forest.


    ¡°No fair, when¡¯s it my turn?¡± Woodrow asked as he looked around the lab.


    Ryne chuckled and then he yawned. ¡°Well, now we know why I stayed awake for so long. I think I shall retire for the night. Have fun, brothers.¡± He called Ember but stopped short as he passed Wilbur. ¡°You smell¡­ odd,¡± Ryne said. He looked up at them, Wilbur betraying no expression and Woodrow smelling his cloak for show. They both hid their hands under their cloaks. He shrugged. The pup looked at them suspiciously and barked once before following Ryne outside. Wilbur wanted no secrets but now was not the time. He would tell Ryne after.


    Wilbur and Woodrow collected his lab equipment from the sarcophagus and placed them on the large stone-wooden table. They carried buckets of water from the stream to fill one barrel.


    ¡°It¡¯s just what you need,¡± Woodrow whispered when he was about to leave.


    Wilbur clapped Woodrow¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. It was uncharacteristic of him, that they both looked at his hand on the other¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Anytime.¡± Woodrow smiled at Wilbur. ¡°Now get on experimenting so you can help me cook for the people out there.¡±


    Wilbur did not waste another moment. He placed the carved heart on the surface of the table and began to cut it with his many small knives. When the pieces were manageable enough, he added them into the bottle with the soil used for crops. He placed that large glass bottle on top of the flame, waiting for a reaction. Sparks jumped from the bottle¡¯s opening. He watched them turn yellow, then, green, then, blue, then black again. Wilbur grabbed his microscope and inspected the soil. He sucked in a triumphant breath. The corrupted soil accepted the corrupted heart. But there was one more thing to do.


    He added clean water to the mixture until it bubbled. Slowly, the black color turned into dark copper. Wilbur smiled at it as he held the bottle under the moonlight. ¡°This is it¡­ this is it!¡±


    He ran to the granges and poured the mixture¨Cno, the fertilizer¨Cinto the first area of crops; the part where Claude and Ryne planted the rye and barley. Wilbur only had to add the glowing fertilizer to the soil a few drops to make it fertile. He saw under the microscope that the miasma soil accepted the nutrients.


    Wilbur felt he wanted to jump in the air. He returned to his infirmary lab and did the same procedure with the liver and the garden soil, the color more like russet than copper. The garden soil accepted it nonetheless. He would still need ores to wake the flowers, but at least Ryne did not have to expend his energy there.


    He hastily scribbled down his findings. Woodrow was right. This was crucial information.


    Managed to make a new type of fertilizer that would keep the lively quality of both crop soil from the granges and garden soil from the cloistered garth for a while. Need further testing to check how many drops to use per day.


    I suppose I shall have to name them now.


    For the monastery granges, I shall call it, ¡°Hartfert I¡±. I included the first version because there may be more versions of this as we progress.


    As for the cloister garth, I shall call it ¡°Verfert I¡±.


    We still need to harvest ores from the mountains to keep the flowers blooming. But suffice it to say, this will definitely help the monastery. This would immensely help Ryne.

 Chapter 15 - Warm

    ¡ªRYNE¡ª


    Even though I slept late, I still woke to the cold breath of dawn. Part of it was my body¡¯s clockwork. Part of it was an energetic direwolf pup licking my face and pawing my shoulder, shoving me with her nose, and pointing towards the granges.


    ¡°You know, you could walk around without me.¡± I patted Ember¡¯s head, yawning and stretching. She cocked her head to the side as if the whole thing was absurd. Woodrow was lying on top of his sarcophagus, arms protecting his chest in that curious pattern they made. I walked towards the cloistered garth and readied the prayer on my lips. But I did not feel the usual heavy cloud in the air.


    It was then I saw it; the green grass that marked the boundary of the healthy brown soil. The miasma was nowhere to be found. The air was untouched by the Unending Chaos. Not as much anyway. I checked the fertile soil by dipping my finger on it. I sensed WIlbur¡¯s alchemical presence here.


    Hold on. Wilbur did not sleep inside the crypts.


    I hurried to the infirmary, past the plants that crawled around the walls, columns, and brick walls. The lab door was still open. With a jolt, I remembered that there was a small window in his new lab where the sunlight could pour through. That was the first thing I saw when I entered: faint sunlight breaking free from the thick dark clouds and hitting the surface of the large stone-wood table. Wilbur was sleeping beneath it. I pulled his cowl to cover his face and made sure his long legs were tucked away. While I was on the floor, I saw thick sludge still flowing slowly through the drain. It smelled of blood and soil.


    I stared at the glowing bottles on his table. Different shades of brown. I looked at his boots and his sleeping face. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    There was a thick burlap sack that smelled awful. I blocked the window with it. I gave Wilbur''s sleeping form one last look before I closed the doors behind me and headed for the granges. The first area where Claude and I planted the crops looked just as fertile as the soil in the cloistered garth. The grains Claude gave to me that very first week in Rothfield the rye and oats, stood stable on their newly-replenished soil. Claude¡­ I hope you''re doing fine. I turned my attention back to the wide soil. The grains looked fine, but I saw the dusty miasma about to affect the turnips and potatoes from Agate''s camp.


    I closed my eyes and concentrated, whispering the prayer for dispelling. I felt the Gaelmar''s warming kindflame course through me and spread out like a welcoming blanket to cover the other crops. The miasma scattered. I opened my eyes and smiled at the strength that remained in me.


    Agate walked over as I enjoyed the cool dawn. She had invited me almost every morning to join them. I politely declined. I needed to rest and I didn¡¯t want to scare the others with my appearance even though I knew they were used to it by now. I waved at her and she looked surprised when she saw me step towards her. Agate recovered quickly, gesturing to the clearing where they were rebuilding their community. The communal fire was bubbling with their morning pottage. Some of the children and elderly greeted me. I nodded at them all, smiling.


    ¡°Brother Ryne!¡± Harlan called in his deep booming voice. He looked healthier, now that he was active again, chopping trees and forming wooden huts.


    ¡°Good morning, Elder Harlan.¡± I pointed to the fine dark houses they made. ¡°It¡¯s good to see your new houses stand strong.¡±


    ¡°May it last stronger than ones in Kent.¡±


    I sat on one of the stumps and blessed their food with my remaining strength. Finally, I thought. It has been a while since I nourished them. I prayed that this breakfast would give them more strength for the day. I listened to their reports and their stories. I chuckled at some of them. It felt good to be amongst people as well; villagers who were not scared of me and my brothers. When it was over, Agate pulled me to the side.


    ¡°We want to help you rebuild the church inside,¡± she said.


    ¡°Oh.¡± For so long, we brothers would do almost everything for our villagers. My instinct was to smile, shake my head, and tell her no. But ever since we came to Rothfield, it has always been a balance of helping one another to survive. I looked back at the spring seeds Claude gave. Our first start.


    Agate continued, ¡°You¡¯ve done plenty enough for us. It is time we repay you for your hospitality.¡±


    I clasped her hand. ¡°We do not expect anything back. But we appreciate your help, Elder.¡±


    Agate smiled and called Harlan, along with some builders. I took them inside the church and she and Harlan bent down to measure the broken pews with their hands and some long poles. In the afternoon, after I uttered the prayer for banishment once more to stop Blake from squirming, I saw the men chop more dark trees. Half of the builders went to work constructing houses while the other half were making new pews for the church.


    I wanted to help them, but even I knew I would be a hindrance with my physical weakness. What I did instead was pluck a few grains and cook them over a low fire. I even added some scorchberries for a bit of strength.


    Ember ran around me and I chased her, laughing. The other children came around and played with her. She was such a dear little fluffball, so far from the monstrosity of her adult corrupted form. As I watched them play, smiling at their squeals and giggles, I thought that I still had the energy to do more. It¡¯s just such a shame that I could not share this with Claude. I wondered if he still remembered his lessons. I wondered if he was still practicing his stances and sword swings, to parry, block, and sidestep.


    I handed the sweet pottage to the builders, and I saw with Gaelmar¡¯s eyes the motes of strength in their auras. The day ended fast. Twilight was cold. I couldn¡¯t take it anymore. A week has passed since we¡¯ve last seen each other. I wanted to know how my friend was doing. I wanted to make sure he was all right.


    I waited for Woodrow to rise. He startled when he saw me in the crypt, looking at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to see Claude. Congratulate Wilbur for me for his successful experiments, then tell him that he and I need to talk when I return. Harlan, Agate, and some of the builders are making new pews for the church. Go help them if you want. Maybe you could hunt some pheasants and quails for their supper?¡±


    Woodrow nodded, sliding off his sarcophagus. He joined me in the dark forest, separating a couple of steps away as he hunted.


    ___


    I thought for a moment that the dark forest would not let me pass. I thought that I was bound to Rothfield for all of my days, improving its structure and trying to restore it to its former glory, but the trees seemed to make way for me so that I could travel faster to Claude¡¯s farm.


    I remember him telling me that things seemed to move faster when he walked through the forest.


    I walked until the branches gave way to the distant lights of the cottage. Their charming farmhouse. I smiled. I blended into the shadow of the trees, just in the boundary between dark forest ground and farmland. There he was. Claude. He was with two other boys, one strong-looking and well-fed and one smaller. One look was all it took for me to know their position in society. The older boy must be Vincent Bahram, son of the ruling noble of Rothfield town. The other must be his little brother. they wore dark red capes with round shoulder pads.


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    Vincent¡¯s voice carried an air of pompousness. He talked to Claude as if he were his servant. Claude was looking down, only briefly meeting Vincent¡¯s eyes when spoken to. I sneaked his way to the farm, pulling the shadows around him until he reached the tall dry stalks of grains. The miasma was strong in their crops. With each step, the grains would easily stick to my hair and cloak.


    Vincent was handsome, but already his face held arrogance and misplaced pride. His brother¡¯s face was softer, though. By the way he coughed, I knew he was sick. But I sensed that his sickness did not come from the miasma. Perhaps he was born frail. My fingers went up to my face. I could relate.


    ¡°What kind of farm is this? The tribute next season better be worth the trip,¡± Vincent taunted. ¡°Did you see Father¡¯s face? He was trying to hold his frustrations in front of your Ma. But why he chose to control himself, I do not know. He could have torn a leg from your table so you¡¯d learn.¡±


    I saw Claude grip his shepherd¡¯s staff. His voice was calm, but I knew him enough to know that he was forcing it. ¡°It¡¯s not our fault that the crops have withered, milord.¡±


    Vincent stepped in front of Claude, looming over him. ¡°Don¡¯t talk back to me, peasant.¡±


    The little boy screamed and pointed at his older brother. Vincent swore and stomped the end of his magnificent cape, which had suddenly caught a small bit of fire. Claude tried not to laugh. I breathed in through my nose, trying to control the fire I conjured. I¡¯m sorry, Gaelmar. I didn¡¯t mean it.


    ¡°How dare you?¡± Vincent walked up to Claude.


    Claude stepped back, holding his staff in peace. ¡°I didn¡¯t set you on fire, did I?¡±


    Vincent was about to strike him when Claude blocked his hand with his staff. Vincent swore again.


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    The strong voice boomed from Claude¡¯s porch. Everything stilled. Lord Byruth Bahram was a tall, strict-looking man. Soon, Vincent will grow up to be like him, maybe even taller. If he survives long enough, that is. He stepped down on the steps slowly, revealing Lydia and Annette indoors. Despite the conflict about to happen, I was happy to see the little girl standing on her two feet. I think she saw me. I thought she mouthed my name.


    Byruth turned towards his youngest son and stared at him coldly, stopping him from crying. He towered over Vincent and held up a hand to silence him when he was about to speak. He looked at the burnt cape.


    He growled at him. ¡°That dye color does not come cheap. You will not wear anything red apart from social gatherings.¡±


    ¡°But, father¨C!¡±


    ¡°Get back on your horse,¡± Byruth said slowly. He turned around and did not even look at his other son when he said, ¡°Take Lukas with you.¡±


    Vincent glowered at Claude but quietly took Lukas by the hand. They walked off towards the fence that separated Claude¡¯s farm from the rest of Rothfield.


    Still looking at his sons, Lord Byruth said, ¡°I expect a worthy tribute than this season. This is your final chance. If not, then we will seize this farm and gather whatever grains you failed to grow. And butcher the remaining thin animals that managed to survive. You may stay in Rothfield town if you wish. Though I heard that my soldiers don¡¯t treat street beggars¡­ properly.¡±


    I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the fire that I wanted to hurl at his beard. Claude gripped his staff tighter. He bowed. He did not scream and swear at his pig face until their horses sped off back into their mansion.


    Oh, Claude. Woodrow was right. For all our nighty adventures, he was also bound by his duties as a farmer or whatever constraints his life was forced upon him. I closed my eyes and let him take his frustrations by poking the ground with his staff. Tomorrow, it will be better, I thought. Tomorrow, your crops will grow. I went back to the dark forest, resolving to help him with his problems. First the grains. Then the animals. I hoped Wilbur''s new experiments were not costly to make. I went into the first line of ark forest trees, planning on what to say to Wilbur when I heard footsteps following me.


    I spun around to see Claude. He froze when I saw him.


    ¡°Aw, I wanted to surprise you. Keen senses,¡± he said. He smiled. His face made it seem like we were just together last night. I did not know what to say except his name. He made a face. ¡°You went all the way out here without saying hello?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ it seemed like a difficult time for you folks. I did not want to intrude.¡±


    He turned back and frowned. ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s over now.¡± He smiled at me. I missed his smile. ¡°Now that you¡¯re here, it¡¯s easy to forget what happened. How¡¯s Ember?¡±


    ¡°Playful. The other children are getting their exercises with her.¡±


    ¡°The other children?¡± Claude¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡°A lot has happened the past week.¡±


    Claude closed the distance. He hugged me. He was so warm. My arms wrapped around him. ¡°I missed you,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I missed you too, friend,¡± I said. It seemed so silly now to think that he was terrified of being with me. ¡°How did you see me? I thought I was being quiet.¡±


    ¡°About that. When I was following you, the darkness was playing tricks on my eyes. Sometimes I saw you and then one moment you were gone and then you were already far off. Annette saw you on the fields hiding.¡± I thought he was pulling away, but he was pulling me with him. ¡°Come inside. It¡¯s been so long since Ma saw you. And I want you to meet my sister. She was starting to think that I just made you up.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? Does Lydia really want company after the tribute or inspection?¡±


    ¡°She misses you. We need someone warm inside our home.¡± Claude led me to the porch and called his mother. I looked at the warmth of the many candles in their house. ¡°Ma, look who¡¯s come to chase away the darkness!¡± He whispered to me, ¡°So what did you think of the Bahrams?¡±


    I said a word I learned from Woodrow. ¡°Pricks,¡± I said. Claude chuckled. ¡°Except for the little one. Lukas.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. He was born frail, though Lord Byruth tries to hide it. Rumor has it that his back isn''t straight. That his shoulder is higher than another.¡± Claude said, raising his own shoulder to demonstrate. ¡°He''s sort of twisted. That¡¯s why Lord Byruth insists that he wears those shoulder pads and that cape. To cover his body. He¡¯s good enough, I suppose. He¡¯s at the age where children don¡¯t know how to be bad. He was talking to Annette before Vincent pulled him aside.¡± Claude looked thoughtful. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s kinder because he¡¯s sick?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Then the cottage door swung open and the warmth of their home fell on me. Lydia was at the door and when she saw me, she beamed and raised both her arms to hold me by my shoulders. ¡°Ryne! Oh, Ryne! Good to see you!" She stared at the starless night sky. "But at this late in the evening? Come in! Where are your brothers? Have you eaten?¡± Already she was doting on me.


    I saw Annette by the door, holding onto her mother¡¯s skirt. She stood still until I bent down and asked her how she was. She smiled at me and called my name. ¡°Ryne,¡± she said. ¡°Ryne, Ryne.¡±


    Lydia sat me by the table and talked about her chores for the last week. She poured us all hot soup from the pot on the fireplace. She thanked us for everything. For Annette. For Claude¡¯s tutelage. For the food. We talked about my brothers and the monastery we were staying at. We talked until Annette yawned and Lydia brought her to bed. She¡¯d been staring and smiling at me across the table. When we were alone together, I smiled at Claude and placed my hand on his shoulder.


    It feels good to come back here.¡± I pulled away. ¡°Claude. Remember what I told you. Don¡¯t let their treatment of you stop you from learning all that you can. Let them laugh and let them bully you, but do not let them prevent you from learning your letters and learning how to fight.¡± I held his gaze, those brown eyes of his. ¡°Please.¡±


    He stared at me. He looked down. He smiled. ¡°Yes, all right.¡±


    ¡°You know you could have asked me for help. Why didn¡¯t you?¡±


    He sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to depend on you for everything, Ryne. It doesn''t seem fair.¡±


    ¡°Fair? Claude, we¡¯re friends. Friends help each other.¡± I faced him. ¡°Next time, don¡¯t wait for me to come here to find out you''re in trouble. Let me know. I¡¯ll be there. Wilbur and Woodrow and I will be there.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to feel like somebody needs to save us all the time. You¡¯ve done so much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not keeping score. And I¡¯ll do more because I want to. And I am confident in saying that if you were highborn and with your spirit as it is now, you would help everyone if you could. I see that in you. You would do the same for me.¡±


    Claude wiped his eyes. ¡°I really do miss you,¡± he said.


    We stayed in companionable silence for a long while, the fire crackling nearby. I helped him with cleaning the bowls and we stayed on his porch and bumped our knees as he told joke after joke. He must have stored that for days. I wished I could have met Belle again, but Claude hid him from the Bahrams. The night wind was warm today. Everything and everywhere was quiet.

 Chapter 16 - Pews

    ¡ªRYNE¡ª


    I returned to Rothfield late that night when I felt that Blake was about to stir within me. Lydia had left us alone on the porch. Claude and I just talked. It felt good to talk. He shared his frustrations with me and I listened. And I? I wanted to share all that was happening in Rothfield and all that has happened in the years before he was even born. It did not matter that I was older than him in years: we were both young, still. I wanted to tell him there were other brothers that I still feel whenever I¡¯m asleep. I feel their connection tugging at me in my dreams. In the end, I just told him about the villagers we met that night when we purified Ember.


    ¡°Come back tomorrow,¡± I said to him. ¡°You¡¯re always welcome at Rothfield Monastery.¡±


    Wilbur and Woodrow waited for me as I finished my prayers right under Saint Gaelmar¡¯s statue. They told me everything, from the everbanes to the hearts and livers. I simply nodded. I had no objections. The dead may rest more easily knowing that they have contributed to the survival of the living. I even think that this was how it was supposed to be, seeing as I can barely dispel, purify, and banish with the limited amount of power bestowed on me.


    Besides, I was almost doing the same thing with the offerings of the villagers to Gaelmar. They are slowly recognizing his name and calling him. I was harvesting their beliefs. I feel myself getting stronger because of that.


    ___


    Ember was looking out into the trees when dawn broke. Claude merged from the arched path, carrying his sword and wooden staff. He stopped as he saw the settlement nearby. The villagers of Kent looked at him. Harlan and Agate stopped their woodcutting and woodbuilding. I called them all over and introduced them.


    ¡°Sturdy sword. You know how to use it?¡± Agate asked.


    ¡°Brother Woodrow is teaching me how to fight,¡± Claude answered.


    ¡°He seems to be a sturdy lad,¡± Harlan said. Then he mocked-punched Claude¡¯s shoulder. Claude his fist with his hand, his small finger curling around Harlan¡¯s large fingers. ¡°Quick reflexes.¡± They both approved.


    The villagers of Rothfield seemed to approve of me having friends. There wasn¡¯t anyone among them that was close to my age. He admired the crops steadily growing in our soil. ¡°Give me your seeds, Claude. I shall plant them here.¡±


    He did so, shyly. We grabbed the rusty hoe from the toolshed and began to sow the seeds, a couple of paces below the first area of his grains. Claude wiped his brows and admired the healthy brown stalks. Ember appeared out of nowhere and leaped on him. She licked his dusty face.


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    ¡°I missed you too,¡± Claude giggled.


    We wrote on the soil again. The children watched us from the distant settlement, thinking we were drawing. They continued staring until their parents called them back to do their daily chores. Claude stared at the little huts sprouting where dark trees once stood.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad that you gave them shelter. It¡¯s making the grounds look like a proper monastery now.¡± He squinted at the builders. ¡°What are they doing? The ones on the other side. Are those benches?¡±


    I brought him to where Agate was supervising her team. ¡°We¡¯re making the pews for the church,¡± she said.


    Claude watched as they smoothed the bark with their tools. He looked at me. ¡°I want to help.¡±


    I remembered he was a talented woodcarver. I didn¡¯t want to say no, so I let him show his skills to Agate. He helped smooth and carve the structure of the chairs. He borrowed one of their chisels and carved an ornate flower on the side of the pews. On another, he carved the simple version of the mark of the Saints.


    Agate inspected his work. ¡°Fine craftsmanship. Nimble fingers and strong hands. You¡¯ll make a fine husband someday.¡±


    Claude chuckled. He asked me with his eyes. I told him, ¡°Aren¡¯t you busy with your farm work?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to grow, Ryne. We just sowed our hops, radish, and cabbage. It would take a while, if not all summer, for them to grow with the poor quality of our soil. At least here, I¡¯ll feel useful.¡±


    I left him to it and went back inside for prayers. When I got out, there was a crowd watching Claude chip away at the wood. I saw that he had made a small carving of a duck for one child. The children gathered around it as the villagers clapped. Even Agate was amused. Harlan ruffled Claude¡¯s curly dark brown hair. I smiled. He must feel so alone too, even though he was with his mother and little sister. He must miss his other older brothers.


    When they had finished a pew, the builders brought them inside the church. I made sure to light the candles above. Claude hovered in the doorway. I just realized that I have not invited him inside the church. Not once. I grabbed his arm softly and led him inside. He looked at the entirety of it all.


    ¡°It¡¯s so big.¡¯ he squinted at the lonely pillar on the platform. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Saint Gaelmar. Our Patron Saint.¡±


    Claude inched closer. ¡°Oh. Yes, I recognize him now. This was him at the final battle. He¡¯s usually depicted as being young, like close to Woodrow and Wilbur¡¯s ages.¡±


    My brothers came out of the shadows as if they were called. Woodrow hurried to Claude¡¯s side and immediately teased him for not coming back sooner. Wilbur¡­ Wilbur actually looked happy that he was here. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you well,¡± he said. Then they went off to help arrange the single pew.


    Claude and I looked at that long bench and imagined the church complete with these dark seats. Rothfield Monastery was improving. The crops were growing. People have begun to make this their next home. The flowers are blooming. This was the start. Rothfield was slowly revealing itself to us, one building at a time.

 Chapter 17 - Candles

    The bottle of Heartfert I was in my hand, its curious dark-brown color glowing subtly under the moonlight as I traveled from Rothfield monastery to his farm. I saw the glow of their fireplace from the window. I touched their brittle grains, sensing the miasma there, before I dumped a quarter of Heartfert I on the soil.


    There was no way I could gauge the effectiveness of the fertilizer in the soil here. I only had a connection to Rothfield grounds and some chosen lands that were still somehow spiritually connected to Rothfield. Dipping my finger here would be useless. I retrieved another empty bottle, slimmer than the container for the fertilizer, and scooped up a sample of the fertilizer-soaked soil for Wilbur to check in his new lab. Holding it in the moonlight, though, the farm soi¡¯ls color looked already fertile. I was hopeful as I brought it back.


    Wilbur checked it on his table, under the great magnifying glass and nodded. ¡°It looks healthy enough.¡±


    Claude came up the church¡¯s steps early in the morning. ¡°You did something. I know you did!¡± He was smiling. ¡°I was going to visit you when I noticed the new seeds on the ground were already growing fast.¡± I nodded. I hoped it grew as fast as the crops on Rothfield.


    We continued to add drops of fertilizer to the soil. The grains grew stronger still on the second, third, and fourth nights. They were almost halfway the size for harvesting. But on the fifth day, these fertilizer-enhanced grains turned brittle once more.


    Claude showed me the rough grains on his hand. I was dismayed. It seemed that crops still needed my prayer for dispelling miasma for it to grow on soil outside of Rothfield. That, or a much more potent fertilizer. Maybe I could imbue the fertilizer with my prayers somehow. Make it mix together like how Wilbur does alchemy.


    ¡°I wish I could I give you more fertilizers to try, Claude. But we need the fertilizers here to make their own crops grow,¡± I said, pointing to the villagers of Kent. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Claude shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s all right, my friend.¡± He let the wind carry the dry grains from his palm. ¡°Thank you for trying.¡± It hurt to see his sad smile.


    ¡°What we can do now is to plant your seeds here so we can care for them better.¡± I showed him the healthy grains and the leafy tops of our root vegetables. ¡°Maybe they can grow better here?¡± It hurt slightly to still lie to him.


    Claude looked down, and I knew he was afraid to look desperate. His other hand was tucked in his pocket, still carrying the spring seeds. I took his hand away from his pockets and brought my fingers to pry his¡¯. The seeds stuck to my hand. I tapped his shoulder and matched his sad expression with a smile. I nudged him to the area close to the first crops he had given me.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking space here,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°Good,¡± I said. I dug the seeds with a shovel he took from the old toolshed. ¡°I need more of your presence here, anyway.¡± We planted the seeds silently and Claude fetched a pail of water from the stream surrounding the monastery. ¡°You will still have your home by the end of the season,¡± I promised him, patting the ground.


    He searched my face. He hugged me. ¡°I believe you.¡±


    He surprised me by going inside the church, passing the pew made of the dark trees he helped carve. He looked up at the statue of Saint Gaelmar. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a believer, but if you¡¯re listening, thank you for bringing me a friend.¡± We exited the church. A couple of steps away from the steps, he turned back again. ¡°I realized I never thanked him properly.¡± He looked at the little mounds we freshly planted. ¡°Even if this one fails, my feelings will not change. I am thankful to have met you. And your brothers.¡± He went on his way home.


    Wilbur and Woodrow were behind the church doors when I went back inside.


    ¡°He¡¯s a nice boy,¡± Wilbur whispered.


    Woodrow said, ¡°Such a good lad.¡±


    My brothers went to their respective stations; Wilbur to his infirmary to attend to his patients, and Woodrow to keep the illusion of normalcy. The villagers of Kent were quite open to the supernatural, but even they would not handle the idea of two brothers drinking blood. I thought about Lydia and Annette as I stared at Gaelmar¡¯s statue. If we could not save his farmland, then saving his little sister would have been for nothing. ¡°Help me save him,¡± I prayed to the Saint.


    Ember came up to my side. I sat on the floor with her. I sighed. I knew what I must do.


    It was unsavory, and I did not like it, but I, too, was beginning to grow desperate. If belief and prayers fueled the Saints¡¯ powers, then I have to make my sermons convincing. I need to really make them believe that Saint Gaelmar was still with us so I could use more of his kindflame. But my words alone were not enough. I looked at the state of the church. In the vision Gaelmar showed me on our first arrival on Rothfield, there were bright, tall candles illuminating the halls and pathways of the entire land. The pews were made of polished oak. The columns were gleaming marble instead of crumbling stone. The ambiance of the church influenced their reciprocity and their belief in the Saints, I just know it.


    So, I needed to work on that.


    I crossed the cloistered garth towards Wilbur¡¯s infirmary. It felt nice going to a new place in the monastery. He was bent over his table, checking on the quality of his potions as usual. I told him of my plan.


    ¡°Candles. Let¡¯s start with candles,¡± I said.


    ¡°Making candles is simple enough,¡± Wilbur replied. He looked at the torches mounted on the walls. They¡¯re usually made of beeswax, but int he absence of it, animal fat would do. Lucky for us, we could make tallow from the fat of the pig about to be butchered tonight.¡±


    A patient groaned from his bed.


    After cleaning the infirmary, Wilbur decided to admit the sick. My power wasn¡¯t strong enough to dispel the miasma in the settlement, so it still affected the people least resistant to it. Fortunately, Wilbur has been making more medicines with his growing flowers in the monastic gardens. But since they need to constantly be reawakened through the use of certain ores, Agate, Harlan, and their fighters have offered their services to gather more of those ores in Mounth Lhottem. Woodrow and Wilbur sometimes accompanied them on night missions, and if I had enough power, I blessed their swords with Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame just like I did with Claude when we fought off those direwolves, turning them into ash.


    Wilbur took the medicines from his table; the one he called Shivermaid II and the one he called Fluke I. The blues and yellows swirled in their respective bottles as we headed for the infirmary proper. Three of the ten cots were vacated. An old man with a gray beard was coughing on the vot nearest the door. Wilbur took a spoonful of the fever medicine, Fluke I, and brought it gently to the man¡¯s mouth. Then he took the smallest dose of Shivermaid II and added it to the soup for a woman affected by the death-chill.


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    I grabbed his arm when went back to his office. He stored his medicines back in the cupboards. ¡°How about you? Have you fed?¡±


    ¡°I have. Woodrow and I take turns drinking the blood you have collected from them, depending on which of us needs it more.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°But you¡­ aren¡¯t starving?¡±


    Wilbur smiled and nodded quietly. ¡°The villagers are safe from our bloodlust.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that, Wilbur. I¨C¡±


    He made a peaceful gesture with his hand. ¡°I am joking, Ryne. I know what you mean.¡±


    They had told me of their plan, some night ago. It was a repeat of what happened in Fairstep Monastery. They will heal the men and women of their sicknesses and then drink their healthy blood, preferably without using Woodrow¡¯s charm.


    ___


    The great communal fire was already roaring well into the night as I approached Agate and Harlan¡¯s camp. I told her of my request to make candles from the pig they just slaughtered. She nodded and called some of her women and their children to help me. We sat inside one of their tents. One woman delivered the fat in a thick bowl and some of the children brought in the dried pith of the rush plants for the wick. We patiently dipped the rush into the fat and let it cool, over and over again until it was thick enough to stand on its own. I returned to the shadowy church with those new candlesticks. I was about to place them near Saint Gaelmar¡¯s feet and the bent candle holders beside the pews when Wilbur spotted me. He emerged from the cloistered garth holding icy-blue petals. He held it out to me.


    ¡°Even though these are mainly used for medicine, they still are flowers. You can use them as sweet-smelling incense for your candles.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you need to use them for your valuable medicines?¡±


    ¡°I can spare a few.¡±


    I took the shivering maidens from him and smiled, mixing them with the soft wax of the candles. They now looked like copper carrots with blue bits sticking out. ¡°I hope the smell would be more pleasant than its sight.¡±


    ¡°I am also quite curious if smelling them would produce a similar effect to drinking them as potions,¡± Wilbur continued.


    I chuckled. So this was another experiment.


    ___


    Saintsday. The villagers of Kent filed inside the church. Already they noticed the small improvements made. There were now two pews that the elderly could sit on and the soft glow of the candles chased away some of the shadows. When the children were near enough, sitting in a semi-circle in front of Saint Gaelmar, they smiled at the subtle scent of the shivering maiden candles. I raised my arms and began the service. I did not know all the words I said, only that I meant all of them. I held in my heart the affection I felt for my brothers, and my friendship with Claude, and the responsibility I felt towards the villagers staring at me.


    My voice echoed throughout the church. ¡°Like Saint Gaelmar, we need to look to our allies for strength, and even though the world is cold and alone, we must remember the flame in each of us, glowing brighter and warmer when we stick together.¡±


    I saw mothers cradle their smiling children. Agate and Harlan stood at the back, looking over their villagers. Her arms were crossed, expressionless but nodding. Harlan was smiling. I felt their warmth course through me. I prayed a simple prayer from one of Knox¡¯s sacred books¨Cthe ones untouched by his agenda.


    The same warm wind from every sermon swirled around the church and seemed to go through me when the villagers responded to the prayer, uttering Saint Gaelmar¡¯s name. I felt a gentle whooshing in my chest. Their prayers had fueled me. The scent of the shivering maiden candles grew richer, like icy mint in warm wind. I felt the cooling sensation of the shivering maiden petals on my skin. Wilbur will be pleased. It is not the same effect as the potions¨Cbarely a fraction¨Cbut it still helped somewhat, especially in the shift in mood. Woodrow poked his head on one stone pillar. He, too, sensed it.


    ___


    That night, I had a vision.


    We were in a delightful, sunny meadow. Gaelmar was standing in front of me. ¡°You are ready to hear the prayer for growth.¡± His voice was a deep rumbling. He leaned close to me, lips close to my ears. But when he spoke to me, it was the voice of a woman. Hers was the gentle waves in the morning. The words etched themselves into my heart.


    As soon as I woke, Ember was already near the church¡¯s entrance waiting for me. She watched me as I placed my palms on Claude¡¯s new crops. I repeated the words that I heard. ¡°I bless this land. May the crops never wither. May they grow rich and produce a bountiful harvest.¡± The warmth I had gathered from the villagers¡¯ offering of prayers warmed the soil. I dipped my finger on the soil. I felt that it would grow twice as fast.


    Only a week went by when the crops doubled in yield. All the villagers were bewildered at the sight and speed of those grains. Claude stared and dumbly held the grains when I harvested them for him. ¡°Show that to your Lord Byruth.¡±


    He gave one long stalk to me. ¡°It is only right.¡±


    I did not take the grain he held. ¡°Claude, you don¡¯t have to pay tribute.¡±


    He pressed the grain to me. ¡°Take it. Please.¡±


    I gave the grain to Harlan and Agate, cooking it along with their turnips and parsnips in the bubbling pot over the communal fire with the rest of the villagers. They appreciated the healthy harvest. They appreciated me sharing the bounty of the land, I felt. Agate smiled in approval. I sensed a decent surge in stamina motes. Again with the music playing. ¡°It is livelier here,¡± Claude said, closing his eyes. He stayed for a bit longer before returning home. Even Woodrow made a rare appearance, juggling wooden balls and talking to the scout Jerome.


    Before I went to bed, I planned.


    I needed to know the priorities of my responsibilities. Everything was like a trade, like a currency. The prayers fueled my kindflame, and I must spend or invest the kindflame wisely per day, per week.


    I needed to analyze Rothfield properly. If I spent most of my kindflame to dispel the miasma affecting the people, then the villagers would less likely get sick and Wilbur could make more medicines and stock them up for future use. But that meant minimizing the protection for the crops and medicinal flowers. Then there were other factors to consider like monsters creeping up and sudden missions when we needed to fend them off.


    What I do know is important is that If I spread myself too thin, then chaos could erase all our hard work, and living with mortals does not afford the luxury of time.


    ___


    That was what I did.


    I balanced my prayers, alternating between each day''s demand. Some days, I cast the prayer of dispelling over the crops, then over to the settlement. Some days, I channeled more fire into the prayer of banishment so that Wilbur and Woodrow could go into the mountains to mine ores and help with fighting the dark wolves manifesting because of the Unending Chaos. Every Sainstsday night, I bless the small area of land to help Claude¡¯s crops grow.


    This went on until the time for Bahram''s tribute arrived. Claude had told me when. I went to their farm at night just in time to see Claude offer the sacks of grains for the intimidating lord.


    Vincent Bahram was not smiling. ¡°But how?¡± He sounded almost indignant and a bit amazed. ¡°Their crops are still brittle.¡± He said pointing to the crops that cracked in the wind.


    Lord Byruth¡¯s face was impassive as he observed the sack of golden grains. His eyes scanned the farmland. ¡°As long as they know their place and the people of Rothfield are fed, then what does it matter?¡± He knew Claude could not have stolen it from somewhere.


    They went back into the night. Vincent looked cheated. He looked as if he was eager to have snatched up this farmland for his own. He probably wanted a big playground for his horses. Claude spun around to see me hiding in the grains. We smiled at each other, triumphant.

 Chapter 18 - Diagnosis

    The infirmary was full of movement that evening. It was time that the villagers paid their tribute, as the awful lord Bahram would say. It was time to collect their blood so that my brothers could nourish themselves.


    My small fingers were holding an elderly patient¡¯s wrinkled arm, checking the bruise-like markings fading on her skin. I brought out the glowing blue Shivermaid II bottle and shook it gently, the iciness of its contents swirling around.


    ¡°One spoonful of this, and you¡¯ll be able to sit out with the rest of your friends,¡± I told her. This patient had curly wispy hair, like frail cotton. She smiled as I brought a spoonful of medicine near her mouth. She shivered a little and was helped out by one of the burly warriors from Harlan''s camp.


    The cots were laundered by many of the women and children villagers. They brought out their large wooden basins and made more from the trees of the dark forest once we realized the fabric from the infirmary was too large. These newer ones were made in the shape of barrels. I helped them collect water from the stream and saw them sprinkle potash from their communal fire over the fabric. The children then took turns stomping on the cots, laughing.


    Wilbur even added a few of his yellotongue and shivering maiden petals in the last wash, curious to see if it had any effect in the water without Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame, but there was none. It simply smelled pleasant.


    On one side of the infirmary were those very same children, sitting on those freshly laundered cots, their little legs swinging over the edge. Wilbur was soothing them as their mothers watched. Agate was among them, overseeing the whole procedure. He pricked their thumb, swabbed the tiny blood quickly with cotton, and placed them on a small wooden dish with the child¡¯s initials. Woodrow was stationed just outside the infirmary doors, playing the wood pipes he borrowed from Jerome, filling the empty air with light music.


    ¡°It¡¯s a real treat to do this now, instead of the dour mood Blake and Knox insisted on,¡± Woodrow commented.


    ¡°An infirmary should not be so sullen,¡± Wilbur agreed. ¡°It is already dour enough.¡±


    I smiled. For my part, I made sure the flames on the torches glowed brighter and more welcoming. The feverfluke incense also helped to produce a warmer ambiance.


    ¡°If only I had sweetmeats¡­¡± Wilbur mused. I remember he used to give them to the children back at Shoreglass Monastery, our first home, as a reward.


    But the children of Kent barely caused a fuss. Just like in that first monastery, they trusted Wilbur. They held out their arms and hands. Wilbur sent them off one by one until Agate left and was replaced by Harlan. He brought in the men and women warriors. Woodrow stopped playing as he took over for Wilbur, who retreated inside his lab and arranged his equipment. I helped him prick the flesh of the men and women on their forearms, letting the blood flow into the small wooden bowls positioned just under.


    ¡°And you¡¯re certain you can learn much from looking at our blood?¡± Harlan asked. We had told them what we were planning. Not all of the information, of course. But enough for them to understand that we¡¯re trying to help them.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Wilbur said calmly. ¡°I would check them in our lab and know if they¡¯re lacking in certain¡­ bile.¡± He was using the words he hoped they would understand.


    We had explained to them earlier that there were certain minerals in the body and that if any of them were lacking, the whole body would suffer. Resulting in the loss of optimal work. Resulting in frail bodies that were unable to defend their villages. Agate understood enough. Harlan got the principle, but he couldn¡¯t wrap his head around how blood led to those.


    Harlan shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re the physician.¡±


    I watched them closely, my brothers. Wilbur came back and resumed his work, his fingers steady with practice. Woodrow was biting his lip under a mask of concentration, but his eyes were glowing a distinct shade of green as he watched the dark red blood run. I tapped his shoulder lightly. He withdrew and I took his place.


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    ¡°You are so young, brother,¡± I heard them say again.


    I smiled politely. For a while, there was silence save for the crackling of torches overhead and the sounds of branches outside. Warriors came in, we drew their blood, and they filed out, replaced by names Harlan called from outside. We told them to not lift or do any heavy activity after.


    Jerome, the dutiful scout and archer who Agate was fond of, went inside and scanned the infirmary. His eyes fixed on our redheaded brother on the corner. Woodrow was not meeting his gaze. He went up to him. ¡°I was hoping that we could have a word, just us two.¡±


    Wilbur, Woodrow, and I looked at each other. Jerome continued, ¡°You seem so scared to touch me now, when the first night we met you were friendly. Have I done something to offend you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°No.¡±


    I led Jerome and Woodrow to a cot separate from the ones the warriors occupied and placed the tools needed to draw blood. I locked eyes with him. If he wanted penance for what he did, then this was what he had to do.


    Jerome plopped down and looked at Woodrow while Woodrow focused on the sharp needle he held. My brother took a deep breath and nicked Jerome¡¯s skin and let the bright red flow into the bowl. ¡°You have healthy free blood,¡± Woodrow commented. ¡°You have a free spirit there behind all your doubts about your skills.¡± Finally, Woodrow looked at Jerome¡¯s eyes. ¡°You have become stronger. Especially at that last battle. You have proven yourself. You should be in the middle of the communal fire and take your space.¡±


    ¡°Could you help me with that?¡±


    Woodrow nodded, smiling. I patted Woodrow¡¯s shoulder and left them.


    ___


    Our last two patients were Harlan and Agate themselves. Woodrow and Wilbur worked on them as I arranged the cots and swept the floor with a broom made out of dried twigs.


    We locked the infirmary doors after we sent the two of them away. I told Ember to guard the church doors as we convened here. I dimmed the torchlight, save for the ones in Wilbur¡¯s new lab. Wilbur arranged the blood we collected on the large stone-wood table, sounds of smooth dishes sliding over the surface. On one side was the blood of the elderly, and on the other were the dots of blood in cotton.


    Wilbur brought one cotton to his mouth, closed his eyes, and tasted it. He spat the wet cotton out. ¡°Healthy,¡± he said. He did this with the rest of the samples, deeming the first four the same good result. He paused on the fifth cotton. It lingered in his mouth. He made a sound. ¡°Iron. This one needs iron.¡± He checked the initials I carved on the dish. ¡°Kory.¡±


    She was a little girl whoo always had a slight cough. She was the slowest and needed to take afternoon naps and early evening sleep.


    He began to taste the rest. Three of the children needed iron.


    Then he set to work on the adults. He checked Agate and Harlan. Agate needed iron as well. ¡°Harlan¡¯s blood is strong. But he needs rest.¡±


    Almost all the elderly and grown men and women lacked nutrients. ¡°Calcium. Protein. Iron.¡± Then he said weird names like, ¡°Potassium. Cobalamin. Zinc.¡± He sighed. ¡°And, of course, the sunlight vitamin.¡± He looked at us. ¡°You remember how mothers hold their babies to soak in the early morning sun? That was supposed to be the only free medicine that was available to them. We need to manufacture new sources.¡±


    ¡°How about Jerome¡¯s blood?¡± Woodrow said, holding the dish.


    ¡°He¡¯s perfectly fine,¡± Wilbur answered. ¡°Fit as a fiddle. Though there¡¯s something there that I can¡¯t quite place.¡± Wilbur shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize the taste.¡±


    And then my brothers drank.


    They poured all the blood in the wood dish onto a larger basin. Woodrow offered his clean glass bottles to Woodrow as he scooped up the thick dark red liquid. They both breathed out and looked at each other as they held their meal. Their eyes told the other to not let their primal side win.


    I watched as their throats moved and their fingers curled. My brothers were famished. Almost immediately, I can sense them growing stronger. The dryness of Woodrow¡¯s hair regained its smooth luster. So did my brother Wilbur¡¯s messy brown hair. They looked rehydrated: parched soil watered.


    This was my brother¡¯s life. This was what they did back at Fairstep Monastery. Once they finished, they opened their eyes shyly at me. I silently grabbed their bottles, the basin, and the wooden dish near the barrel of water and scrubbed them clean, whistling.


    ¡°You both look well,¡± I said before leaving them. Even though the blood from the villagers was not the healthiest, it was enough to satiate my brothers'' thirst. We all felt strong tonight.

 Chapter 19 - Vitamins

    ¡°Iron is easy enough to remedy,¡± Wilbur said the evening after. ¡°We simply need iron ores. Calcium, we can milk from healthy cows and goats, and protein we could get from any animal meat, but mostly from pigs and cows. Even then, though, I think it best we partner them with fruits and dark leafy greens. Though that part... that part is difficult to acquire.¡±


    He was pacing around the infirmary, fingers on his chin. Ember and I bobbed our heads as he walked in circles. My fluffy friend swished her white tail side to side. I scratched the top of her head. ¡°He gets like this sometimes,¡± I whispered to her. She yawned.


    He mused about the other minerals the villagers lacked, like zinc, potassium, and many others whose names I cannot remember. ¡°The others need minerals deeper in one of the surface-level caves of Mount Lhottem." Almost like a side thought, he added, "These ores have the same name as the minerals lacking in their body.¡±


    He grabbed his journals and showed me the sketches of the ores he needed. When Woodrow entered, Wilbur filled him in, pointing to the sketches. Woodrow leaned closer to the pages and memorized the different shapes of the ores.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go. Jerome would probably want to come, too. He made me promise to bring him along.¡±


    I smiled. "I''m glad you two patched things up."


    "It''s easier when I''m satiated and can control myself," Woodrow shrugged.


    He gathered Jerome and two other warriors for this trip, assembling them in the ranges, asking Harlan and Agate for permission. They carried their wooden poles and spears. Before leaving, Jerome practiced his aim at the trees. He landed one arrow at the center. ¡°You¡¯re getting good,¡± Woodrow commented as his own silver dagger flew near the center spot. Since he would be accompanying them, I would reserve my blessings for arms for another expedition. Besides, with Woodrow¡¯s nourished state, he would land more critical blows to a shadow direwolf.


    ___


    I brought Claude to the infirmary. It was my friend¡¯s turn to get checked by a renowned physician.


    I guided him through the little walkway that led from the granges to the infirmary, away from the monastery proper. All the guests knew that they were prohibited from entering the monastery past the church. Not one of them had seen the garth and walked its cloisters. Not even my friend. He was not ready to see our real nature just yet. I don¡¯t know if he will ever be.


    He was looking around the brick walls as I set him down on one of the cots. Wilbur handed me the cotton and needle. Claude showed me his hand, palms open. I placed my own underneath his, my thumb holding the base of his thumb, and pricked. I swabbed his blood quickly and placed it on one of the small wooden dishes with his name. Not initials. Name.


    We talked, lying on the same cot. We tapped our boots against each other. ¡°The people back at Rothfield are getting suspicious about our tribute. Vincent Bahram is going around telling everyone that we are cheating and hoarding good food for ourselves. They wonder why Annette has recovered from the death-chill when it has claimed the other babes in their cribs.¡±


    He faced me, his nose almost brushing my cheeks. With my odd sharp eyes, I could see he was growing older.


    I held his hand and pressed my thumb on the area I pricked. ¡°I won¡¯t whisper behind your back. You can hide here if they come for you.¡± I did not know why I said that. Only that I meant it. He pressed his thumb against mine.


    ___


    Wilbur popped Claude''s blood into his mouth. He frowned and shook his head, disapproving. ¡°He may look strong, but the boy needs iron, protein, calcium, potassium, and a whole lot of other nutrients.¡± He sighed. I didn¡¯t like that. ¡°His animals. We need to make sure his animals are healthy so that he has a constant source of those nutrients. However, the problem of resource allocation persists. How are we going to feed his animals when we only have enough healthy grains for the villagers here?¡±


    There was no resolution. Unless I had enough stamina and power from the prayers I harvested from the villagers, the problem would stay. I sighed, sending a personal prayer to Saint Gaelamr to keep the fires in Claude¡¯s cottage warmer and to give them daily strength.


    Speaking of prayers to harvest, it was already Saintsday.


    I opened the church doors wide, letting the people inside. The dark pews were already filling out a quarter of the space on one side of the church. There was no incense this time, and there were a few short candles, but everyone seemed content and smiling, and I could sense their faith in Gaelmar was strong. I stood under Gaelmar¡¯s feet, raised both my arms, and led the sermon. The warm wind swirled and surged through me, revitalizing me.


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    ___


    Another vision from Gaelmar that night. He pointed to the clearing near Agate and Harlan¡¯s camp. Empty dead grey soil. ¡°Because of your work, I offer a solution to your plight. Pray with me, brother Ryne,¡± he said.


    We knelt on the green grass of his vision, facing each other, and our prayers flowed like glowing golden trails of sunlight from our lips to the grey, faded grassland blocked by briars and mega thorns. We expelled the miasma out of it. When the forest defenses splintered, cracked, and retreated underground, I saw that I was rewarded with a meadow. Only a good small portion of it: there was another wall of thorns a few spaces away.


    All the hopes of the people flowed through Gaelmar and he set his kindflame to bring life back to the soil on a much grander scale. Green washed the greyness away and a breath of wind ruffled through the meadow, uncurling the once-dried grass. Curiously, I saw a grand stone column with a dish on the top.


    And then Gaelmar faded away, closing his eyes, back to his slumber. I have been awarded a new location for the monastery.


    A meadow for pasture.


    I was already planning my next move as soon as I woke. Even before Blake stirred within me. If the vision was accurate, then there was only enough grass for pigs to graze for a few weeks before the grass grew again on its own, assuming that the soil there required no further prayers to keep it fertile. There has to be a schedule, rotating goats, pigs, and even sheep on certain days of the week.


    I decided to let the grass grow further before announcing it to the villagers and Claude. I only told my brothers about it, pointing to a vague area near Agate and Harlan''s settlement.


    Two weeks went by. I continued my usual prayers for dispelling, banishment, and protection. Wilbur made more Hartfert I and Liverfert I to sprinkle in the granges and garth. Agate, Harlan, Woodrow, and sometimes Ember, continued to brave the mountains and harvest the ores needed for Wilbur¡¯s experiments.


    Once he had enough ores, Wilbur started working. He melted the simple ores needed to supply the lacking nutrients in the villagers¡¯ bodies with my kindflame. His bottles swirled with oil-like substances. One long bottle contained aluminum, while the other contained zinc and potassium.


    ¡°I separated them all,¡± Wilbur said. ¡°Now, we just need to cool it.¡± He placed the liquid onto separate wooden dishes and handed them to me. ¡°If you could, place them in a quiet, clean place. Perhaps the garth. Let the wind and whatever sun that passes through the clouds solidify them.¡±


    I did so, waiting for them to harden for five days. When they were done, Wilbur chipped them away and placed varying sizes of pieces on his scale, different colors twinkling. He adjusted the pieces; sometimes taking, sometimes adding, sometimes breaking the larger pieces into smaller ones, until the scales balanced. He then placed the minerals on a dish with Claude¡¯s initials. It seemed that my brother physician remembered the amount of minerals needed by each person because no scale balance was the same. He added more iron for Kory. For the adults, sometimes there was more zinc or more iron and whatever strange minerals they needed.


    He did this painstakingly for two nights until all the dishes contained each villager''s vitamins.


    Then, we announced to the whole village that we would make them their pottage one night. Woodrow used his natural charm and played Jerome¡¯s wood pipes. He did not need to use his powers yet, not while the villagers trusted us. He arranged for games to distract the people and raise their spirits while Wilbur and I made a hearty soup. There was meat in there; visible scraps of pig and quail eggs from the forest with grains floating on the surface. I poured soup into a hot bowl and carefully added Kory¡¯s vitamins. I searched for her, pressing the bowl to her small hands, and making sure she cleaned that bowl empty. I did this until all the vitamin-enriched soups were administered to the person needing them. All that was left was Claude¡¯s. Woodrow and Jerome were huddled in a corner. Wilbur was with Agate, looking amusedly at Harlan as he tried to entice them into a game of archery.


    I went back to the church and waited for Claude, both our soups in my hand. I had told him earlier to come. The children of Kent were being put to bed when his shadow formed in the arched pathway of the monastery.


    He waved a hand. ¡°Had plenty to do today. Cleaned the farmhouse.¡±


    "Good," I said, giving him his soup. "You brought your appetite."


    It had gotten cold while waiting for him. I warmed it with the kindflame I channeled on my hand underneath the bowl. I gave him his soup and watched him eat it. He was making appreciative sounds with each bite. But other than that, we dined in silence, watching the embers of the communal fire dim from where we sat on the church''s steps. Harlan set his eyes on us and called Claude over excitedly. I chuckled as he tried his hand in archery. It was his first time: he missed. So did his second and third aim.


    Jerome walked over and adjusted his arms. He told him to take a deep breath, focus on the target and not the arrowhead, and release. He did not hit the center, but it was close enough to win him a prize: a slice of stale rye-oat bread. He broke it in half and shared it with me.


    ___


    Next Saintsday, I sensed that the people were happier. I focused on their spirit motes and found almost everyone had a green mote which meant they were content. There were even sparks of yellow symbolizing happiness. The prayers they offered were particularly powerful that night.


    Gaelmar materialized in my dreams again.


    He was pointing to another area of the monastery, opposite the meadow. There, beyond the dark trees was a bright light beaming through the giant briars. I prayed with him again, channeling half of the harvested prayers to appease the dark forest defenses.


    They revealed a clean body of water, quiet and cool in the moonlight. It was still grey even though our prayers activated it. Curiously, I saw a giant column with a dish at the top standing at the center of the grass before the water. It was like in the meadow. I know what that meant, now.

 Chapter 20 - The Lake

    I headed out the church doors, Ember following closely behind me. I was contemplating if I should invite Claude. It simply felt right. I did not want to put him in danger, yet I also knew that he would be safer with me and Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame. Besides, whatever you do and wherever you hide, danger falls on everyone eventually. That was the promise of the Undending Chaos. It won''t end. It will spread even through the brick walls of cities and the high towers of the last king. There was danger in not doing anything, in tending to one¡¯s farm, in holing yourself up, in helping each other.


    I also realized that whatever I did to keep him safe ever since we came to Rothfield... Rothfield, or whatever kind of force out there, was intertwining our paths.


    I looked at Ember sniffing my boots. I remembered his flaming swords, my first blessing of arms. I don''t want to put too much stock in fate, but whatever is in the lake, I think Claude and I were supposed to face it together.


    I was already making my way to his farm after praying for banishment, dispelling, and protection when Claude appeared on the arched pathway leading to the granges. I waited for him at the steps of the church. He was admiring the rye and oats growing healthily on the granges. He saw in my eyes that I had something important to say.


    ¡°I see you have your sword with you.¡± I pointed to the sword attached to his waist.


    ¡°I had a strong feeling that I should bring it today.¡±


    I chuckled to myself. Curiously, Ember yelped softly when I told her to come with us. I was already holding my arms out to her when she shook her head and stood at the center of the church door. Maybe we would not need his sword, after all, I thought. I shrugged. Better prepared than not at all. We passed the early activity of the villagers of Kent; they tended to their flock, chopped trees, and cut wood for houses and pews. We passed through the arched trees and noticed that there were few remaining scorchberries in the bushes. We would have to stop collecting them for now. Claude and I tossed stones and broke small branches and twigs to mark this new path, the steady thump of axes against wood fading in the distance.


    ¡°There¡¯s a new part of the forest that was awakened,¡± I told him, stepping over a boulder. Our boots crunched dried leaves and other debris scattered on the forest soil. I closed my eyes and crouched, allowing the forest to guide me in its depths. Claude looked at me curiously.


    Finally, when the sun was almost at its zenith, he and I stumbled on a new, cleaner path. Mount Lhottem was a looming figure in the background. We continued down the path, noticing that the branches of the trees looked almost like they were pointing ahead. We walked forward until the path spread to a wide clearing of grass. Beyond that was a great still lake. Before that, was a great stone obelisk.


    The lake was almost like in my vision.


    It was unmoving, soundless, quiet. If we were two common children from the town of Rothfield, we would not dare draw near its edge. Or perhaps Claude, being the adventurous type, would grab his shepherd¡¯s staff or a branch lying around and break the surface of the water. But even he looked uneasy. It looked like the grey eye of a dead animal. As Claude observed the lake, I inched toward the obelisk.


    There was writing etched on its surface in Old Yarbo, the Language of the Saints. It says: Wake Me. I touched its surface and was given an instant message. I needed to offer more prayers in person to the dish sitting on top of the pillar. It also presented me with a numerical value of the prayers to fuel the kindflame needed as an offering. Again, this had to do with the power and influence Gaelmar¡¯s name carried in these parts. We must reclaim the many territories of Rothfield from the miasma with their holy influence.


    Fortunately, I have more than enough harvested prayers to light it. I also noticed a sharp, needle-like thorn at the base of the obelisk as if waiting for someone to prick their skin on it.


    I closed my eyes, Opened my palm, pressed on the thorn until it broke my skin, and channeled the amount of offering it needed from me. My blood glowed as it flowed from the thorn, running around the obelisk, snaking its way to the top. My blood hovered like blobs of raindrops until it glowed once more to ignite a grand flame. Claude looked back and went to my side. I hid my arms under my cloak.


    ¡°It looks like the many torches in the cavern where we saw Ember¡¯s corrupted form,¡± he observed.


    Warm wind from the fire circled this place. Claude pointed suddenly at the lake. At the center, slowly spreading to replace the greyness of the surface, was a pleasant blue that reflected the heavy clouds.


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    ¡°The lake is coming to life,¡± I said.


    We watched in wonder as small ripples started appearing on the surface. Whatever denizens the lake housed, it was awake now. I wondered what would have happened if we had jumped into the lake. Would we have seen nothing? Would we have seen fish and other animals eerily floating in place?


    A soft rattling came from the obelisk. Out of nowhere, as if it had a compartment, a long pole dropped from its side.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Claude said in amazement as he bent down to inspect the thing. It looked basic and polished black with a curious lure already attached to it.


    I looked at the curious tool; noting its long body, the strong stringy thing running from tip to the base near Claude''s hands. There was a lever there that reeled the elastic back in. "I think it''s used for catching fish."


    ¡°Huh. Usually, we just use nets made from strong fiber." It did not take long for us to figure out how to use it. We looked at it and back to the lake. "Since we¡¯re already here¡­¡±


    ¡°We might as well see if we can catch something,¡± I agreed.


    Claude laughed at the absurdness of it all. He offered it to me but I smiled, shaking my head and pushing it back to him.


    ¡°Are you certain?¡±


    ¡°Positive.¡±


    All the nervousness out of our system, we stepped close to the edge and looked at our reflection in the water. He looked up at the sky, preparing to cast his line. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasant day today, considering.¡± He let out a short chuckle before he threw the fishing pole back and cast the line, checking how long it reached. ¡°Hm. It isn¡¯t that far.¡±


    We watched the lure sink into the water. ¡°It has been so long since I fished.¡± I felt him looking at me. ¡°You want to feel the water, Ryne? You can take your boots off and sit on the edge.¡±


    Why not? I thought. I did so, and to my surprise, Claude copied me. It has occurred to me then that we barely saw one another¡¯s skin save for our heads, and his neck and arms. Unlike him, my tunic had long sleeves. My feet were so pale. I washed myself every night, with a wet cloth, clean water, and a soapy mixture Wilbur invented before. But I didn¡¯t see my body. Now I felt conscious, especially with Claude¡¯s leaner build. He had scars on his ankles, I saw. I dipped mine into the water and closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh.


    ¡°You were right. It does feel good,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Fishing is a quiet pastime for some. My father used to do this to relax before all the rivers and lakes were reserved for lords and guild members. If you wanted to fish, you had to pay.¡±


    ¡°Fish all your heart¡¯s content here, Claude,¡± I said.


    We sat side by side... I leaned on his shoulder. We stayed like that for a while until I felt movement. The water was tugging him. We looked at each other and jumped back. Claude reeled the line in and I felt like a child jumping up and down, cheering him on.


    ¡°Quiet!¡± He chuckled, stepping back. ¡°You might scare the fish!¡± He pulled on the lever, tic-tic-tic, his arms rotating in circles. The pole was being tugged forward as the fish fought for its life.


    I stopped yelling and saw the line inch toward us slowly. Then, the surface broke with a flapping cold tail. Now both of us screamed in wonder. Claude pulled it back to the surface and the fish flopped on land until it stopped moving.


    Claude breathed out and inspected the fish. His voice was soft. ¡°It might be a common enough fish, but this is a clean silvergill. I hadn¡¯t eaten this since¨C¡±


    ¡°You were with your father years ago.¡± I looked at the branches scattered on the forest soil. ¡°You want to make a fire?¡±


    Claude looked up at me. He grinned. I helped him collect a small amount of dry twigs and branches and let him light the fire with dry stones. While he did that, I retreated near the obelisk and started banishing Blake with a prayer. He skewered the fish with a long smooth branch and we took turns cooking the silvergill over the fire he made. The smoke blackened its scales. Once we were done, he put out the flame and tore out a piece from its belly, and blew on it. He offered it to me.


    ¡°You caught it. You bite first.¡±


    ¡°I insist,¡± he pressed the soft flesh to me. ¡°It¡¯s going to be bland, though.¡±


    I didn¡¯t mind. I took it from his fingers and bit the soft flesh. spitting out small bones. I didn''t realize I was hungry. Maybe he was too. I realized we hadn''t even had breakfast yet. We passed the day eating the silvergill until there was nothing but bones. We threw the bones back into the lake for others to feed on. I checked his motes. There was none. Not surprising, since we did not cook the fish with my flame and added no special ingredients to it.


    ¡°What a good day,¡± Claude said, lying on the grass, hands catching his head.


    ¡°What a good day.¡± I copied him. Our feet were back in the water. The clouds rolled by, thin wispy clouds under thicker, darker ones.


    ¡°I hope Lord Bahram doesn¡¯t ever find this palace out. I hope the dark forest keeps its secrets,¡± he whispered, yawning. He closed his eyes.


    I looked at the obelisk with the flame like a giant torch. I wondered if waking up parts of the dark forest meant that it was allowing the mystery to life and the forest more open to exploration. Or would it still only deem the worthy souls to enter its depths?

 Chapter 21 - Silvergill Soup

    ¡ªLAKE¡ª


    ¡°How did you know which direction to take?¡± Claude asked. ¡°Earlier in the forest, I saw you crouching down. You just knew where to go after you touched the soil. You looked like one of the nobles'' hunting dogs.¡±


    I wanted to tell him this. ¡°Ever since we came to Rothfield, I had a strange connection to the dark forest. You remember when the forest showed you a new path, yes? Back during the night when direwolves attacked and when we met Ember''s corrupted form? The forest does the same to me. It clears up the mist little by little." I pointed to my right. ¡°That path leads to the entrance of Mount Lhottem where we encountered Ember.¡±


    Claude nodded, seemingly satisfied.


    ___


    We still had not returned to the monastery. Claude caught more silvergill in the lake as I left him twice to banish Blake. Even though fishing was a slow activity, we did not realize the moon was already peeking through the branches until the wind grew cold and he couldn''t see clearly through the shadows. When I went back, he was reeling back the fishing line. I had removed my cloak earlier for him to place his catch. Cold, lifeless fish piled on top of it now. We stared at them, smiling: a day well spent in good company.


    Claude looked at the surface of the water, at the moon that resembled a milky dish. His fingers twitched on the fishing pole. His face, curious. ¡°Hm. Fishing at dark isn¡¯t really common, but maybe I could try one last time.¡± He considered the fish. ¡°I realized that since it has a short fishing line, we only keep catching the fish near the surface. We haven¡¯t caught the deeper meatier ones yet. Like catfish and trout and bass.¡± He was readying the fishing rod again, raising it high before throwing it as far as it could go. "Your eyes are better than mine. Guide me."


    I placed my hand on his, feeling his fingers stiffen and fumble. Then we were still, looking as the clouds obscured the brightness of the moon. A moment passed. And another.


    A tug from the fishing line. Claude smiled at me. I was about to smile back when whatever he caught yanked him forward. Claude stumbled forward. He recovered, gritted his teeth, and pulled back as whatever it was he snagged was pulling him toward the pool. My arms wrapped around his waist and brought him back to the grass. When the force doubled its efforts, I knew this was not a common fish.


    Claude scrunched his face. I said, "Let go!"


    His knuckles turned white as he tried to yank the fishing pole back. I grabbed the base of the pole with him, and as soon as I did, it glowed blue, just like the sword. It did not erupt into flames, but it seemed to be enough to stop the force pulling underwater. We fell back, colliding against one another. We caught our breaths and stared at the lake. It looked serene as if nothing sinister hid in its depths. Claude huffed, reeling the line back in. He almost dropped the lure when he inspected it. "It''s warm," he told me. It laso had no dents. No fish bite or whatever underwater monster lived in the lake.


    Oh. Maybe the creature was burned after all. The kindflame must have been focused on the lure. We inspected it under the moonlight, realizing that it was made from a strange material indeed if it managed to survive without any bite marks from the maws of the creature.


    We looked at each other and agreed. "No one fishes at night." Which was strange because almost all our activities happened during dusk.


    ¡°Can you sense what¡¯s in the middle of the pool?¡± Claude asked.


    I closed my eyes and placed my hands under the water, hoping our mysterious creature did not dare swim on the shallower parts of the lake. The cool water was quiet. "I do not see anything." I shook the water out of my hand. "But we did wake something, that''s for certain." I shivered. "I sense it is watching us from the depths just as we''re watching it." I carried the fish, trying my cloak into a knapsack.


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The villagers of Kent stopped their supper when Claude and I presented our catch. Harlan, Agate, the warriors, and the children stared at the silvergill fins poking from my cloak. I presented them to the women, saying, ¡°Boil and salt these so everyone can eat.¡±


    The crowd near the fire cheered. The parents pulled their children closer to the sight of the fish. They huddled together as if seeing a strange animal. Claude smiled at me, the I realized then that maybe it was the first time they¡¯d seen a fish and the first time to ever taste one as well.


    I let the women use our brass pot to boil the fish. Discreetly, I used kindflame to boil the fire. They cleaned them first in the stream and knifed the scales off. Claude helped them cut it into thick slices. I looked at how they managed, noting how and where to slice the flesh, and once I was confident I could copy them, I sat beside Claude and helped him. I gutted the fish and removed its intestines, I cut off its head and tail and sliced away the fat belly. Once we were done, we added them to the boiling water and added a pinch of salt. I checked myself for the remaining kindflame in me. I had just enough to bless their food.


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    I uttered Garlmar¡¯s name and channeled the right prayer for improving their motes, whether that be strength, defense, or resilience.


    The rest of the settlers gathered in a circle, waiting for the fish to cook. I stood on a stump and called their attention. I told them about a lake, pointing in its direction. ¡°You may fish there if you like. But only on certain days of the week. And never at night.¡± I stopped, looking at Woodrow and Wilbur appearing through the darkness. ¡°The same goes for a meadow near the granges.¡± I held out a hand in the opposite direction. ¡°You may graze your sheep and goats there on certain days of the week and no more. We need to let the grass recover. We need to let the fish breed and grow before we get too greedy.¡±


    A thrill ran through the settlement. Excited mouths called to their neighbors, exchanging wide eyes and murmurs. I can almost feel the ripple of surprised tension in my chest.


    ¡°Saint Gaelmar provides!¡± One of the elderly women called. ¡°He is blessing the land of Rothfield with the brothers.¡±


    Some of them bowed their heads and prayed to give thanks. I felt their whispers crawling up my skin, slightly replenishing the kindflame I burned away. Agate and Harlan looked solemn. I stepped down from the stump and grabbed Claude''s hand.


    I nodded at him, whispering, ¡°Bring a few of your farm animals here on grazing days. We''ll fatten them up.¡± Claude''s lips parted.


    The designated cook announced that the fish was ready. Everyone fell into a line before the brass cooking pot. Claude, Harlan, Agate, and I helped in serving them. We dined in silence amidst whispers and chatter. The villagers only talked about the lake now. They listened to the elderly recount the tales of their youth when the bodies of water were free for everyone to use. We heard eels as long as the boat, of fish, darting through nets and breaking flimsy nets woven out of reeds. Claude and I brought fish soup in our mouths, nodding along with the rest, and feeling drowsy from the day''s activity.


    We were leaning against each other. I chuckled when Claude burped. He held his belly. ¡°Ever since you came, our hungry days have become fewer.¡±


    After supper, almost all of those residing in Rothfield monastery weaved weir baskets made out of the branches lying around the forest floor. Our thumbs hooked and pressed and twisted the branches until we made enough for a decent supper for some nights. Nights such as these.


    Before we retired, I told them the rules of the lake again. I told them to anchor the weir baskets on the surface and add the scraps of fish for bait inside. Thankfully, the basic fish we caught bred easily and grew in numbers. The villagers all swore in front of me, their elders, and to Saint Gaelmar.


    I walked Claude to the arched path of the monastery. He held the wooden canister containing the fish soup for Lydia and Annette. he whispered to me sleepily, ¡°Just think of what other secrets the dark forest hides.¡±


    ¡ªINFIRMARY¡ª


    I told Wilbur and Woodrow about what happened in the lake.


    Wilbur''s eyes gleamed. His mouth opened, whispering something. Woodrow and I stared at each other. We knew our brother enough to know that this was him becoming animated about something. He brought out his journals and flipped through its pages excitedly. H ejabbed a finger between somepages and tapped the sketched he drew long ago. It was a sketch of a smooth circular precious mineral.


    ¡°This is aquamarine. Almost nothing is known about precious stones except for trade and decoration, and that it is found in bodies of water." He rolled his eyes. "Nobles measure their value by their weight and shine. After we alchemists discovered that dull-looking minerals carried more value than some shiny rocks, that is. Anyway, it is long believed that aquamarine, obviously, has properties of water. If I can extract its properties somehow, experiment it a bit more, maybe I can develop potions that could aid us in battle. Or produce other elixirs for healing. The possibilities are endless! Of course... these are all hypothetical, but..." He drawled on, Woodrow and I exchanging amused glances.


    "I think we can also find kelps in that lake. Used by themselves, they¡¯re just nutritious grass, but combined with aquamarines, I can make potions from them. That''s the important part. Mixing precious stones with uncommon plants makes the special potions." He looked thoughtful, staring out into the ranges from the infirmary. "It''s a shame that Blake and Knox didn''t allow me to experiment on other precious stones outdife of healing. He probably knew that I would use it to escape." He looked at me and shrugged.


    ¡ªROTHFIELD MONASTERY¡ª


    It felt good to have progress. The nights were peaceful; the communal fire of Kent always glowed in the night. During laundry days, they scooped up the ash from their fire and sprinkled the grey clumps during laundry days. Sometimes, we mixed in Wilbur''s flowers. I sometimes looked at them from the steps of the church, contentedly observing the daily activities. When we came here in spring, everywhere and everything was grey and black. Then Gaelmar bestowed me his kindflame and life began to color these lonely fields. Now the villagers were making this place their home. Children ran around, chasing each other, playing tag, and hopping. They viewed this place as safe. They weren''t scared to laugh. I heard them say that the kind brothers would protect them. They even started calling Claude their ¡®brother¡¯ too. Sometimes, when there was nothing much to do, he chased them.


    The warriors did not grow restless. They fought shadow beasts from Mount Lhottem while harvesting ores. Not one has died. At first, there was such ceremony when leaving their partners to gather supplies and resources from the mountains. Now their partners would just wave them off, confident they would return, especially with Woodrow and Wilbur accompanying them. How my dark brothers managed to hide their powers-especially Wilbur-was beyond me. The warriors applauded him for it. They say, "He may look lanky, but Brother Wilbur can take several hits!" Wilbur would smile and mutter under his breath, "Well, you do pay for it through your blood."


    Once a month, when the moon was full, the villagers of Kent let their blood fill our bowls. Woodrow and Wilbur would feast, with Wilbur noting their blood was healthier than before.


    Wilbur checked Claude¡¯s health again with the tiny drop of blood in the cotton. ¡°The protein from the fish have improved his blood somewhat, but if he wishes to be strong, he, along with the rest of the Rothfield townspeople, would need continuous supply of milk and animal meat.¡±


    Agate and Harlan met my eyes as I scanned their growing settlement. They nodded and smiled. Sometimes, Wilbur and Woodrow stood beside me on either side, admiring the goodness spreading in Rothfield Monastery.

 Chapter 22 - Request

    ¡ªDARK FOREST¡ª


    I walked through the dark forest in the early morning, leaving the monastery¡¯s affairs in the capable hands of Agate and Harlan. The cold air made my breath visible, merging with the thick fog that hung among the trees. The leaves crunched under my boots, each step echoing in the silence.


    Claude had asked me the night before if I wanted to visit their barn. I smiled and told him I couldn¡¯t imagine a better way to spend my time. Even Wilbur had agreed, noting, ¡°It¡¯s good to take these little breaks while we can. Soon, our hands will be full with other responsibilities.¡± His tone was more excited than grave.


    At the edge of the forest, I glimpsed Claude¡¯s familiar jerkin through the trees. But the figure beside him was unfamiliar. As I approached, I saw that it was a child. Annette, her eyes the same color as Claude¡¯s, looked up at me with wide curiosity. Her small hand was clasped in Claude¡¯s as she swayed gently. Dressed in a simple dress and thick apron, she seemed like a delicate flower in the breeze.


    I offered a warm smile, hoping it masked the marks on my face as I drew my hood down. ¡°Hello,¡± I said softly. ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you.¡±


    Annette blinked, then giggled and waved before bounding back to the porch, where she picked up a broom and began to sweep. Claude chuckled, watching her with affection. ¡°She insisted on seeing you.¡±


    We walked together to the barn, passing the brittle oats and away from their cottage. The cold wind scattered a few useless grains and stung my cheeks.


    ¡°How are things in your town?¡± I asked, concerned about the blight.


    Claude¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°People are at each other¡¯s throats. Husband and wife blame each other, siblings fight over food. I hardly go out anymore because of the whispers.¡±


    I frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder as we neared the sheep enclosure. The old wooden gate, padlocked, seemed as though it might swing sadly on its hinges, like a weary dog.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Claude said, though his eyes betrayed his worry.


    He told me about his friends from town, about the carefree days spent playing on cobblestone streets, and how Vincent Bahram had called them pigs. Now, the memories felt like a distant echo, replaced by the harsh reality of the present.


    Claude picked an apple that was about to rot and whistled to his flock. The sheep, drawn by the sound, moved towards us like a wave of gray clouds. Claude¡¯s face lit up when Belle, his favorite ewe, bounded forward. She nuzzled him with eager affection, and he chuckled as he set her down and called the others to graze in the meadow.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go to the spot where I first saw you,¡± he said, swinging his shepherd¡¯s staff with a determined air.


    Sitting on the grass, I found myself oddly at ease, watching the sheep. Claude noticed my wandering gaze towards the forest and kept my attention focused on the flock, calling out their names. His laughter, as he made up names, brought a brief moment of lightness. I pushed him playfully, realizing he was teasing me. The distraction worked, and I felt a calming contentment as we watched the sheep in the field once vibrant with feverfluke flowers.


    ¡°You make me happy, Ryne,¡± Claude said suddenly. His honesty stirred something inside me. In the oppressive atmosphere under Knox and Blake¡¯s influence, we had learned to conceal our true feelings. But Claude¡¯s openness was something new to me.


    Claude watched the scene before us. ¡°I used to spend my days just watching them until I fell asleep. It was my parents¡¯ way of calming me. Sheep are vital to our economy. The realm relies on them.¡± His voice trailed off, and we shared the quiet.


    As dusk fell, the landscape grew darker, and sadness etched deeper into Claude¡¯s face. He sighed and rested his chin on his knees, gazing at Belle, who stayed close by. The shadows lengthened, merging with the darkening field.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have to do this,¡± Claude said, his voice thick with frustration. ¡°The nobles, Bahram and his ilk, they only take and never give.¡± He paused, his fingers gently covering Belle¡¯s ears as if shielding her from harsh truths. ¡°The Bahrams have ordered us to give up most of our flock. I fear that they plan to slaughter them and preserve the rest for when the sickness reaches Rothfield.¡±


    I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his pain. Instinctively, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. His warmth contrasted with the cold of the evening.


    ¡°How can he take them and expect you to still pay for your tribute?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He just wants to show his power. They all do. I¡¯m not sure if they want to confiscate our livestock and bring them back once we paid our crop tribute in full, or just get satisfaction from simply bullying us.¡±


    I huffed. ¡°We won¡¯t let that happen,¡± I said firmly, meeting his tearful gaze. ¡°We can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ryne, it¡¯s kind of you to say that,¡± Claude interrupted, shaking his head. ¡°But even you can¡¯t fix this.¡± He wiped his eyes, his voice breaking. ¡°I feel so powerless. I¡¯ve cared for them all, and now I have to give them away just to keep them safe. It feels like a betrayal.¡±


    I felt a deep sorrow and wished for a magical solution to his plight. Belle nuzzled Claude¡¯s lap, sensing his distress. I crouched down and picked her up.


    ¡°This one,¡± I said firmly. ¡°We might not save them all, but we can save this one. We could save Belle. I¡¯d be glad to take her and some of the others back to Rothfield. Bahram won¡¯t notice a few missing.¡± Claude stared at me, his shoulders relaxing slightly. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure they¡¯re cared for with all the love they deserve. You can see her anytime you like.¡±


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    As twilight deepened, shadows stretched over the field. Claude¡¯s breaths came in ragged huffs as he looked at Belle and then at me. The darkness seemed to swallow the rest of the sheep. He looked away, then nodded with a sad smile.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered, stepping closer to embrace me with Belle between us. ¡°Thank you.¡± His anger and sorrow melded into quiet resolve. ¡°I trust you with them, Ryne. I hope it¡¯s enough.¡±


    ¡°It will be,¡± I assured him. ¡°We¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    As the last light of day faded, Claude and I remained by the field, our figures silhouetted against the encroaching darkness. We made our way back, Claude whistling for his flock to follow him. After a few steps, he would cough and his whistles sounded broken. My hand never left his shoulder.


    ¡ªROTHFIELD MONASTERY¡ª


    In the days following the arrival of Belle and Claude''s other livestock at Rothfield, Claude dedicated his nights to building enclosures for them. He worked tirelessly with discarded wood from Harlan and Agate¡¯s camp. I winced as I watched him wrestle with the timber, crafting it into pens and shelters. I scoured the old toolshed for a ladder, hammers, and rusted nails, which he used to build the structures.


    Claude¡¯s hammering soon joined the familiar rhythm of the camp. When I checked on him, he gently shooed me away, beaming with gratitude. I wanted to ask Harlan and Agate to lend a hand, but it didn¡¯t feel right. Fortunately, I didn¡¯t need to. I found one or two of them helping Claude with the structures. Even Woodrow pitched in when he wasn¡¯t busy with mountain resources.


    One gloomy day, as thunder rumbled faintly, Claude was almost finished with the thatched roof of Belle¡¯s enclosure when he noticed the darkening sky. He paused and looked up at the heavy clouds. Belle bleated nearby, and in addition to her, a goose, a pig, two hens, and a goat had joined the makeshift animal enclosure. Belle and Ember, the pup, had become fast friends, chasing each other around. Claude whistled at Belle.


    ¡°Not long now. Just in time for the storm, eh?¡± he said, tapping the roof with the hammer I had given him. I had just finished my prayers and left Wilbur with his concoctions.


    A gust of cold wind swept across the fields, and I saw Claude lose his balance on the ladder. My heart raced as I reached out, but Claude managed to grasp the unfinished roof, saving himself at the cost of some splintered wood.


    I hurried to his side, handing him his hammer. ¡°Together,¡± I said.


    Claude smiled. We worked side by side to finish the pig pen, hen house, and sheep enclosure. Claude¡¯s strong hands lifted timber beams with ease, though his muscles strained under the weight. My arms were weak, so I worked carefully, hammering and cutting wood, following his instructions. Despite my initial doubts, Claude seemed glad for my help, even enjoying teaching me.


    As the air grew colder, it was filled with the scents of fresh wood and earth. We heard the settlement adding another layer of straw to their animal enclosure. I whistled to Belle, pleased that she responded to my call as well.


    ¡°Go back to the camp, girl,¡± I told her. When I introduced Claude¡¯s animals to Agate and Harlan, they found Belle endearing and instructed their people not to disturb Rothfield¡¯s animals.


    Belle stayed put, watching Claude and his work. An idea struck me. I whistled another tune and summoned Ember from the nave. ¡°Take Belle to our home,¡± I told Ember. She yawned and nuzzled Belle, and they headed towards the church.


    Claude wiped his brow and glanced at me. ¡°We need to get these supports in place before the rain starts,¡± he said, pointing to the incomplete structures. ¡°The pig pen and hen house need to be sturdier.¡±


    I nodded, eyeing the darkening clouds. ¡°I¡¯ve gathered all the nails and hammers,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll reinforce the sheep enclosure corners.¡±


    Claude smiled. ¡°Good thinking. Belle is smart, but we don¡¯t want the others escaping.¡±


    He directed me in the construction. The pig pen took shape with sturdy posts and rails. The hen house was nearly complete, and the sheep enclosure was coming together with reinforced wood.


    Claude inspected our progress. ¡°The pig pen looks solid,¡± he said, running a hand along a beam. ¡°But we need to ensure the gates swing properly.¡±


    I nodded and checked the gate fittings. Once I was done, I demonstrated how it swung. Claude approved, and I felt proud of our work. We rested against the sheep enclosure fence, catching our breaths.


    Suddenly, lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a heavy downpour. We looked at each other, laughing as the rain soaked us. We stomped through the mud, letting go of our troubles, forgetting the darkness and conflicts outside. There was no miasma, no Unending Chaos. No Bahrams, no tributes, no closed cities. The rain felt like a refreshing escape.


    When we settled back to work, we hammered the last nails, twisted the remaining twigs, and secured the roofs and fences against the wind. Soaked and exhausted, we finally leaned against the walls of Rothfield monastery and collapsed.


    Claude¡¯s chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He chuckled. ¡°Thank you, Ryne.¡±


    ¡°Anytime,¡± I replied.


    As the rain slowed, twilight broke through the clouds, revealing our new constructions. The monastery grounds, now marked by our hard work, promised new life and hope, just as Gaelmar had said.


    ¡ªMONASTERY KITCHENS¡ª


    I lit the candles in the monastery kitchen with kindflame, gathering brass pots and wooden spoons. In my muddy arms, I carried crops from Harlan, along with a few grains of rye and oats from our fields. I had left Claude at the nave with Ember and Belle, their fur keeping him warm, and told him I¡¯d return with food.


    Agate had given me two silvergill fish from their stock, already cleaned and descaled. I planned to make it into a stew again, hoping it would be a hearty and satisfying meal for Claude, who had been working tirelessly on the monastery grounds.


    I began by heating a small amount of pig fat in a large pot and cooking chopped turnips until they softened. Once they were tender, I added slices of potatoes, letting them mingle with the fat. I poured in water from the clean river, and soon the pot began to bubble. I stirred gently, savoring the rich, earthy aroma. The vegetables cooked until tender, their colors vibrant and inviting.


    Next, I added the fish chunks, stirring carefully so as not to break up the delicate pieces. I watched as the fish turned opaque and flaked easily, a sign that it was perfectly cooked. I added a splash of goat¡¯s milk for a smooth, creamy broth that brought everything together. I tasted the stew, adjusting the seasoning with a bit of salt. The final result was a comforting bowl of warmth, perfect for a cold evening.


    I went back to the church just as Wilbur emerged from his infirmary. He paused at the doorway, eyeing my mud-stained appearance. I simply beamed at him and continued on my way. Claude was contentedly stroking Ember and Belle¡¯s heads when I saw him. His tired eyes brightened at the sight of the steaming stew.


    ¡°Move over,¡± I chuckled, placing the bowl on his lap.


    Claude took his first spoonful and closed his eyes. ¡°This is just what I needed,¡± he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. I smiled, relieved and happy to see my friend enjoy the meal. We ate together, the stew warming our cold bones alongside the warmth of our furry companions.


    Claude finished his meal faster than I did and clapped me on the back, his gesture both appreciative and affectionate. ¡°Thank you, Ryne. This means a lot.¡±


    I nodded, and as I glanced at Gaelmar¡¯s statue, I thought the flickering shadow made him smile.

 Chapter 23 - The Meadow (Part 1)

    ¡ªDREAM¡ª


    My slumber shifted, giving way to a vast, green landscape. The meadows were lush, the canopy of trees swaying in the breeze. The air thick with sweet incense. It was the world as it once was, before my time. I felt the familiar warmth of our Patron Saint drape over me, and unbale to resist, closed my eyes. Soon, Gaelmar¡¯s figure formed from vapor. He towered over me, his ivory robes brilliant in the sun. With him here, the shadows retreated. His kind eyes crinkled¨Chis statue in the altar did not do him justice.


    I squinted and noticed a change in his appearance. ¡°You look younger now.¡± In his last vision, his form was that of an older man, the age of Ealhstan, when Ealhstan stopped aging. His beard was shorter now, the color of summer earth.


    "Do I?¡± Gaelmar asked, ¡°I confess I do not know what form I will appear to be in my memories.¡± He shrugged and set his shoulders, about to address me. ¡°Ryne," Gaelmar''s voice resonated through the dream, rich and deep, echoing like distant church bells. "You have done well. I hear my name uttered from the lips of our people. As well as the names of my comrades.¡± Then Gaelmar looked down, appearing bashful.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It seems¡­ quite vain of us, of me, to be honest. Now that I speak of it so loud.¡±


    I understood him. If people strung my name with their prayers, I¡¯d be uncomfortable as well. But it needed to be done. For his name held hope and hope had power in these grounds. ¡°Is it enough?¡± I asked him. ¡°Are the prayers enough?¡±


    Gaelmar smiled. He nodded. ¡°See for yourself, little monk.¡± His form rippled, along with the vision he was showing me. The cloud turned dark and grey and obscured the sun. The grass wilted, the tress shivered as the harsh cold wind sheared them off their leaves. Darkness and miasma crept towards us.


    But Gaelmar smiled and offered his hand, which I took. ¡°Pray with me.¡±


    Our hands glowed, and as we uttered our prayers, his voice solid, full, and firm. I watched the thick black mist lift away from a considerable stretch of the dark forest, a short distance from the Kent settlement. It swirled and parted, revealing the land¡¯s true nature that had been obscured.


    Gaelmar showed me what it once was: a beautiful meadow teeming with flora. The vision blinked, reappearing and disappearing. The grass swayed in an invisible breeze, and wildflowers bloomed in springtime and summertime colors. Then the moon chased the sun away, and under the moonlight, their petals glowed faintly. The vision pulsed, revealing its current state¡ªa gray landscape still needing to be awakened by my blood. A black obelisk stood on its edge.


    When we were done, I felt Gaelmar shiver behind me and saw that some of the color had gone from his face. He looked like a fading candle, his power spent. Still, he smiled at me. ¡°The prayers you have collected can dispel the miasma and restore another portion of the land."


    I looked at the new area that was given to me. It was small, like the portion of fertile land in the granges where we could plant our crops. I frowned.


    Gaelmar tapped my shoulder. ¡°Do not be discouraged. Little by little, you have made progress. The crops. The infirmary. Your friends. Your prayers, combined with your own essence, have broken the chains that bound it. Look upon the reward of your labor.¡± His hand motioned to the miasma-less meadow.


    It was still lifeless, but I knew that I simply needed to carry his flame¨Cthe kindflame fueled by the hopes of the people¨Cand his influence will activate the land. I closed my eyes, taking comfort in Gaelmar¡¯s words. He was right. It was minimal, and the Unending Chaos would have laughed at us if it had a mouth, but progress is still progress. Crops and flowers grow from once-dead soil. People have basic food. The dark forest was moving. All it needed was a little more work. I imagined Wilbur bent over alchemical concoctions, saw Woodrow and Claude tending to the fields.


    As if sensing my thoughts, Gaelmar patted me, whether it was for comfort, or for a job well done, I was not sure. "Thank you, Brother Ryne. May you be ever steadfast.¡±


    Gaelmar¡¯s form began to dissolve into the mist, his presence fading as I felt myself waking. "Remember," his voice lingered softly, "the land reflects the hearts that nurture it."


    As Gaelmar¡¯s spirit vanished, the waking world pulled me from his vision. I awoke with Ember staring down at me. I scratched her head and stretched, groaning as my arms went over my head. I walked through the cloistered garth toward the nave and cracked open the church door. I looked at Ember. ¡°You ready for a walk?¡±


    ¡ªMEADOW¡ª


    The meadow stretched out, a dull lifeless gray, devoid of the bright flowers from Gaelmar¡¯s vision. I touched the grass as Ember sniffed it, paw up. Her eyes darted from me to the landscape, unsure. She whined.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. The sheep won¡¯t even touch this. They might as well eat mud. But we¡¯ll soon fix that.¡±


    The black obelisk loomed at the edge of the meadow. I strode towards it, my robes rustling softly on the dry grass. They still smelled faintly of Wilbur¡¯s sweet-smelling flowers. He had offered to help launder my mud-stained clothes after helping Claude in the rain, but I insisted on doing it alone. I shivered then, my bare arms and chest covered in gooseflesh. Just as before, I pricked my thumb on the sharp surface of the obelisk and watched my blood rise in the air, swirling like water¨Cthe blood that contained all the prayers of the people of Kent¨Cand igniting a great flame at its apex.


    It was just like how the lake had awakened, its blue replacing the gray. The gray grass uncurled and waved in the breeze, turning a welcoming green. I slumped down, and the rest I had regained from sleeping was now spent. Ember plopped down beside me, offering her warmth. I hugged her close, pressing my cheeks into her softness. We watched the grass turn vibrant and I closed my eyes contentedly. Only a small area had been awakened by my blood, but it was enough for our sheep.


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    I arrived back mid-morning, calling Agate and Harlan¡¯s attention. They must have been familiar with my expression by now, sensing whether it was grave or good, grand or minuscule.


    ¡°A meadow has revealed itself to us. We can take our sheep there to graze. All of us will go there later, once we¡¯ve finished with our duties. For now, I must rest.¡±


    I returned to the church, and leaned my weight on the doors. I stared at the pews and the statue of Saint Gaelamr standing at the altar. For a moment, there was quiet, and then the excitement. I knew the exact moment the news was shared with the others. Short cheers and gasps broke out. I smiled, closing my eyes and fell slowly on the floor, my head resting on my arms.


    ¡ªCHURCH¡ª


    I never tired of Claude¡¯s smile whenever I brought news of another miracle. Tonight, it was the same¡ªhis eyes bright with curiosity as the settlement stirred, torches flaring in the dusk, and villagers untying goats and sheep from wooden posts.


    ¡°Come,¡± I said, resting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Take Belle from her pen. Rothfield stirs once more.¡±


    The last sliver of sunlight clung to the horizon, painting the sky with a bruised, violet hue. From the shadows of the crypt, Woodrow and Wilbur emerged, drawn by the villagers'' excited murmurs. Woodrow grinned at the news; Wilbur¡¯s brow furrowed in thought.


    ¡°Flowers once grew there,¡± I reminded Wilbur, nudging him. ¡°Perhaps you could use them in your alchemy.¡±


    Wilbur nodded slowly. ¡°Perhaps. But the people are waiting for you, Ryne. Go ahead." He nudged me. "We¡¯ll watch the monastery.¡±


    I rejoined Claude outside the church doors and headed for the dark forest. Harlan and Agate joined us, villagers clustered behind them, torches flickering like stars in the dimming light. They parted as I led the way through the forest, their faces alight with anticipation. The trees stood in our way. I knelt down and felt the earth beneath my palms, and the earth rumbled. Voices murmured as the trees in front of us swayed and uprooted themselves, their roots twisting away until they revealed a new path from the monastery granges. I nodded back to the villagers, back at Claude, whose expression remained calm even after what he saw. They followed me through the darkness.


    It was not long when we came upon the obelisk, its flame casting an amber glow over the meadow, drenching the grass in a light that felt like a second sunset. The villagers gasped, and the parents failed to catch the children as they sped off to touch the grass. The sheep, sensing safety but still uncertain, pressed against their keepers.


    Belle, ever curious, darted forward and sniffed the ground before tearing into the grass. Her approval was all the other sheep needed¡ªthey rushed after her, bleating in a frantic tumble to graze. Laughter bubbled from the villagers as they ventured onto the meadow, their awe spilling into quiet conversation.


    Harlan peeled off his boots, wiggling his toes in the grass. ¡°Agate, you should try this!¡± Before she could respond, he performed a clumsy cartwheel, earning chuckles and applause.


    ¡°The fool,¡± Agate muttered, though her smile betrayed her affection as she moved to organize the shepherds fanning out into the field.


    ¡°Stay close to the flame!¡± I called, my eyes on Claude as he followed Belle. His gaze met mine, and I noticed the basket of tools in his hand.


    ¡°Why bring all that?¡± I asked, stifling a laugh.


    Claude shrugged. ¡°You never know what lurks in places once shrouded in mist. I¡¯m here to help.¡± He set the basket down and watched the sheep settle, his quiet dedication warming me more than the obelisk¡¯s flame.


    ¡°I know,¡± I replied softly.


    As the night deepened, the flame flickered¡ªa subtle warning. A chill brushed the nape of my neck. I called out to Harlan and Agate, and they herded the villagers back, the sheep brimming with energy. Once we returned to the monastery, I instructed them on the rotation of grazing and fishing. Harlan and Agate nodded at me, promising that they will keep their people in check. I was about to turn when I saw one of the older women utter Saint Gaelamr''s name. The crowd followed suit, giving thanks to the Patron Saint of Outcasts, the Wielder of the Kindflame. And I felt my own flame warm. I thought about retiring for the night, but, when all the other villagers slept soundly, and when Claude had returned home to his cottage, I ventured into the darkness, and went to the lake. With this new power, I offered my blood at the obelisk, sustaining its flame with prayers. Then, back at the crypt, I collapsed, dreaming of nothing.


    The meadow, slowly recovering, would soon be ready again. When it did, Claude and I brought the villagers and their flocks to graze, the sheep and goats boudning up and down the path. One evening, after a day spent watching the sheep, Claude and I thought to prepare a meal made of potatoes, fresh vegetables, and fish. I did not know who came up with the idea, only that we were looking contentedly at the ram approaching Belle. We shared a look, and must have felt hungry, and then a report of the new harvest in the fields thanks to Wilbur''s potent fertilizers and Gaelmar''s kindflame. And then we saw the portbale brass pot one of the villagers carried.


    Claude took charge, slicing and stirring with practiced ease while I filled wooden canisters with the food. The smell drifted through the air, drawing smiles from the villagers, who stretched out on the grass, contentment etched on their faces. Just as we finished, Woodrow appeared from the forest, Jerome at his side, carrying woodpipes. The children¡¯s eyes lit up, their attention immediately drawn to Woodrow¡¯s flame-colored hair.


    ¡°Evening, Ryne,¡± Woodrow greeted, his voice warm. ¡°Heard about your success. Thought I¡¯d bring music." He noticed I looked aorund behind him. He shook his head. "Wilbur¡¯s away experimenting.¡±


    Claude looked up from the pot, intrigued. ¡°You play woodpipes?¡±


    Woodrow set them down, smiling. ¡°Any requests?¡± The villagers called out familiar tunes, and Claude, after some thought, suggested, ¡°The Song of the Young Crow.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s gaze flicked to me, then back to Claude, and he began to play. The melody was haunting¡ªboth tender and cold, like a lullaby sung to the dying embers of a fire.


    Claude leaned close, his voice a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s about a crow trying to be something it¡¯s not. It envies the dove¡¯s voice, the owl¡¯s feathers. In following them, it forgets its own song.¡±


    I glanced at him, the words lingering like a shadow. ¡°Good thing we¡¯re not crows.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s fingers danced over the pipes, the tune carrying across the meadow, threading through the villagers like a soft breeze. As we finished supper and sat together, the air felt lighter, a rare moment of peace.


    ¡°You¡¯re perfect,¡± Claude murmured, eyes on Woodrow. ¡°Do you think the world is kinder to people like him?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Maybe. But he¡¯s had his share of troubles.¡±


    The night deepened around us, but for once, there was no sense of danger. Only the warmth of the fire, the quiet companionship of friends, and the steady song of the woodpipes. In that moment, the meadow seemed truly alive¡ªnot just with sheep and flame, but with the gentle hum of something reborn.

 Chapter 23 - The Meadow (Part 2)

    ¡ªROTHFIELD GRANGES¡ª


    I had spent the gray morning with Claude tending to the livestock, making sure they were healthy, and I monitored their progress.


    Claude was already hovering over the makeshift livestock enclosure, a contented smile on his lips as he stroked Belle¡¯s fluffy head. He glanced up as I walked near them. ¡°Is it just me, or do they seem happier here than they were at our farm?¡± He admired the goose¡¯s feathers. He picked it up gently, looking at its plump underbelly, and it shuffled off back to the hens after he was done inspecting.


    ¡°Harlan and Agate feed them well enough,¡± I said, checking beneath their fur for bumps and rough patches of skin.


    Since the growth of our crops, there have been plenty of scraps to feed all the animals in Rothfield, which provided the people with eggs, milk, and meat. The children delighted as milk splattered on wooden pitchers. Belle sniffed my palm and raised her head for me to scratch under her chin. ¡°This one misses you. She had been looking over the dark forest when she wasn¡¯t busy grazing or playing with Ember.¡±


    Claude brought his nose close to Belle, his eyes closed. I noticed his shoulders slump. He dropped her head and whispered to me, ¡°They took them all yesterday. Most of our livestock.¡±


    I blinked and imagined Bahram¡¯s men leading all the sheep away, past the wooden padlocked gate and onto the dirt path wards Rothfield proper.


    ¡°Ma took Annette into her room as she cried,¡± Claude said, finally, his breath so soft.


    I nodded, grimly and patted his arm. Though he didn¡¯t say it, this also meant that they would have less food on their tables now. I must make sure to give them enough food so they can survive. ¡°We¡¯ll get them back,¡± I replied. Claude grunted.


    A sound from the settlement of Kent made him look up. He saw Harlan and Agate taking their wooden weapons before making their way towards Mount Lhottem. ¡°Why are they going back there?¡± Claude asked.


    I realized that I had not yet told him about the usual routine of our monastery. ¡°They wanted to help Wilbur with his experiments in any way they could. They can hold themselves quite well, being a village of fighters. Wilbur needs ores from the mountains, you see. And this is what the elders wanted to do for us.¡± I scooted next to him and whispered, ¡°They give him specific ores that he uses in his alchemy to help the crops grow and the people healthy.¡±


    Claude stared at the little children playing on the black fields, and the patch of brown where rye and oats grew. His eyes trailed towards the men Harlan gathered. ¡°Now that I see them clearly, they do look stronger than when they first arrived.¡± He looked back at the animals.


    ¡°Wilbur also wanted to figure out how to make them healthier so they could withstand the blight, but we hadn¡¯t started yet, seeing as things are busy.¡±


    There was silence. ¡°Maybe I could help?¡± Claude said. I looked up in alarm. ¡°Let me help you,¡± he said again. ¡°Let me go with them and collect ores for you. Or anything you might need. Alchemists need many ingredients, right? You told me so.¡± He said it as if it was nothing but making makeshift pens and helping plant crops. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you need a continuous supply to keep producing fertilizers for your crops,¡± he added, finally.


    I stared at his mouth as he talked, gulps of air in my chest. It took a while for me to stammer, ¡°Claude, it¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared. I can handle my own, you saw me last time.¡± He looked at me strangely, like he was watching my face for something.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you go there,¡± I said, almost breathlessly. The thought of him with those shadowbeasts¡­


    ¡°I won¡¯t be alone. I would be with Harlan or Agate. Or Woodrow.¡±


    ¡°Claude, no,¡± I began to say, but Claude muttered something that caught me off guard.


    ¡°Or you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You could come with me. With you, I feel like the darkness doesn¡¯t have a chance.¡± I was beginning to say something, filling the silence with how best to express it, when Claude said it for me. ¡°No, never mind. You have a monastery to run. And you...¡± He looked at me completely, then. From my arms to my face. He moved towards me, his arms still resting on the fence. Our elbows bumped. ¡°You look tired. Maybe let Woodrow and Wilbur take things in charge.¡± He looked around. ¡°I know they have plenty of things to do during the day, but surely they can take carry some of your burdens for a day.¡±


    I shook my head and politely took a few steps back. ¡°I can handle it. I dare not disturb Wilbur when he¡¯s so close to making something to help with the livestock. Along with the crops.¡± Claude nodded and looked down uncertainly. I touched his elbow. ¡°You help me enough at the monastery.¡±


    His head snapped up. ¡°What, cooking, cleaning, and tending to the animals? Yes, but let me do something that would be really useful. Besides wouldn''t this help me become stronger to defend myself and become a soldier?¡±


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    I was taken aback. I withdrew my arm. ¡°You¡­ still want to do that?¡± But of course, he did. There¡¯s not much choice, anyway.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way I can think of to help my family, Ryne.¡± He stabbed his shepherd¡¯s staff on the ground. ¡°Seeing them take away the animals that we cared for¡­ Do you know they still reward soldiers with a small bit of land in service to their lords? I know Bahram is a bastard, but even he wouldn¡¯t dare not follow the old laws. It¡¯s one of the only laws that still applies, especially now.¡± A strong wind picked up from the mountains, blowing his long dark locks from his face. ¡°Who knows when the monsters from the mountains will eventually attack Rothfield? I''ve been hearing news of shadowbeasts prowling the great walled cities. I need to defend myself from those.¡±


    For a long while, I did not respond. ¡°If I come with you¡­¡± I began to say, and his smile quickly spread to his face.


    ¡°Agate¡¯s been telling me how you helped them fend off direwolves and bandits both. And we managed to take down shadowbeasts and somehow help Ember turn from a great rampaging fire beast into an adorable little pup. With you by my side, I know I¡¯ll be safe. Anyone will be safe.¡± He brought his face close to mine. "There''s something about you. Something about this land. You don''t just make things grow. You..."


    Another strong gust of wind caressed his dark locks and made me stare at him full in the face. It took the words he was about to say. I wanted to keep him close and tell him that he was a child and that he shouldn''t be thinking about these things. But I remembered that all of us had to grow up faster than what was expected. I felt sick to my stomach. I faced away muttering, ¡°I have to go back.¡±


    ¡ªMONASTERY¡ª


    Nights passed without Claude voicing his desire to join the group that ventured into the mountains to collect ores, but there were moments¡ªmoments when he thought I wasn¡¯t watching¡ªwhere his eyes would follow the men and women as they disappeared into the forest. His gaze lingered on their confident strides and the quiet pride they carried back with them, hands dusted with ore. He bit his lip, leaning toward them.


    When Woodrow accompanied them, Claude noticed how they returned with barely a scrape. Sometimes, Claude would accompany me while I helped Wilbur tend to their minor injuries. He watched closely as Wilbur carefully tipped yellow liquid from small bottles onto their red cuts, the measured way each drop was released. Claude¡¯s eyes always widened with quiet awe at the sight of it¡ªhow each wound seemed to seal, soothed under Wilbur¡¯s practiced hands. Wilbur would thank them for the ores, and then retreat to the infirmary, while Claude lingered, his thoughts heavy with unspoken dreams.


    Wilbur began to sample the blood of the livestock. His tools, though crude, were enough to reveal that they lacked the same vital elements as humans. He treated them with the same care he would people, retreating into his lab with his bottles. I helped him crush ores into powder and used my kindflame to produce several reactions: boil them, heat them, and make them spark. Wilbur frowned, his hands reaching for more ores and herbs, supplies or tools that weren¡¯t there, itching for more resources.


    ¡°There is only so much I could do without the proper supplies,¡± he said out loud, frustrated. He sighed and leaned onto the table, and then remembered I was there. He stood, looking down apologetically down at me. I held out a hand, giving him an understanding smile. I left him to it.


    Every Saintsday, I performed my rituals, gathering prayers from the settlement. With each prayer from the villagers, I regained strength, the nave slowly becoming more of a sacred space, filled with the glow of lit candles and freshly carved pews.


    And life continued its careful rhythm. We rotated the crops in the meadows and fished in the nearby rivers. But I could feel the growing distance in Claude, his heart reaching for something beyond the farm, beyond the simple life we had tried so hard to maintain.


    One evening, after the sun had long disappeared behind the hills, Claude approached me. He tapped my shoulder, and when I turned, he handed me a small loaf of bread, still warm, and a smaller bundle wrapped in cloth¡ªa cup of milk nestled inside.


    ¡°Ma wanted to offer it to Gaelmar,¡± he said softly in the stillness of the night.


    My heart swelled at the offerings from their farm. Even when they had less than before, they still wanted to give whatever they could offer. I swallowed, nodded, and led him to the altar. Together, we knelt, the sacred flame of Gaelmar flickering in the darkness, casting soft shadows across his face. As Claude bowed his head in prayer, I couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of his words, though they were silent. It was as if I could hear his very soul, his whispered plea filling the air around us.


    "Please let me be strong. Please protect my farm, this monastery, and the people who live in it. Please give Ryne the strength to carry on. And please... touch the hearts of the Bahrams. Remind them that they have hearts to begin with."


    His words settled deep in my chest, and I felt their sincerity, their purity. It was a simple prayer, a farmer¡¯s prayer, but in its simplicity, there was such aching hope. He prayed for everyone¡ªnever for himself, except to be strong enough to help us all.


    I held that prayer as though it were a fragile thing, something delicate and precious, and I carried it with me into my dreams that night. In the dream, I showed it to Gaelmar, laying Claude¡¯s plea before him, as if it was the basket of milk and bread Claude had offered.


    Gaelmar¡¯s presence was radiant, and his voice reverberated through the air. ¡°It is enough,¡± he said, his hands glowing softly as they reached toward me.


    Suddenly, the air around us was filled with blossoms, vibrant and full of life. Flowers bloomed across the meadow in my vision¡ªfeverfew, daisies, and others I hadn¡¯t seen in years, their colors vivid against the darkened backdrop of the world. Life sprouted where there had been only barren earth, as though Claude¡¯s prayer had stirred something deep within the land itself.


    I awoke from that dream with a sense of clarity, the weight of Claude¡¯s longing still wrapped around my heart. It wasn¡¯t just the ores or the strength he sought. He did want the chance to protect us, to stand by my side¡ªnot just as a farmer or a friend, but as something more, someone capable of lifting the burdens we both carried. And still, I remained stubborn.


    When I went out the church doors, I shivered against a particularly strong gust of wind. My eyes went to the dark forest, sensing something there. I felt like one of the dark trees there, its roots loosening their grip on the ground. And then I felt it. A thump. Then a sound of branches collapsing somewhere in the depths of the dark forest.

 Chapter 23 - The Meadow (Part 3)

    After Saintsday mass, the village hummed with quiet celebration, the air thick with the scent of roasting fish and freshly baked bread--or what appeared to be bread without an oven--wafting from the granges to the infirmary. Wilbur and I worked in silence, sorting the meadow flowers by their properties, the petals delicate under our fingers. ¡°We need to dry these and grind them into a fine powder,¡± Wilbur muttered, his eyes sharp with focus. ¡°Easier to mix into the livestock feed.¡±


    I nodded, joining him in the careful work. Each bloom was handled carefully, and we tried not to let the urgency of the task hang heavy on us. The promise of healthier livestock made us eager, though. Wilbur¡¯s brow furrowed as he measured and separated the common flowers, his movements methodical. He pressed daisies with his thumbs, pinched the head of the flower away, gathered their seeds, and stowed them away for later.


    When we moved on to the ores, Wilbur¡¯s gaze sharpened further. ¡°Iron... copper... let¡¯s see,¡± he murmured, scrutinizing each mineral with the same intensity. His calculations were careful, trying to find the balance of minerals that would supplement the each goat, sheep, pig, and fowl''s needs. When he was done, I set my kindflame under the glass with powdered ore. The sharp scent of burning minerals filled the lab. Wilbur watched it closely, scrutinizing for reactions, his pale face orange near the flame. I left him to his work, the crackle of fire and metal lingering in the air behind me.


    In the granges, Woodrow had taken command of the revelry. Laughter echoed in the air, especially from Jerome. The young scout was lively tonight, spurned to action by Woodrow¡¯s teasing. I would have thought that he had transformed from shy scout to blossoming jester, juggling wooden cups with a newfound sense of ease. Agate stood nearby, her arms crossed, a rare smile lighting her face. ¡°I never thought Jerome could be such a jokester,¡± she remarked when I sat next to her, amusement twinkling in her eyes. ¡°Woodrow¡¯s magic touch, I see.¡± I noticed she looked at Jerome fondly, like how Wilbur looks at me.


    As dusk settled, us monks and villagers gathered for supper, contentedly enjoring the reflection of our week''s labors. Freshly-plucked wildberries, warm oats, and yesterday¡¯s catch filled the table, the scent from the brass pot mingling with the low murmur of conversation. I listened as they talked about the grey days and the dark forest, of lost goats and pigs. They talked about us monks and the prayers and the lake.


    When the meal was done, Woodrow pulled out his wooden pipes from his belt, hidden beneath his robes, and soft notes drifted through the night. The music carried the spirit of peace, of solace, the notes wrapping around the villagers as they began to sway, feet tapping, hands clapping. Laughter rose in waves, a sound richer than I¡¯d heard in weeks. The settlement had found its voice again, buoyed by a night of shared joy.


    ---INFIRMARY---


    Back in the infirmary, the faint glow of Wilbur¡¯s work greeted me. He had arranged rows of tinctures, and glass vials filled with the crushed flowers, their faint medicinal scent still hanging in the air. Some of the dried blooms lay in a separate jar, mingled with the ores we¡¯d prepared earlier. \


    e pointed to the extractions made from common flowers. "It is not as effective as the yellowtongues and shivering maidens, but these will do in a pinch." Wilbur then handed me another bottle half-full of liquid. ¡°Heat this for me again,¡± Wilbur instructed.


    I complied, watching as the mixture turned to ash under the flame¡¯s steady heat. Beside me, Wilbur worked with more of the iron ores, purifying them with a steady hand, his gaze never wavering. Burnt petals mixed with the strong metal scent. He switched between ores and flowers; daisies and yellowtongues, shivering maidens and everbane. Fire opals and copper and iron. When the flowers had turned to fine ash, Wilbur mixed them with distilled water, the liquid changing colors from ugly grey to more appealign hues of pinkish-white and yellow as it absorbed the essence of the blooms. His movements were precise, each step practiced as he added the herbal extract to the purified ores. Together, we formed the supplements for the animals, shaping it into rough pellets. Wilbur showed it to me, eyeing it closely, looking like tiny biscuits.


    Hours later, we found ourselves in the cloistered garth, the cool night air a welcome relief after the heat of the lab. Wilbur stretched beside me, sweat gleaming on his brow. ¡°I¡¯m eager to see how this will affect the livestock,¡± he said, his voice light, though with notes of fatigue. We both turned our eyes to the ancient oak that stood sentinel over the courtyard, its gnarled branches framed by the pale light of the moon. As Woodrow¡¯s music drifted through the night, filling the air with a serene melody, a sense of peace settled over us. It wasn¡¯t just the work or the flowers or the ores¡ªit was the quiet knowledge that we were building something more, something lasting.


    For tonight, at least, that was enough.


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The results of our efforts showed themselves with astonishing speed. Our first test subject, Belle, approached the pellets with a hesitant snout, curious. She sniffed delicately, sampled the offering, and promptly spat it out with a disdainful snort. Undeterred, Wilbur blended in some feverfluke flower essence, and Belle, sensing the enticing shift in aroma, swallowed the mixture eagerly, her petalfolk breed instincts leading her to munch on the pellets.


    Within just two nights, Belle¡¯s transformation was striking. She pranced with renewed vigor, her wool softer and almost gleaming under the pale light of the moon. Claude could not believe it; his fingers gentle as he stroked her fur, a spark of wonder lighting his eyes at this change. I smiled as he murmured in her ear, telling her how beautiful she is, that she was th emost beautiful sheep she ever laid eyes on. He smiled at me from atop her fur. He clasped my hand and held it.


    Wilbur and I expanded our efforts to the pigs, geese, and goats, each responding favorably. Their energy surged; the geese waddled with a newfound swagger, and the goats leaped with stronger legs. We couldn¡¯t resist sampling the milk ourselves. The moment I tasted it, I could not deny the milk''s improved quality; it was richer, creamier, sweeter. Wilbur had an idea, and I watched him pour a splash of this improved milk into his concoctions, the resulting slurry a potent fertilizer for the granges. Even the pig liver found a new purpose, enriching the fields with nutrients and life.


    Word of our success spread like wildfire among the villagers. I stood before them, showcasing the new supplements with a sense of pride, explaining their design to enhance animal health. Yet, our supply was limited: it would not be enough to susgain all of the settler''s livestock. So, I made a choice: I poured the entire bottle into the pig trough, ensuring that every swine could benefit from the animal supplements. The remaining pellets were crushed and scattered, a generous offering to the sheep and goats, allowing all the animals to taste Wilbur''s new creation.


    The next few days, we monitored them. Since it was diluted, the effects were subtle and less immediate. It took another week, but the results showed themselves as well. Their pigs snorted and had the energy to sniff the ground to look for food. Under the watchful gaze of the moon, the land hummed with the promise of growth and vitality, the fruits of our labor blossoming in every corner of the settlement.


    ¡ªCLOISTERED GARTH¡ª


    The ancient oak loomed like a dark sentinel under the moonlight, its gnarled branches twisting into shapes that resembled the antlers of some long-forgotten beast. Shadows danced around it, elongating into curious figures that flickered in the night. Curiosity tugged at me as I approached, summoning Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame to wrap around the tree¡¯s sturdy trunk. The flames swirled and flickered, revealing a fleeting vision: the oak in its prime, adorned with lush leaves, ripe fruits, and the cheerful songs of birds. Just as quickly, the vision dissolved into the night.


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    A rustle to my right pulled my gaze, and I caught Wilbur staring at me with a thoughtful expression, his brow furrowed as he shifted his gaze between the oak and me. After contemplating, he raised a hand, signaling for me to wait, then retreated to his infirmary. When he returned, he slipped beside me, cradling bottles filled with our latest concoctions. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve found a way to enhance their potency,¡± he whispered, as if afraid the night itself might overhear. ¡°I need your flame.¡±


    Beneath the full moon¡¯s silver gaze, I channeled Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame into the glass bottles. The liquid inside began to bubble and glow, casting an eerie blue light that faded back into a vivid hue, more intense than before. We left the mixture under the moonlight until midnight, marking the moment the brew transformed completely.


    He looked at me. "Are you all right?"


    "A little light-heade," I admitted.


    "Then I shall rarely ask it of you again." Wilbur laid a soothing hand on my back. A while later, he beckoned for me to follow him back to the infirmary. "It is time for our weekly check-up," he said.


    We had collected the villagers¡¯ blood the previous evening, but did not have the time to sample them. I watched as he tasted droplets from their wooden dishes, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction. ¡°It¡¯s sweeter than before,¡± he remarked, avoiding my gaze, but meaning to show me that almost all of the settlers now were healthier than when they first came to Rothfield. I needed to remind msyelf taht it was the whole community in Rothfield that was sustaining us, just like how a proper monastery was supposed to run. Wilbur healed and nurtured. Woodrow fought and entertained. I prayed the darkness away. And the people fought with dignity, and with renewed vigor. Their prayers fuled my own so that I could continue this warm cycle of trust.


    Woodrow arrived shortly after, his green eyes shimmering expectantly. The moment he spotted the dishes, he licked his lips, and when our eyes met, he forced a strained smile before looking away. I touched their arms in silent acknowledgment before slipping out of the infirmary, the night air cool against my skin.


    I settled beneath the moon, gazing at the cloistered garden. The flowers Wilbur had gathered thrived in our soil, their vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the encroaching darkness. As I waited for my brothers to consume the dark red blood, a sense of unease settled over me, as though a candle had been extinguished in the church¡¯s nave.


    ---GRANGES---


    The next morning, the source of my unease became painfully clear: one of the elders had passed away in his sleep. Agate consoled the grieving woman, who had lost her father. I approached her, uncertain of my role. She clasped my hands, her tears mingling with my pale skin as she expressed her gratitude.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I murmured. ¡°I wish we could have done more.¡±


    She shook her head, a mixture of sorrow and relief in her eyes. ¡°You gave my father a few more weeks to live. Before you, I could only pretend not to cry as he suffered. Now, I know he left this world with a smile. You gave him some of his life back, enough to play with his grandchildren. He was back to his strong self, the way I remembered him when I was a lass.¡± She kissed the back of my hand. "Thank you, Brother Ryne."


    Harlan stepped forward, looking at me with an steady, serious gaze, flanked by men carrying shovels. I was confused, until I realized: they were waiting for my guidance on how to proceed with the funeral arrangements. Agate, sensing my hesitation, inquired why Wilbur and Woodrow weren¡¯t with us.


    ¡°Surely, there are other matters they need to address. They shouldn¡¯t leave it all to you.¡±


    Her words struck a chord, and I left them, grappling with the knowledge that the elder had passed peacefully but saddened he would not witness another sunrise. I stared into the flames, praying for his soul¡¯s journey.


    Wilbur would have known what to do, but he and Woodrow remained in the crypts, sleeping. I racked my mind for funeral customs¡ªfood, of course, but what little we had. Today was supposed to be their fishing day. I grabbed the fishing rod Claude had left in the toolshed and made my way to the lake, leaving the preparations to Agate. At the lake, I casted my line into the water. The quiet of the afternoon turned to dusk, interrupted only by the occasional tug on the line. I returned with five silvergill fish, only to find the torches lit and Harlan rushing over, shovel in hand.


    ¡°We wanted to wait for your permission,¡± he said, gesturing toward the body and the ground.


    I glanced over at Rothfield, uncertain of where to bury him. Closing my eyes, I tried to recall the vision Gaelmar had shown me¡ªa sprawling green meadow behind the monastery, though no cemetery had been revealed.


    ¡°Over here,¡± I instructed, leading them behind the monastery. ¡°He deserves a comfortable resting place.¡± I handed the fish to the cooks for the grieving family.


    To my dismay, the area was little more than a rough patch of ground, strewn with rocks and twigs, bordered by an ominous forest. I bit my lip, preparing to apologize to Harlan, but saw him already digging. As the dirt fell behind him, he uttered something that made me shiver. ¡°It¡¯s like where we laid our brothers and sisters back in Kent. At least here we know the wolves won¡¯t disturb them.¡±


    They brought in the body, Agate still holding the woman, her hand resting on the woman¡¯s trembling shoulders as she sobbed. I stood by, warmed by Gaelmar¡¯s influence, placing my hand on the cold brow of the deceased, praying softly. ¡°May you find the rest you sought, and be like the light joining the many blessed souls watching over us.¡±


    The daughter continued to cry as Harlan and some of the men lowered the body to the ground, covering it with soil. They all stood in silence until Harlan patted the mound. Agate spoke of the man''s virtues, her voice rising like a gentle balm. I touched Ember, who had come from the crypts, sniffing the mound. I instructed her to guard the grave for the next few nights, fending off any shadow direwolves.


    She growled in response as I returned to the nave, lighting a few candles and gazing up at Gaelmar¡¯s statue. ¡°Our first burial on these grounds, Saint Gaelmar. I hope all souls find peace here and that the journey to the Great Miracle is made easier.¡±


    I envisioned a boat drifting down a serene river, carrying the man as he smiled at the world he once knew.


    When Wilbur emerged, I shared the news. An understanding flickered in his eyes, thought there was something there that I did not quite catch. ¡°I must attend to the bereaved,¡± he muttered, his cloak swirling around him as he left. Woodrow followed, his usual levity replaced by a more somber demeanor, the weight of responsibility resting heavily on his shoulders.


    I felt ill-equipped for such matters, the void of practice evident. Memories of my childhood washed over me, and I tightened my grip on my mask, hiding my feelings from the world. The crackle of the communal fire reached my ears, accompanied by Woodrow¡¯s solemn tune on his woodpipes.


    That night, as I made my way to the infirmary, I encountered Woodrow, bathed in moonlight, stance firm and rigid. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting.


    ¡°Could you remove Ember from the old man¡¯s gravesite, Ryne?¡± he asked gently. I frowned, brows knotting together. ¡°Wilbur wants to check on the body,¡± he explained with a shrug. ¡°He does that sometimes to understand the affliction better. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re familiar with his experiments.¡±


    Strange as it seemed, I bit my lip, pondering the implications. Would it not be improper? But if it could help the living...


    ¡°All right,¡± I relented, returning to the cemetery. I called Ember, rewarding her with pellets and a portion of that evening¡¯s pork supper for her cooperation.


    Before retiring, I spotted Wilbur and Woodrow huddled together in the cloistered garden, locked in the infirmary, with Woodrow standing guard by the door. I frowned but felt the pull of sleep overpowering, and so I descended into the crypts, yawning my way to rest.


    ___


    The new supplements arrived at Kent¡¯s settlement, and we watched as their livestock thrived. Harlan and Agate beamed with delight, the children¡¯s faces flushing with color as they played with lambs until the crows called for dawn. A young girl, who had long wished for her lamb to frolic with her, finally saw her wish fulfilled. I allowed them to play in the meadow, and even Agate cuddled with a ram while Harlan lifted the fluffiest ewe. I petted Ember, noting that she was not affected at all by the pellets. Perhaps her otherworldly nature required more potent ingredients.


    Claude arrived past midday, admiring the thriving livestock with a radiant smile. ¡°Look at you all,¡± he exclaimed, then turned to me. ¡°When can I join the men?¡±


    ¡°A week from now,¡± I said, a pang of sorrow shooting through my chest. But Claude was beaming, releasing Belle from her pen to join the rest of the sheep from Kent. I wanted to send him when Woodrow was tasked to join the men, along with Harlan. Claude would have them two¨Cone fast and agile, and one strong¨Cto keep him protected. I told Woodrow to keep an eye out for him and he saluted me, swearing that he would.


    ¡°I like the lad,¡± he had commented.


    As the monastery basked in joy, a growing strain settled within me. Twice now, I had struggled to catch my breath during sermons, with Ember aiding me in focusing on prayers of dispelling and banishment. Blake¡¯s taunts echoed in the dark, his chains clinking ominously.


    ¡°It will not work, and you will fail. Look how tired you are. One day, I will break you,¡± he jeered. I felt the chains slip, redoubling my efforts as I focused on Claude, his family, and the villagers, binding Blake¡¯s mouth to silence his taunts.


    ¡°Watch me,¡± I said, invoking Gaelmar¡¯s name to extinguish his voice.

 Chapter 23 - The Meadow (Part 4)

    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    Claude leaned over the sheep enclosure, his fingers brushing through Belle¡¯s thick wool. The sheep trotted in circles, content beneath his touch, her soft bleats echoing in the quiet. I approached him slowly, our elbows knocking gently together, and Claude turned to me with a smile, the warmth of it reaching his eyes.


    ¡°First the people, now the animals. How many wonders do you think you and your brothers can work?¡± His voice was low, as though he didn¡¯t want to disturb the calm that had settled over the grange.


    I glanced at the flock. The sheep¡¯s coats shone brighter, the goats chewed their cud with a relaxed ease, and the hens pecked the dark soil, searching for hidden morsels of oats. Each animal bore the signs of health and vitality, their condition a testament to the care we¡¯d given them. The children of the village had grown rosier, too, thanks to the rich milk and golden-yolked eggs we collected. Even the frail elders, once bent under the weight of age, now stood taller, lingering in the rare sunlight.


    ¡°They¡¯ll need shearing soon, don¡¯t you think?¡± Claude¡¯s voice held a hint of excitement as he watched Belle, imagining her free of her heavy fleece.


    ¡°Probably,¡± I agreed, smiling at the thought of Belle prancing around, lighter and free. I chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m certain her wool will make excellent quilts, and maybe some fine clothes.¡± I leaned closer, our shoulders almost touching. ¡°You¡¯ve done good work with them, Claude. They seem happy.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Claude said, brows shot up.


    ¡°We merely improved upon the care you provided. Without you, she wouldn¡¯t be so happy.¡±


    He blinked, then smiled. He nodded, his gaze lingering on the flock. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad they continued their happiness here. They look happier than they¡¯ve been in a long time¡± He looked at the hens. ¡°You know, they didn¡¯t use to forage like this. They know that something about the land has changed. More than our farmland, at least.¡±


    I murmured an incoherent response, the words soft. His fingers flexed against the fence, and for a moment, he was quiet. Then he smiled, a small, secret thing that made something tighten in my chest.


    ___


    Belle looked over with anticipation at the shearing tools in Claude¡¯s hands. He stood beside me, turning one of the shears in his hands, testing its weight.


    ¡°You ready?¡± He asked me. When I nodded, he opened the animal enclosure¡¯s gates and called for Belle. As if knowing what to do, she laid on Claude¡¯s lap as he gently stroked her, murmuring into her ear. He looked down, eyes bright, bringing his nose to the top of her head. ¡°Beautiful Belle. Beautiful, beautiful thing you are. I¡¯ve never seen your coat so thick.¡± Claude¡¯s fingers curled in her soft wool.


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    Claude demonstrated first, his hands confident as he guided the shears along the natural curve of Belle¡¯s back. The fleece came away in clean, silvery strips, revealing the smooth undercoat beneath.


    ¡°It¡¯s all in the rhythm,¡± he murmured, his fingers moving deftly. ¡°Steady pressure, following the wool¡¯s grain. Make sure you don''t hurt them.¡± His voice was calm, patient, and I found myself watching not just his hands but his face: the concentration, the slight furrow of his brow, the softness in his eyes when Belle bleated softly.


    ¡°You try,¡± he said to me. I sat cross-legged facing Claude, Belle between us, as his hands guided me. Claude nodded with each shorn wool and I felt giddy at this simple task. Claude offered a steadying word if needed when I was straying from the proper procedure. I moved slowly, mirroring the technique he¡¯d shown me, feeling the wool part under my hands. The shears clicked softly, stripping fleece that fell in a basket. Slowly, Belle¡¯s tender skin was revealed beneath.


    ¡°Good,¡± Claude said quietly, approval in his tone. ¡°You¡¯re doing well, Ryne.¡±


    There was pride in his voice, and I couldn¡¯t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Each stroke grew more confident, the wool coming away in neat, unbroken sheets. With every pass of the shears, I felt a shared sense of accomplishment and we passed the noon away staying like that.


    When we were finished, Belle bleated her thanks and went back inside the sheep enclosure, resting. Claude admired the wool we gathered with a firm look. He said, ¡°The Bahrams are unworthy of Belle¡¯s wool. I won¡¯t let their grubby hands soil these.¡± I wanted to know what he planned to do with Belle¡¯s wool, but he smiled and clapped me on the back as he whistled for more of the sheep to be shorn.


    When the shearing was done with the rest of the sheep, the wool gathered in soft piles, Claude and I leaned against the pen, breath misting in the cool air. The sheep, now free of their heavy coats, trotted about, nibbling at the grass. Claude¡¯s gaze was on them, but his shoulder pressed lightly against mine.


    ¡°They look good, don¡¯t they?¡± he murmured.


    I glanced at him. ¡°Because of you. You¡¯ve cared for them as if they were your own.¡±


    He laughed softly, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s all of us. Wilbur¡¯s medicines, your watchful eye, even Woodrow¡¯s protections. It¡¯s been a joint effort.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I agreed, but my gaze lingered on him. ¡°But it wouldn¡¯t have been possible without your dedication.¡±


    His lips twitched into a smile, and for a moment, we stood there. He scratched his chin. "I actually missed doing that. I thought it was such a bore to do. I''m just glad that we have wool to shear." I did not respond. We looked over the fields stretching out, the wool stacked high.


    ¡°You know,¡± Claude continued softly, ¡°it¡¯s strange to think that just a few seasons ago, these fields were bare, the sheep so thin.¡± He paused, looking at me, his expression serious. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have done any of this without you. You and your brothers gave me a chance to be more than just a simple herdsman. You made me feel like I could be part of something greater.¡±


    ¡°Claude,¡± I began, the words stumbling before I could form them. Instead, I reached out, laying a hand on his arm. ¡°I¡¯d do anything to see you happy and thriving.¡±


    For a moment, he said nothing, then he turned his hand so it brushed against mine. Shoulder to shoulder, we watched the sheep playing together inside the fence.

 Chapter 23 - The Meadow (Part 5 - END)

    ¡ªMEADOW¡ª


    It was one of those rare days when the clouds thinned, allowing the sun¡¯s light to break through and cast a warm, golden glow over the meadow. I extended my hand, letting the faint warmth fall on my pale skin. The sun behind the thick clouds, hung low in the sky, washing the landscape in a soft haze as I sat among the grazing sheep. My robe, worn and fraying at the edges, told the story of days spent tending to the flock. I leaned back against my arms, closing my eyes, just for a moment, and felt the weight of exhaustion settle deep into my bones. My head dipped. I jolted awake, snapping myself back into the present.


    The meadow was so peaceful it reminded me of my warm cot back in the old monasteries, with heavy mattresses and goose-feathered pillows.


    I didn¡¯t hear Claude approaching until his boots crunched softly in the grass nearby. Opening my eyes, I found him standing over me, hands in his pockets, watching with that familiar mix of concern and polite amusement.


    ¡°Long day, huh?¡± His voice was gentle. He made an attempt at light teasing. "Your eyes look like they carry sacks of dry grains."


    I startled slightly but managed a smile, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to me. I noticed the sword at his side. It was his father''s, not the wooden one he usually trained with. I¡¯d forgotten Woodrow had told him to practice with real blades tonight. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear you coming.¡±


    ¡°How could you, dozing off like that?¡± He chuckled as he sat down beside me, his body settling into the earth as if it belonged there. As if it belonged near mine. I smiled, noticing that his training was starting to sculpt his arms. He looked out over the sheep, his expression softening. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve been taking better care of them and the land and the people than yourself.¡±


    The smile faded from my lips. I glanced down, picking at the frayed hem of my robe. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. I¡¯m fine, really.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look fine.¡± He hesitated before reaching out, placing a hand on my arm. The warmth of his touch warmed me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do everything alone.¡±


    His touch burned through the fabric of my sleeve, reminding me of just how human he was. I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. When he was like this, I could not help but spill out all my worries and all the lives I had lived before him. I always saw children babbling with each other when they became friends. They told stories when they learned how to form words. How can I become a true friend to Claude when all the words I wanted to build his trust would be at the cost of our stay at Rothfield?


    If he knew the truth? The thought alone made my stomach twist. How could I ever begin to explain to steady, kind, Claude that the gentle monk he saw was a jailor keeping a monster inside him from rampaging and turning his good-natured brothers into something sinister, hungry for blood? That the monastery wasn¡¯t just a place of prayer, but a sanctuary for creatures like me, creatures of the night, hiding in plain sight?


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a burden,¡± I whispered, unable to meet his eyes.


    His grip tightened slightly as if to reassure me. ¡°You could never be a burden. Not to me.¡±


    His words struck deep, and I hated how much I wanted to believe them. How easy it would be to let him in, to show him the loneliness I carried. But I couldn¡¯t do that to him. Claude didn¡¯t deserve the burden of knowing what I truly was, of living in fear that one day he might become prey instead of a friend.


    Still, I leaned into his touch, just a little. It was a small gesture of trust, but for me, it was monumental. The air between us felt thick with a tension that had been building for a long time. I knew Claude cared for me, but how could I let him get closer when every step toward me was a step toward danger?


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said after a moment, his voice light as he stood and offered his hand. ¡°Let¡¯s head back before it gets dark. I¡¯ve got some stew on the fire, and you could use a proper meal.¡±


    I hesitated but took his hand. The warmth of his grip steadied me as I rose to my feet. It was so easy to imagine a different life¡ªone where I could accept his kindness without fear. But this wasn¡¯t that life. The monastery was a sanctuary, yes, but also a prison, one where the truth could never be spoken aloud. And yet¡­


    As we walked, the sheep trailing behind lazily, Claude filled the silence with talk of the farm. He always did that; filling the quiet with stories of crops and cattle, his voice soothing, making the world feel less dangerous. Less complicated.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± Claude asked, his voice cutting through my thoughts. He turned to face me, his brow furrowed. ¡°You alright?¡±


    I swallowed hard, staring at the ground. The urge to tell him surged up, almost overwhelming. I could feel the words pressing at the back of my throat. I¡¯m not what you think I am, Claude. I¡¯m not even human.


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± My voice came out small, trembling. ¡°There are things¡­¡±


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    He stepped closer, and I could feel his concern like a physical thing, wrapping around me. ¡°Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don¡¯t have to carry it by yourself.¡±


    I shook my head, the tension building in my chest. ¡°I can¡¯t. I just¡­ I can¡¯t, Claude.¡±


    He was quiet for a moment, then his hand found my shoulder, grounding me again. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be afraid. Whatever it is, we¡¯ll deal with it. Together.¡±


    Together. How easy it was to forget, with him beside me, the life I¡¯d left behind. The darkness and shadows that still clung to me.


    I forced a smile, thin and brittle. ¡°I appreciate that. I really do.¡±


    But I saw the hurt in his eyes, the way they dropped to the ground. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to overstep.¡± He scratched his head, looking almost sheepish. ¡°I know you¡¯ll become a monk and I¡¯ll always be a farmer until my last days, and¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Claude,¡± I interrupted, grabbing his arm. ¡°It¡¯s not about that. It¡¯s¡­ something else.¡± I looked him in the eye. ¡°You make me feel happy. You make me feel normal. You just see me.¡±


    He studied me, his eyes searching my face for something I wasn¡¯t ready to give. Eventually, he nodded, though there was sadness in his gaze. ¡°Alright. I won¡¯t push. But you know where to find me when you¡¯re ready.¡±


    Guilt settled heavily in my chest as we walked back. I didn¡¯t deserve his kindness and his friendship, not with the secrets I carried. But I was thankful.


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into twilight, the night grew colder. The weight of the truth pressed harder on me. I glanced at Claude, his shoulders silhouetted against the fading light, and wondered how long I could keep pretending and protect him from the truth. Sure when he grew old, he will¡­


    A sudden chill swept over me, one that was all too familiar. My eyes widened, and I clutched my chest, glancing at the distant mountains. Claude stopped beside me, concern furrowing his brow. I slowed as we neared the edge of the meadow, where the trees cast long shadows in the fading light. The chill began to creep up, raising the hairs on my arms, running to my scalp.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Claude asked.


    I tried to summon warmth to my hands, but Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame was too weak. I¡¯d pushed myself too hard, and drained my energy.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± Claude stepped closer, steadying me. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°We need to get back to the monastery. Now.¡± My voice trembled.


    Claude whistled for Belle, and I called for Ember, hoping her flame could protect us. But before she arrived, the rustling in the trees grew louder. Before either of us could react, a massive dire wolf stepped out from the woods, larger than any I¡¯d seen before, its red eyes glowing in the darkness. The dark forest''s power had waned this day, and it did not waken to protect us.


    Claude stepped in front of me, raising his sword, his stance firm. The one that Woodrow had taught him. The beast lunged, and I screamed, calling out to Gaelmar, a desperate warmth surging through me and into Claude¡¯s blade. It glowed faintly, a soft blue, as it clashed with the wolf¡¯s claws. But then the light sputtered, and the world darkened around me. All my flame had been blown away by that simple blessing. The last thing I saw before everything went black was a flash of fiery red hair and a smaller, glowing creature at his side. A sharp silver thing flew through the air, striking the beast, and it disintegrated into ash as Claude and Woodrow took it down. Ember''s went up to me, licking my nose, hot as coals.


    ¡ªCRYPT¡ª


    When I awoke, it was to find Wilbur staring down at me, frowning. Woodrow stood beside him, peering over me with his arms crossed.


    ¡°What¡­?¡± My voice came out weakly, Wilbur helped me up, gently pulling me by the arm. Woodrow gave a curt nod, muttering something about informing Claude that I had woken up.


    ¡°Claude?¡± The name hit me like a stone dropped into still water. ¡°Claude!¡±


    ¡°Settle down. He¡¯s all right.¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice was soothing as he sat beside me, placing a steady hand on my back. ¡°Woodrow arrived just in time. I suspect it was Ember you called. She went from playful to dragging both of us by our robes, nearly setting my table ablaze in the process.¡±


    I groaned, pressing a hand to my head, which felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise. ¡°I feel terrible.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been overexerting yourself,¡± Wilbur said calmly, his eyes full of quiet concern.


    ¡°I need to play my part in making sure the monasteries and its inhabitants survive,¡± I huffed.


    Wilbur¡¯s face darkened for a moment, his expression pained before he quickly looked away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that we haven¡¯t been able to offer more help.¡±


    I closed my eyes, not intending to hurt him. I turned his face back toward me, my fingers gripping his sleeve. ¡°You¡¯re doing everything you can.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re shouldering too much responsibility.¡± His voice trembled slightly. ¡°And if it hadn¡¯t been for Claude¡­¡± He shuddered. Just then, Woodrow reentered the room.


    ¡°I sent him off,¡± Woodrow said, settling back into the shadows. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t leave until you were awake. But now that I promised him you''re safe and in one piece, he went home.¡± He crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as he hovered near the steps. ¡°You¡¯re not using your powers efficiently, Ryne.¡±


    I sighed. It was true. I had been running on fumes, using the kindflame for the daily routine required by the monastery--protection, dispelling, barriers--without giving myself the rest I desperately needed.


    ¡°We¡¯re fortunate Claude is as strong as he is,¡± Woodrow continued. ¡°He managed to hold his own until we arrived. He¡¯s quite the fighter for his age.¡± His tone was approving, but then he exchanged a glance with Wilbur, one I didn¡¯t quite understand.


    Before I could ask, the room spun again, and I blinked, suddenly realizing that Ember was curled up on my lap. She was fast asleep, and I realized her flame was spent. She must have shared with me her own store of fire, making me wonder what our connection was. I brought my cheek to her soft, warm head, letting her gentle heat calm the whirlwind inside me.


    ¡°Thank you, Woodrow,¡± I mumbled through a yawn, my body heavy with exhaustion.


    ¡°Rest now,¡± Wilbur urged softly.


    And so I did, drifting into a sleep filled with visions of silver daggers and soft candles, rising and falling like the breath of the night.

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 1)

    ¡ªMEADOW¡ª


    Long shadows reached across the training grounds, where Claude swung his sword in practiced arcs under Woodrow¡¯s watchful gaze. The sound of steel cutting through the crisp morning air punctuated the silence, each swing more deliberate, more forceful than the last. When the training concluded, Wilbur surprised us all when he appeared in front of the church to call Claude and me both. His eyes told me that Claude''s vitamins were ready. Wilbur had tasted his blood again after nourishing him well with the improved milk and eggs. He was shy at first when accepting meat, but Agate, Harlan, and I threatened to spoonfeed him bits of it if he did not. So he grinned, convinced when Harlan said that eating well would only bring him closer to his goal of becoming a fine soldier.


    I guided Claude to the church. Wilbur presented a simple vial of a dark-brown liquid to Claude. "Finish it in one gulp," he instructed. "I''ve done all I could to cover the awful taste, but it will still be unpleasant. If only I had honey, but, well..." He motioned for Claude to drink up.


    Claude stared at it, at Wilbur, at me. He shrugged, braced himself, and gulped down the bottle. He shivered and stuck out his tongue and made an awful face, stamping his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You were not lying!" He gasped out. Wilbur chuckled and dismissed him, saying that he should probably rest for a while. When Claude was gone, Wilbur whispered, "It is meant to boost strength and speed, but I am unsure if the essence of daisies would make him sleepy. We''ll watch him tomorrow."


    Tomorrow came, Claude''s eyes blazing with determination. We trained in the meadow this time. I stood away, leaning against a tree at the edge of the field, watching them. My chest tightened with every swing of Claude¡¯s sword, with every new enhancement Wilbur devised to sharpen his abilities. I couldn¡¯t tear my gaze away from him, from the way his movements had become more precise, more powerful under Woodrow¡¯s guidance. And yet, all I felt was a deep, gnawing dread.


    Claude had been so eager when he first told me his plans. He spoke of securing land, of earning armor and resources for the future. His voice had been filled with a kind of youthful excitement, the kind that reminded me how young he truly was, despite the horrors he¡¯d already seen. It was noble, I supposed, wanting to make something of himself, to carve out a place in this world that had offered him so little. But he was on a dangerous path.


    I closed my eyes, feeling the kindflame stir within me, flickering just beneath the surface. I had used it so many times now, always with one purpose: to protect him. To bolster his shadow resistance, to shield him from the darkness that lurked in every corner of our world. Most of my prayers I offered to Gaelmar were for Claude¡¯s safety, for guidance in how to keep him from falling into the same darkness that had claimed so many before him. But Gaelmar was silent, and the kindflame, for all its warmth, offered no answers.


    Woodrow called out another command, and Claude responded with a quick, practiced strike. I watched as Woodrow corrected his stance, showing him how to pivot on his heel, and how to twist the blade just so. It was a subtle movement, but one that could mean the difference between life and death in a fight.


    I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. Woodrow had been teaching him for weeks now, and his progress was undeniable. He could hold his own in a fight, that much was clear. But what happened when it wasn¡¯t a shadowbeast he faced, but something far worse? What happened when the enemy wasn¡¯t something I could burn away with a flicker of kindflame?


    My hand tightened into a fist at my side. The thought of Claude out there, in the thick of battle, risking his life for a dream that could so easily shatter, filled me with a kind of helplessness I wasn¡¯t used to. I had fought so hard to keep him safe, to keep the shadows from claiming him. But now... Now it felt like he was walking willingly into their grasp.


    A surge of heat rose in my chest, and I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the kindflame before it erupted. I couldn¡¯t protect him forever, could I? Claude had a right to his own path, his own choices. But the idea of him becoming a full-fledged soldier, of putting himself in constant danger, tore at me. I glanced toward the heavens, a silent prayer slipping from my lips. Gaelmar, give me guidance. I had never felt so torn. I was caught between wanting to protect Claude from the world and wanting to let him find his own way. But what if his way led to his death? Could I stand by and watch that happen?


    ¡°Ryne,¡± Woodrow¡¯s voice snapped me from my thoughts. I blinked, realizing that training had come to a halt. Claude was looking at me now, a curious tilt to his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His smile was easy and confident.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± Claude repeated, walking toward me. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡± His tone was serious, though there was still that flicker of excitement in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Woodrow says I¡¯m almost there¡ªalmost good enough to fight with the others. If I keep training, if I keep pushing myself... I¡¯ll be ready to join Bahram''s soldiers soon, if they''ll have me. Who knows, with the armor and the resources they''ll give me, I can finally have something to pay you back.¡± Claude saw my lips move, so he added, quickly, "I just want to. I want to give back."


    I nodded, but I couldn¡¯t find my voice. My throat felt tight like every word I wanted to say was trapped, strangled by my own fear.


    ¡°I need this, Ryne,¡± Claude continued, stepping closer. His expression softened as he searched my face. ¡°I want to be able to stand on my own. I want to be someone you and others can rely on. You''ve helped us so much, in more ways than feeding us. But I can¡¯t keep depending on that. I need to be strong, too.¡±


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    I need you to stay alive, I thought, but the words never left my lips. Instead, I forced a weak smile, my hand twitching as if it wanted to reach for him but didn¡¯t know how.


    ¡°Claude,¡± I started, my voice quiet. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to see you hurt.¡±


    He frowned slightly, his brow knitting together. ¡°Everywhere is danger. We live in a dangerous time, don''t let the peace of Rothfield fool you. It  may be a losing battle and what I''ve learned here won''t guarantee me living to see the bright dawn one more time, but it''s giving me a fighting chance." He looked at me steadily. Woodrow walked away, leaving us, suddenly interested in watching a common flower in the grass. "That¡¯s why I¡¯m doing this. If I can face that danger head-on, I can protect you. I can protect all of us.¡±


    I wanted to tell him that it wasn¡¯t that simple¡ªthat no amount of swordsmanship or strength could prepare him for the horrors that awaited on the battlefield. But instead, I looked away, the kindflame flickering weakly inside me. I had already used so much of my power to keep him safe, to shield him from the darkness. But it wouldn¡¯t be enough forever.


    ¡°I won''t ever stop praying for you," I said. "I won''t stop worrying."


    Claude¡¯s expression softened, his hand coming to rest on my arm. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me, and for a moment, I was lost in the simple connection between us.


    ¡°I trust you, Ryne,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Whatever you think is best, I¡¯ll listen. But this... this feels like what I¡¯m meant to do.¡±


    I met his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the future¡ªsaw him in armor, standing tall among the soldiers, his sword burning bright with kindflame. But I also saw the blood, the pain, the fear in his eyes. The vision left me cold.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep protecting you,¡± I whispered, more to myself than to him. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t want me to.¡±


    Claude smiled, not fully understanding, and turned back toward Woodrow. My heart ached as I watched him go, the kindflame burning hotter, a reminder of all I had sacrificed to keep him safe. And now, as I stood on the edge of a decision I didn¡¯t want to make, I wondered how much more I would be willing to sacrifice just to keep him, and people like him, alive.


    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    The night was still as we set out, the wind whispering through the peaks of the mountain range. The moon hung low, casting silver light across the jagged paths that snaked their way into the distance. I walked silently behind the group, my footsteps falling in rhythm with the hum of the earth beneath me. It was one of those nights when the air felt thick with an energy that charged my senses and made me acutely aware of every breath, every flicker of shadow. I had chosen this night deliberately¡ªWoodrow, Harlan, and Agate were available, the perfect team to accompany Claude into the mountains for his first significant trial. I watched from the darkness, hiding myself in the shadows, careful not to let them see me. Especially not Claude.


    He had come so far in his training¡ªWoodrow had made sure of that¡ªbut the fear gnawed at me all the same. I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was too soon, that I was pushing him into a danger he wasn¡¯t ready for. And yet, here we were. Claude¡¯s determination had been unwavering; he wanted to prove himself, to show that he could carry his own weight, and so I had to let him. But I could not stand idly by on his first mission.


    Woodrow led the group, his tall figure cutting a steady path through the rocky terrain. His dagger hung loosely in his belt, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Agate, as stoic as ever, followed closely behind, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Harlan was last in line, his spear at the ready. And in the center of them all, like a precious stone encased in steel, was Claude. His face was set with determination, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if it had always belonged there. The thought made my chest tighten.


    They were tasked to gather fire opals near the mouth of Mount Lhottem. Claude was eager to prove himself in this trial, to show that he could handle the responsibility and the weight of what lay ahead. I only hoped he was ready. I placed my hand on the soil, already feeling the shadowbeasts sensing us through their spawning area. As we reached the mouth of a narrow cave, the air grew colder, and the shadows deepened. Woodrow raised a hand, signaling for the group to halt. He turned, his sharp eyes catching mine for just a moment, though I remained hidden in the darkness. He knew I was there, of course. He always did. But he didn¡¯t acknowledge me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make camp here for a short while,¡± Woodrow murmured, his voice low but steady. ¡°The beasts will come soon enough. Stay alert.¡±


    Claude nodded, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. I could see the tension in his shoulders and the slight tremor in his fingers. He was nervous, but he was hiding it well. I knew him too well, though. I could see the determination in his eyes, but there was also doubt that lingered just beneath the surface. But that was natural, wasn¡¯t it? Fear was part of the process. It was how he used that fear that mattered.


    They set about preparing their equipment, sharpening blades, and checking supplies. Harlan muttered something to Claude, offering him a word of encouragement as he adjusted his armor. Agate stood off to the side, her eyes trained on the horizon, ever the watchful sentinel. And then, as if summoned by the very weight of their preparation, the first growl echoed from the depths of the cave.


    My breath caught in my throat as the shadows shifted, coiling and twisting like living smoke. The shadowbeasts emerged, their blackened forms rippling with unnatural energy, their eyes gleaming with malevolent hunger. They were larger than I had remembered, their claws glinting like obsidian in the moonlight. Another low growl rumbled from their throats, sending a shiver down my spine.


    Woodrow moved first, drawing his dagger in a swift, fluid motion, the blade gleaming with an eerie light as it cut through the air. He stepped in front of Claude, his movements practiced and sure, the calm of a seasoned warrior who had faced death more times than he could count. Harlan followed suit, his sword raised, while Agate nocked an arrow and pulled the string taut, her eyes narrowing as she took aim.


    Claude hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, his own sword at the ready. He looked small, standing between the seasoned fighters, but there was a fire in his eyes that gave me pause. Suddenly, he wasn¡¯t the boy I had met months ago. He had grown stronger, and more confident. The shadowbeasts lunged, their claws slashing through the air with deadly grace. Woodrow and Harlan moved as one, deflecting the blows with their swords, their movements perfectly synchronized. Agate loosed an arrow, the shaft burying itself in the nearest beast¡¯s neck, but it only slowed for a moment before pressing forward again, its eyes fixed on Claude.

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 2)

    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been joining us for supper,¡± Agate said one evening, her brow furrowed in concern. ¡°I see you watching the training sessions, but then you slip back to the church.¡±


    I avoided her gaze, muttering, ¡°Praying.¡±


    Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes were full of concern. ¡°I hadn¡¯t realized such a spiritual journey could be so exhausting.¡± She paused, her attention drifting to the training ground where Claude and Harlan sparred. Claude, with his wooden sword, moved in quick, precise strikes against Harlan¡¯s spear. ¡°Your friend seems livelier than usual,¡± Agate noted, raising an eyebrow.


    I followed her gaze, my heart swelling with a mixture of pride and unease. Claude was indeed more energetic, his movements fluid and sharp. He had been running more, his leaps higher, his dodges quicker. The vitamins Wilbur had crafted were working their magic, but it was more than that¡ªClaude was thriving.


    ¡°He told me he wishes to become a soldier under their lord,¡± Agate said, adjusting her tunic. I felt a lump form in my throat, but I nodded silently.


    ¡°And how did you take the news?¡± she asked, her eyes searching mine.


    I couldn¡¯t hide the sadness in my voice as I replied, ¡°I¡¯ll never stop praying that it doesn¡¯t come to that. But if it does, I¡¯ll help him all the way. And when the time comes, I pray he returns safe.¡±


    Agate rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ¡°If only we and your brothers could join him out there. But we¡¯re needed here.¡±


    I placed my hand over hers, offering a weak smile. As she turned to leave, I glanced back at Claude. He was watching me, a bright smile on his face as he waved. A pang of emotion surged through me. I swallowed hard, forcing a smile and waved back.


    Later that afternoon, I accompanied Harlan and some of the fishermen to check the weir baskets at the lake. The cold air nipped at my skin as we worked in silence, pulling in the day¡¯s catch.


    ¡°The flame seems weak today,¡± Harlan remarked, casting a glance toward the distant obelisk where Gaelmar¡¯s presence waned.


    ¡°Mm,¡± I replied, barely paying attention as I busied myself with descaling the fish. My mind was elsewhere, focused on the next flameshield. If I could channel one strong enough, maybe it would buy me time, maybe it would give me a week of peace where the flames surrounding the village and lake could stay alive without flickering out.


    I let out a slow breath, convincing myself that what I was doing was for the best. I was protecting those I loved: Claude, Woodrow, Wilbur. And those who I gave sanctuary here at Rothfield monastery. He didn¡¯t need to know how much of my strength I was pouring into this. He didn¡¯t need to know how much I feared for him. All that mattered was that he was safe.


    That evening, I surprised them all by joining the group for supper. Claude¡¯s eyes lit up when he saw me sit down beside him. As the others gave thanks to Gaelmar, I closed my eyes, letting their prayers wash over me like a warm blanket. For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of peace, the weight on my chest lifting slightly. But as the night wore on, my exhaustion finally overtook me, and I dozed off by the fire, the warmth of the flames comforting against the chill of the night air.


    I barely noticed when someone murmured in my ear, their voice soft and distant. My limbs felt heavy, but I was aware of the gentle hands lifting me, carrying me away from the fire. In my half-dreaming state, I knew it was Claude, his presence familiar and grounding. Even in sleep, I could feel his warmth.


    ¡ªCLOISTERED GARTH¡ª


    I awoke feeling unusually refreshed, my senses attuned to the world around me. Wilbur''s garden stretched before me, a small patch of life amidst Rothfield''s muted hues. The vibrant yellowtongues, the cool-blue shivering maidens, and even the occasional odd flower everbane bloomed with defiant brightness. Their reds, blues, and yellows stood in stark contrast against the grey-tinged grass. The common flowers too¡ªpale whites and yellows¡ªgrew steadily, adding a softness to the landscape that had become a rare sight in these times. Even the granges held a quiet beauty; the rye and oats swayed gently in the breeze, resilient and steadfast.


    I lingered there for some time, allowing the peace of the garden to seep into me. Today, I did not push myself, nor did I run to join the others. Instead, I kept my focus on Blake, praying five times to keep his darkness in check, careful to reserve enough strength for what I knew would come later. As dusk settled, just before Woodrow and Wilbur woke, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.


    Gathering every ounce of kindflame within me, I willed a flameshield to life. The moment it appeared¡ªa bubble of warmth and light¡ªI felt a surge of triumph. It held strong, shimmering like a stream-fed orb, steady in its structure. But as I watched, I realized it should be more. It should be stronger. And so I pushed harder, urging it to expand. When it finally solidified, I couldn¡¯t help but smile, the weariness of the effort settling into my bones as a welcome weight. Contentment washed over me as sleep crept in, the warmth of the shield still lingering on my skin as I drifted off.


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    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    The following evening, it was Claude¡¯s turn to collect ores for Wilbur¡¯s vitamins. I could sense the tension in the air; shadowbeasts often lurked nearby, their presence a constant threat. But I was ready. I positioned myself quietly in the dark trees, cloaked by the shadows, my eyes locked on Claude. The moment the beasts attacked, I would protect him.


    When they came, swift and snarling, I focused all my power on shielding him, raising my hand and aiming for the spot just above his back, near his head. But nothing came. Agate and Harlan were already by his side, their spears flashing as they tore through the thick, matted fur of the direwolves. Panic surged through me, my kindflame sputtering as I desperately tried to channel it. Still, nothing.


    The dark forest moved in sync with the battle, its branches and vines assisting Agate and Harlan as they fought. But I stood frozen, watching helplessly. The kindflame within me flickered, but no matter how hard I willed it, it refused to manifest. My heart stuttered when a shadowbeast lunged at Claude. I saw it coming, saw its claws aiming for his chest, and I felt powerless to stop it. But then, with a swift motion, Claude leapt, his body moving with fluid precision. His sword struck true, slicing through the beast¡¯s thick hide and reducing it to ash.


    Agate and Harlan clapped him on the shoulder, their faces lit with pride, but Claude stumbled slightly under their touch. He looked back toward the ores, unbothered by the praise. I couldn¡¯t shake the shame rising within me. They were celebrating his victory, yet I had failed. I had stood by, useless. The ores were gathered, the beasts vanquished, and still I wished for the ground to swallow me whole.


    ¡°Take me back,¡± I whispered to the trees, my voice trembling. They listened, the vines and roots shifting beneath me, pulling me into the earth and carrying me silently back to the edge of Rothfield.


    I arrived alone, the weight of my failure pressing down on me. Yet as I emerged, the cold night air biting at my skin, I found my thoughts returning to Claude, not his victory, but the moment just before. The shame lingered, along with the frustration.


    ¡ªCLOISTERED GARTH¡ª


    I slammed the church door behind me, the sound echoing through the empty halls like a gunshot. The rage inside me boiled over, and I ran to the garth, where I dropped to my knees and screamed. My fists met the cold, unforgiving earth, pounding it again and again until my knuckles were raw, and still, it wasn¡¯t enough. I clenched my hand into a tight fist, feeling the sting of my frustration searing through me, and stared at the daisies swaying beside me, innocent and oblivious.


    ¡°Why?!¡± My voice was hoarse, a desperate plea to the sky above, but there was no answer. I opened my palm, expecting something, anything. The kindflame, the power that should¡¯ve been mine to command. But nothing came. I exhaled shakily, and it dawned on me: perhaps it wasn¡¯t the kindflame I¡¯d been summoning after all. I was terrified of losing Claude, of failing the people who looked to me for protection. My heart raced, and I realized I had let that desperation fuel me. But desperation wasn¡¯t the key. It never had been.


    I thought back to Claude. I wanted to join them in battle, to prove I wasn¡¯t just a bystander, useless and weak. I wanted to be someone they could depend on, like how Agate and Harlan had clapped Claude on the back, how Woodrow had fought with such grace and skill, his dagger a blur in the moonlight. Even Wilbur, who knew nothing of combat, had thrown himself into the fray, using his body as a shield. Why couldn¡¯t I do the same?


    ¡°Let me be strong,¡± I whispered, clenching my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. ¡°Let Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame burn our enemies.¡± And suddenly, I felt it¡ªheat surged through me, flooding my veins, igniting at my fingertips. A sphere of flame bloomed in my hand, and I focused on it, shaping it the way glassmakers mold molten glass. It obeyed. For once, I felt in control.


    ¡°More,¡± I breathed, pushing harder. The fire in me grew, fed by the intensity of my emotions. But something was wrong. The orb wasn¡¯t protective: it was destructive. I watched in horror as the daisies near me blackened and withered under the heat, their delicate petals curling inward as they cooked from the inside out.


    ¡°No. No, no, no¡­¡± My voice cracked, but the flame wasn¡¯t listening. It wanted more. It craved destruction, fueled by my growing anger¡ªanger at Blake, at Knox, at myself for being so helpless. I felt the chains around Blake tighten, but in my rage, I burned them too. I hurt him. And with each burn, the fire inside me blazed hotter, brighter, until I could see nothing but Gaelmar¡¯s face.


    It was overwhelming, this power. I felt lightheaded, my arms raised as if I were flying. Was that shouting I heard? Or the crackling of flames? The fire roared in my ears, redder than any flame I¡¯d ever seen, and then, through the haze, I saw Woodrow¡ªhis pale face illuminated by the flickering light, his red hair a fiery halo as he ran toward me.


    ¡°Ryne!¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice cut through the chaos, his hand pressed to his chest, his breath labored as he raced to meet me from another direction. But I couldn¡¯t stop. I raised my hands, and the fire burst forth from my palms, a wild and uncontrollable force.


    And then I fell. Ember, my loyal companion, was on me in an instant, her small body pressed against my chest, growling softly, her paws on my chest as she licked my face. Her touch snapped me out of it, grounding me back to the present. I gasped for breath, frantically checking Ember for burns, but there were none. Of course, there wouldn¡¯t be. She was of flame too. But the relief was short-lived.


    Woodrow and Wilbur lay on the ground, their clothes smoldering, the flames licking at their cloaks and jeans. My heart stopped. I screamed their names, rushing to stamp out the fires with my hands and feet. Ember, sensing my panic, lapped at the flames as if they were mere water, extinguishing them effortlessly. Soot covered Wilbur¡¯s face, and I watched in both horror and awe as his burns began to heal, his skin knitting back together. But Woodrow¡­

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 3)

    ¡ªCLOISTERED GARTH¡ª


    Woodrow was worse off. His face twisted in pain, his fangs bared as he groaned, his arms burned and blistered. I knelt beside him, desperately trying to heal him with whatever remained of my power. But when I touched him, it only made things worse. The kindflame I¡¯d used to heal Jerome caused him agony. His shadow nature, his connection to the Chaos, made it so that his body rejected my flame. His brow furrowed, and he winced, turning away from me as if even my presence pained him. Inside me, I heard a sinister, taunting laugh.


    I bolted to the infirmary, my hands shaking as I rummaged through many-colored bottles, some faintly glowing, some ordinary, my fingers clinking against glass until I found it: a dark red bottle, blood from a previous night¡¯s offering. I grabbed it, pausing for only a moment to glance at the old man¡¯s clothes we had buried the other night. But there wasn¡¯t time to wonder. I rushed back to Woodrow, tipping the bottle to his lips, watching as he drank, his pale green eyes flickering open.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± he murmured, his voice weak.


    I pulled them both back to the church, Woodrow first, Ember doing her best to help by tugging at his sleeve with her teeth. When I returned for Wilbur, I saw the damage I¡¯d done in his garden. Most of the common flowers Wilbur had been painstakingly cultivating were scorched, their fragile beauty now nothing but ash. Guilt weighed on me like a stone as I carried Wilbur to the crypt, my heart heavy with shame.


    I set them down iin the crypts. Before they could awaken, I ran. I ran through the dark forest, the branches reaching out to shield me, to hide me from the world. And as I plunged deeper into the shadows, I had no direction, no thought, just the desperate need to escape from what I had done.


    ¡ªCLAUDE¡¯S COTTAGE¡ª


    I thought I¡¯d go to the lake or perhaps the meadow, let the solitude of grass or water soothe my spirits. But before I realized it, my feet carried me to the edge of the dark forest, where Claude¡¯s cottage stood just beyond. Its windows glowed with the warmth of candlelight, spilling soft warm hues onto the ground below, inviting in a way I couldn¡¯t resist. Their light seemed warmer than anything I could find by the water¡¯s edge, more welcoming than the cool, lonely meadow. There was a scent too; something rich and comforting wafting from their kitchen, reminding me how cold and lost I felt.


    Before I could second-guess myself, my boots had already taken me to their door. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and knocked.


    ¡°That was sooner than expected,¡± came Lydia¡¯s voice from inside, lighthearted. My pulse quickened, and I took a step back, bracing myself as the door swung open. Lydia stood there, her brow furrowed in confusion, but her smile was quick to follow. The light from inside washed over me, and I felt a flicker of solace.


    Her hand held the doorframe. The moment she saw my face, her expression shifted from warmth to surprise. A loose curl had escaped her wimple, and she looked like she might say something, but instead, she reached out and took me by the arm, pulling me into the house without hesitation, as if I belonged there.


    ¡°Ryne!¡± she exclaimed softly, her eyes sweeping over me. I lowered my head, trying to hide the evidence of what I¡¯d been through, my arms tucked behind my cloak. But I had forgotten the power of a mother¡¯s eyes. She saw everything. They reminded me of Wilbur¡¯s when he checked us for wounds after battle, how he discerned sickness from within the skin. Lydia didn¡¯t need me to say a word; my guilt must¡¯ve been written all over my face. And what reason would a young monk leave the monastic grounds than him getting into trouble. People often forget that young novices are young boys, too. Some prone to making trouble.


    ¡°Come, sit by the fire,¡± she said gently, motioning to the hearth. ¡°Annette, make room for our guest.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t even noticed the small figure at the table, spoon in hand, wide eyes staring at me. I pulled my hood further over my face, afraid to scare her with the dark veins that ran across my skin. But Lydia was having none of it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hide,¡± she murmured. ¡°We¡¯ve already explained to her what you look like.¡±


    Slowly, I let the cloak slip from my shoulders and caught Annette watching me, her eyes curious but unafraid. She reached out with her little hand, and I knelt beside her, allowing her tiny fingers to brush over the web-like markings on my face.


    ¡°Does it hurt?¡± she asked, her voice tiny and bright.


    I smiled at her. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t hurt.¡±


    I looked up at Lydia, noticing Annette¡¯s rosy cheeks, the picture of health. ¡°She¡¯s well? She hasn¡¯t gotten sick?¡±


    Lydia nodded, her smile widening. ¡°Not since Brother Wilbur treated her. I¡¯ve always said, since you brothers arrived in this town, it¡¯s as if our troubles were lifted.¡± She moved toward the hearth, ladling porridge into a bowl and pouring milk over it. ¡°Here, eat. You look like you need it.¡±


    I took the bowl, the warmth of it spreading through my hands. ¡°Bahram took most of your livestock,¡± I muttered, still feeling the weight of the town¡¯s hardships.


    Lydia shook her head, her expression serene. ¡°My family is fed, and Claude is healthier than I¡¯ve ever seen him, thanks to what you¡¯ve shared with him. We¡¯re blessed with neighbors who care for us.¡±


    I managed a smile, and we ate in the comfortable silence, the fire crackling softly beside us. Lydia spoke of Claude, how he was away delivering tribute to the lord. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if they¡¯re pleased or surprised by the eggs, wool, and milk, but if we continue, the lord promises to return more of our livestock. Some have actually already been returned." Lydia pointed to the pens outside.


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    Claude had mentioned it earlier, his eyes bright with excitement as he swung his sword, grinning like he¡¯d won a great victory. I smiled, remembering the moment.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± I said, spooning the porridge into my mouth.


    Lydia asked me how things were at the monastery, and I reassured her that all was well enough. She already knew, of course. Claude told her everything. I trusted her family, knowing that even little Annette wouldn¡¯t share our secrets when they went to town for supplies.


    ¡°That is all well and good. But I worry about you,¡± Lydia said after a moment, her hand brushing my cheek. I closed my eyes at her touch. It was a strange, welcoming thing, the touch of a mother. It felt like Wilbur''s but warmer, softer. It smelled of hearthsmoke and milk. ¡°Claude says you¡¯re overworking yourself. I know there¡¯s much to do at the monastery, but¡­¡± She hesitated, her brow furrowing as she searched for the right words. ¡°If you were my son, I¡¯d drag you back inside before you worked yourself to death.¡±


    I chuckled, thinking of Wilbur. ¡°Brother Wilbur will do the same.¡± I added quickly, "But he''s been working just as hard, if not harder.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like all of you need someone to look after you,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Or maybe you need each other. Be sure you do that. Take care of each other.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s difficult,¡± I sighed, my defenses lowering. With Lydia, it was easy to speak, as if I were talking to Claude himself. But just like Claude, I could not tell her the truth. So instead, I told her about Gaelmar, our monastery''s chosen patron saint. I mentioned the strange occurrences at the monastery, Gaelmars kindflame and the shadowbeasts.


    She nodded knowingly. ¡°Those strang wolves have been spotted near Rothfield¡¯s borders. Thankfully, they haven¡¯t come near the farm yet.¡±


    I slumped in my chair, the weight of my worries pressing down on me. ¡°I just want to do more to protect Rothfield. I¡¯ve been invoking Gaelmar¡¯s name, praying for strength, for power to fight back¡­ but it never feels like enough.¡±


    Lydia was silent, her eyes distant as she considered my words. She stood after a while, picking up Annette, who had fallen asleep at the table, and cradled her in her arms. The child stirred, her little head resting against her mother¡¯s shoulder, and Lydia began washing the dishes, her movements quiet and deliberate. I stood up and helped her. When we finished, she set Annette in her small bed and came back, the candles flickering as she blew out a few.


    ¡°Gaelmar wasn¡¯t the one who struck down the great beasts,¡± she said softly, her back to me. ¡°He could summon flames to shield and protect, yes. But he wasn¡¯t a warrior. That was Saint Oswald¡¯s role. Gaelmar¡¯s weapon was a staff, not a sword. He fought with love and compassion, not anger.¡±


    She turned to face me, her eyes calm. ¡°If you want to channel his power, perhaps it should come from a place of love for the people you wish to protect, not rage. His power was grace and compassion. The other Saints listened to him when he spoke of mercy and chances, and he had countless times turned enemies into worthy allies.¡±


    Her words struck deep, and as we sat in the soft light of the remaining candles, something clicked inside me. I remembered all the times I had called upon the flame successfully; not to destroy, but to protect. It wasn¡¯t anger that fueled me then, but a quiet vow, a promise to shield those in need.


    I stood, clarity dawning. Gratitude welling up in my chest. ¡°Thank you, Lydia. You¡¯ve given me what I needed.¡±


    She smiled and led me to the door. ¡°Give Claude my best when you see him,¡± I said softly, adding, ¡°He still wants to be a soldier.¡±


    Her smile faltered briefly, but she nodded. ¡°He does. Let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t come to that.¡±


    ¡°May Gaelmar¡¯s flame bless your home, Lady Lydia,¡± I whispered, and she closed the door behind me, chuckling.


    Though tempted to wait for Claude, I knew my brothers would worry. It was time to face my mistakes.


    ¡ªDARK FOREST¡ª


    The bootsteps that approached my location in the dark forest were unmistakable. I paused, sensing the approach of someone familiar. Sure enough, Woodrow¡¯s unmistakable red hair appeared from the shadowed path, Wilbur close beside him. We stood in silence for a beat, the tension between us palpable.


    ¡°I¡¯m so¡ª¡± I began, but Wilbur reached me first, his hands firm on my shoulders, his touch urgent as he examined me for injuries. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Wilbur,¡± I said, but he continued checking me for bruises and scorch marks. His eyes softened with relief as he found none, and he gave a huff before standing beside Woodrow.


    Woodrow¡¯s gaze cut into me, stern and unwavering. ¡°That was foolish, Ryne. Very foolish.¡±


    His reprimand sent my eyes downward, my throat tightening. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you did,¡± he continued, his voice like a drawn dagger, ¡°don¡¯t do it again. Not until you can control it. I warned you about conserving your power. Now we¡¯ve seen what happens when you don¡¯t. If you''re not careful, you will be like an unchecked flame, devouring everything in its wake.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whispered, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest.


    Wilbur¡¯s hand briefly touched Woodrow¡¯s arm, but Woodrow shook his head and stepped forward. ¡°You¡¯ve never had to manage such power before, Ryne. You must learn control, or it will control you. Don¡¯t let your emotions fuel the flame.¡± He knelt, his green eyes locking onto mine, softening ever so slightly. ¡°I should know.¡±


    I met his gaze, the intensity of his words sinking in. Of course, Woodrow would know. He fought his own battles with dark power; his thirst for blood, the constant pull to charm, to manipulate. It was difficult for him.


    ¡°I promise,¡± I said, barely above a whisper, ¡°I won¡¯t lose control again. But I still need to train. I have to learn to protect the people.¡± I saw their protests before they spoke, and I held up a hand to silence them. ¡°Caring for the monastery isn¡¯t enough. You saw what happened in the meadow. The enchantment that holds the dark forest at bay is fading. I need to be ready when it fails. I¡¯ll sleep easier knowing I can fight¡ª" I shook my head and corrected myself. "Knowing I can defend Rothfield from the agents of Chaos. I know now how to channel the flame.¡±


    I recounted what Lydia had shared with me about Gaelmar¡¯s balance; how compassion must temper power, how restraint is the antidote to rage. But even as I told them of this, a tiny drop of doubt splattered on my brow. Could I truly control it?


    Woodrow¡¯s gaze softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we can¡¯t help you train. This path you¡¯re on¡­ it¡¯s one you¡¯ll have to walk alone.¡± He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry for how I¡¯ve treated you in the past. Teasing you, calling you Wilbur¡¯s shadow. I didn¡¯t realize I was feeding that desperation you spoke of. Forgive me, Ryne.¡±


    I smiled and touched his arm lightly, my gesture telling him that it was all right. We walked in silence for a while, the trees towering above, their branches intertwining like fingers clasped in prayer. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I burned you,¡± I finally said, realizing I hadn¡¯t apologized properly.


    Woodrow chuckled. ¡°I suppose I deserve it after years of teasing and taunting you. If that¡¯s what we felt from just a fraction of your untrained power, I almost pity Blake, trapped as he is in your flames.¡± His grin faded, replaced by thoughtful silence. ¡°Then again¡­ Blake is no ordinary foe. He serves the Unending Chaos.¡± His words trailed off, lost in the evening air as Wilbur shot him a warning glance.


    A fresh wave of guilt washed over me, and I turned to Wilbur. ¡°Your garden¡­ I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s tone was gentle, a balm to my bruised conscience. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Ryne. The flowers will bloom again. I still have seeds stored away. I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re safe.¡±

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 4)

    ¡ªCLOISTERED GARTH¡ª


    In the monastery¡¯s cloistered garth, I focused on my next attempt to conjure the shieldflame. I let out a calming breath, held my arms out. The fire sparked. And a faint orb of fire hovering just above my palm appeared, steady under my control. It held. Woodrow and Wilbur stood nearby, their eyes sharp with interest. Wilbur¡¯s smile widened with childlike wonder as the flowers around us remained untouched by the heat. Curious, Woodrow stretched a hand towards the flame, his finger brushing the surface. He jerked back, hissing softly.


    ¡°Aye, that could burn the shadows. Most definitely,¡± he muttered, shaking his hand with a wry grin.


    Some nights, Woodrow would linger long after the others had left, guiding me through my practice. His voice was low and steady, a gentle tether keeping me grounded. ¡°Breathe slower,¡± he¡¯d murmur, his gaze fixed on me intently. The air hummed around my shieldflame. His closeness made me feel small, vulnerable. Like a child under the watchful gaze of a master.


    Was this how Claude felt, I wondered, when Woodrow trained him? For this was a different Woodrow; less playful, more focused. His sharp wit, usually biting, hardened to a keen edge of strategy. I admired how seamlessly he shifted between roles, just as Wilbur did with his alchemy.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Woodrow would say after a particularly successful attempt, his voice firm but laced with a rare tenderness. ¡°In battle, don¡¯t lose your wits. Focus on your breath, and the flame will hold. I think. Lose yourself to panic and you¡¯ll be of no use to anyone.¡±


    His words soothed the fear I hadn¡¯t even realized had crept into my bones. Looking at the flame hovering between us, and hearing how Woodrow talked, I couldn¡¯t help but think of Gaelmar¡¯s wisdom; how he must have been a guiding light in so many battles. I had been a fool to struggle in silence for so long. Trusting my brothers, I realized, was just as vital as trusting myself. Wilbur¡¯s patience, his gentle precision that saved lives and healed injuries. And Woodrow, with his laughter and warmth, was a force I hadn¡¯t fully appreciated until now.


    The next day, Claude found me preparing for more training, a warm smile tugging at his lips. ¡°Ma says you¡¯ve been by the house,¡± he teased, crossing his arms. ¡°Wish I could¡¯ve seen you.¡± He explained why he disappeared so late at night. ¡°Vincent Bahram¡¯s not happy with our tributes. He doesn''t like when us little people are winning. What a bully of a lord he¡¯ll be. We''d probably leave Rothfield by then, sorry as I am to see it behind.¡±


    "We?" I asked.


    "Oh, you''re coming with me," he said simply. I chuckled. He turned to leave.


    ¡°Claude,¡± I called after him, my voice soft but insistent. He paused, turning to meet my gaze. I offered him a small, heartfelt smile. ¡°You¡¯re growing stronger.¡± The words carried more weight than they seemed, a truth I¡¯d been holding in, watching him bloom with every passing day.


    His smile was a quiet acknowledgment. He waved before joining Woodrow for practice, but I found myself lingering, watching the way his shoulders moved with newfound confidence. There was something about him that made my heart swell, something I couldn¡¯t fully express in words but that lingered in every glance, every shared smile. He was the fondest friend I had. His presence steadied me, made the world feel less fractured, more whole.


    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    When the next ore collection came, Harlan, Woodrow and Wilbur accompanied Claude. The deposits lay nearest the Rothfield granges, where shadowbeasts rarely roamed. It was safer there, which allowed me to focus on perfecting a shield for Claude as he worked. With his back turned, intent on prying out a sharp rock, I summoned a flame that coiled around him, its warmth embracing the air between us. He didn¡¯t notice the fire itself, but I caught the subtle shift in his shoulders; the way he stood a little taller, his stance more assured. Two direwolves came slinking out of the mountain''s path, and my brothers allowed Claude to dispatch them. Turns out, he did not need my shieldflame tonight.


    Woodrow watched with a thoughtful smile. ¡°You¡¯re getting better,¡± he noted, eyes flitting between Claude and me. ¡°Not as agile as Agate or as strong as Harlan, but you¡¯ve got time.¡±


    Harlan¡¯s voice boomed from behind, a rough laugh on his lips. ¡°He may even best the lot of us someday.¡±


    Back home, Woodrow chuckled as he told the story, then pondered intently at Claude''s potential. ¡°If that¡¯s true, he¡¯s ready to join the men from Kent. The shadowbeasts pose no real threat. N ot really. They are plenty, yes, but they seem to be mindless now, and very predictable in their attacks. With your blessings, they can withstand the beasts¡¯ howls. I think that Gaelmar¡¯s influence has made the people of Kent immune.¡±


    I nodded, a silent promise settling in my heart. If Claude were to fight alongside the others, I would be there. I would protect him.


    ¡ªLAKE¡ª


    Claude stood at the water¡¯s edge, the moonlight casting his reflection in ghostly hues across the surface. He twisted his arm, inspecting the lean muscle that had grown there, a faint smile of quiet pride tugging at his lips. I couldn¡¯t help but roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re scaring the fish,¡± I teased, a grin spreading despite myself.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He chuckled, then dropped beside me, his knee brushing against mine. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent a spark of warmth through me, a comfort in the closeness we¡¯d come to share. I glanced at him, catching the way the light from the lake danced over his features.


    ¡°You know,¡± I murmured, voice soft as a whisper, ¡°you look like this is how you were always meant to be. If the world wasn¡¯t so grim, if the fields were full of life, this is the Claude I think you¡¯d always have been.¡±


    He nodded slowly, a shadow of thought crossing his face. ¡°I just wish we could do more for the people in Rothfield,¡± he said, voice laced with quiet frustration. ¡°I hate seeing my neighbors fall ill.¡±


    A pang of guilt tightened in my chest. But with it came a glimmer of something else. ¡°Claude, about that¡­ there¡¯s something I¡¯ve been meaning to tell you. The ores you¡¯ve been collecting? We¡¯ve got enough now that the people of Kent are stronger, healthier. And I thought that perhaps we can treat and heal other people beyond our granges. But we need more before we can start treating others, before we can truly share, and I am not certain of the approach we would take.¡±


    His face lit up, eyes shining with a joy so pure it made me ache. ¡°I''ll think of something," he said confidently. But even if I could not, I''ve got a feeling people around these parts will be drawn to you.¡± He held my gaze with a look that made my breath hitch. There was something solid there. ¡°At the core of all that, Ryne, is you. I see it. And I¡¯m grateful." His fingers traced the grass beside him. "It¡¯s a shame we had to stop our lessons in Old Yarbro, but at least I can write my name. Your name. The names of those I care about.¡±


    I swallowed, my chest tight with an emotion I couldn¡¯t quite name. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you all you want to know. Letters that could raise your standing if you wanted it. Letters to connect you to others, to speak to your brothers even when they¡¯re far from here.¡±


    Claude¡¯s gaze lingered on the water, and then he nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯ll grow stronger. I¡¯ll find a way to give back and make something of myself.¡±


    ¡°You already are something,¡± I said softly, reaching out instinctively to grip his shoulder. I held him there, fingers pressing into the solid warmth of him, hoping he could feel the sincerity of my words. His smile was shy, a softness in his eyes that made me ache.


    We sat in silence for a while, the quiet companionship filling the air between us. When the time came to leave, Claude¡¯s arm brushed against mine as he helped me reel in a silvergill. His hand lingered on mine, fingers warm against my skin, but I didn¡¯t pull away. Moments like this felt too precious to rush.


    ¡ªROTHFIELD TOWN¡ª


    ¡°Come join me in town,¡± Claude whispered later, tugging at my sleeve. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a glimmer of mischief that made me want to say yes. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick, and no one would see us if we keep to the shadows.¡±


    Years of hiding urged me to refuse, but I found myself nodding anyway. This was Claude, and I trusted him enough to allow him to lead me out into the quiet dark of the woods. The cool air enveloped us like a silken shroud, thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering flowers. We moved through the trees, silent shadows beneath the canopy, until we reached the iron-locked wooden gate of the town. I watched him uncoil the chain and swing the door open, the thrill of stepping into new territory making my heart race.


    ¡°Want me to hold your hand?¡± he teased, his voice playful, his eyes glinting with mischief. I chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the whisper of the leaves. He stepped back, giving me space, but as I passed him into the neat dirt path that led to the town.


    The town itself sat quietly under the moon¡¯s gaze, its cottages clustered together like huddled shadows, each one exhaling a ghost of warmth. Smoke rose in thin wisps from chimneys, dissolving into the night sky like secrets shared among old friends. Cobblestone streets wound through the center, glistening faintly under the glow of scattered torches, each flickering light casting soft, dancing shadows that seemed to embrace the night.


    ¡°It looks deserted, but it was nicer back then,¡± Claude murmured beside me, his voice low, smiling sadly at his childhood memories.


    ¡°It¡¯s charming,¡± I replied, my voice a breathless whisper of wonder, the ethereal beauty of the scene tugging at my heartstrings.


    As we passed the town square, its cobbles worn and weathered, I noticed the way Claude¡¯s features softened in the moonlight. His smile was still tinged with nostalgia, and I felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and brush my fingers against his cheek.


    ¡°Used to be lively, once upon a time,¡± he said softly, his gaze far away, lost in thoughts of yesteryear. ¡°Now it¡¯s just a ghost of what it used to be.¡±


    He pointed out a bakery, the faint scent of bread still lingering in the air like an echo of laughter, and a little bookshop tucked away in a narrow alley, its door slightly ajar, inviting whispers of forgotten tales. ¡°I used to dream of buying something there,¡± he murmured, smiling faintly, a wistfulness in his tone.


    ¡°What did you want?¡± I asked, curiosity piqued, my heart fluttering at the vulnerability he displayed.


    ¡°A book on knights,¡± he admitted with a chuckle, a soft blush creeping to his cheeks. ¡°Always thought I¡¯d make a fine one, but we were too poor. And lowborn folk like us would never have a chance wearing silver armor. Not in this kingdom. Ma used to say dreams like that are best left for bedtime.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they are.¡± The words slipped out before I could stop them, filled with a sincerity. He turned to look at me, eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, the world around us faded into a quiet hum. ¡°Dreams aren¡¯t foolish. They keep us going. Maybe one day, we can bring this place back to life and bring your dreams into reality.¡±


    His gaze softened. He chuckled and nodded slowly, a flicker of determination igniting within him. ¡°Yeah. Maybe we can.¡±


    We stood close, our shoulders brushing together. I felt a longing stir within me, a desire to reach out and pull him closer, to share in the dreams we wove together.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be wonderful,¡± I said, my voice barely above a whisper, ¡°to fill this place with laughter again? To share stories of bravery and adventure?¡± My heart pumped as I dared to dream aloud, the words flowing like the moonlit stream beside us.


    Claude¡¯s eyes sparkled with excitement, a soft light dancing within them. ¡°Yes! We could host gatherings, write tales of our adventures, maybe even become the heroes of our own stories.¡± His voice held a weight of unspoken promise, and I found myself lost in the depth of his gaze.


    In that moment, surrounded by the ghosts of what once was, I could see a glimmer of what could be: a future painted with laughter, courage, and perhaps something more profound than friendship. I took a step closer, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. "We can do it together."


    His gaze flickered down, then back to me, and the silence between us stretched like a taut string, vibrating. ¡°Together,¡± he echoed, the warmth in his voice resonating in my chest.


    The moon above shone brighter, illuminating the path before us, and in that small, quiet town, dreams began to fill the empty shadows.

 ! ANNOUNCEMENT !

    ---


    OMG I can''t believe I finished volume 1 of this story! Yay me! This was a very productive week for me! I''ve already posted advanced chapters on my Patreon, because oddly enough, I do not want it stored in my laptop. Or my Google Drive. Not sure if I would be this consistent all the time, but I thank you so much for reading.


    I also just want to say that even though I have an outline, the tone switches from slice-of-life to gothic to something else because while I''m just just putting all my energy into writing out this beast.


    ---


    OMG I can''t believe I finished volume 1 of this story! Yay me! This was a very productive week for me! I''ve already posted advanced chapters on my Patreon, because oddly enough, I do not want it stored in my laptop. Or my Google Drive. Not sure if I would be this consistent all the time, but I thank you so much for reading.


    I also just want to say that even though I have an outline, the tone switches from slice-of-life to gothic to something else because while I''m just just putting all my energy into writing out this beast.


    ---


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    OMG I can''t believe I finished volume 1 of this story! Yay me! This was a very productive week for me! I''ve already posted advanced chapters on my Patreon, because oddly enough, I do not want it stored in my laptop. Or my Google Drive. Not sure if I would be this consistent all the time, but I thank you so much for reading.


    I also just want to say that even though I have an outline, the tone switches from slice-of-life to gothic to something else because while I''m just just putting all my energy into writing out this beast.


    ---


    OMG I can''t believe I finished volume 1 of this story! Yay me! This was a very productive week for me! I''ve already posted advanced chapters on my Patreon, because oddly enough, I do not want it stored in my laptop. Or my Google Drive. Not sure if I would be this consistent all the time, but I thank you so much for reading.


    I also just want to say that even though I have an outline, the tone switches from slice-of-life to gothic to something else because while I''m just just putting all my energy into writing out this beast.


    ---


    OMG I can''t believe I finished volume 1 of this story! Yay me! This was a very productive week for me! I''ve already posted advanced chapters on my Patreon, because oddly enough, I do not want it stored in my laptop. Or my Google Drive. Not sure if I would be this consistent all the time, but I thank you so much for reading.


    I also just want to say that even though I have an outline, the tone switches from slice-of-life to gothic to something else because while I''m just just putting all my energy into writing out this beast.

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 5)

    ¡ªCHURCH¡ª


    The earth groaned in the middle of the night, a deep rumble that tore me from the grasp of sleep. I lurched upright, heart hammering in my chest as the tremors shook the ground beneath our feet. Ember, sensing the unrest, leapt into my lap, her small form trembling. I wrapped my arms around her, holding tight as the roots of the ancient oak above us swayed, dust falling like ghostly confetti from the ceiling.


    The shaking ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. I breathed deeply, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly loosen. Without a word, I stood and climbed the staircase, my hand pressing the torch lever. Through the flickering light, I glimpsed Brother Woodrow¡¯s distinctive red hair as he moved like a specter among the settlers, his voice a soothing balm against the fear still hanging in the air.


    ¡°Calm down, it¡¯s all right. Just the earth settling,¡± he murmured, palm out. ¡°We¡¯ve faced worse.¡±


    The reassurance settled some, but I could see the unease lingering in their eyes. Wilbur emerged from the infirmary, his satchel clinking softly with glass vials as he approached me. He gripped my arm, his face pale but determined as we braced ourselves against another wave of shudders. The pews rattled, Gaelmar¡¯s statue swaying dangerously, and I feared for just a moment that it might topple.


    Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the earth stilled once more.


    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± I murmured, more to myself than to Wilbur, but my voice wavered, a chill creeping down my spine. As I scanned the church for signs of injuries, a sound pierced the silence; the low, guttural howl of a beast. It was near.


    The vision hit me like a bolt of lightning, sharp and clear. The shadowbeasts were prowling the forest, larger and more ferocious than ever before. Direwolves, but bigger and more ferocious than before, crashed through the underbrush, their fangs gnashing at branches that dared to slow them. Some of the dark trees fought back, their thick limbs lashing out and turning wolves to ash, but the beasts were relentless, pushing forward, heading straight for Rothfield town.


    ¡°Wilbur, gather the villagers here in the church,¡± I commanded, summoning a flame that sparked to life and lit every candle in the room. The church walls glowed in warm hues of gold and orange, but the comfort was short-lived. With a deep breath, I knelt before Gaelmar¡¯s statue, trying to offer up a prayer strong enough to dispel the miasma creeping in. But my flame faltered, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the strain overwhelmed me.


    ¡°Ryne¡­¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice, low and tense, broke through my concentration. He touched my shoulder gently, urging me to look up. The flames danced and shifted, painting images that were not of this room, but the continution of the vision. The direwolves surged down the hills, a tide of claws and teeth, their howls a chilling symphony of death.


    ¡°No¡­¡± I breathed, rising to my feet. I could see figures gathering in the square, soldiers and townsfolk alike, clutching spears and swords. And then the bells began to toll, their peals echoing through the valley. The howls ceased, replaced by the hushed murmurs of preparation. And screams.


    Woodrow burst through the church doors, his face flushed, eyes wide. ¡°I know that sound,¡± he said, voice tight with dread. ¡°It¡¯s a call to arms. They¡¯ll rally everyone. Every able-bodied man, whether they want to fight or not. Even¡ª¡±


    ¡°Claude,¡± I whispered, the name like a knife twisting in my chest. The thought of him out there, facing those monstrosities alone, made my heart clench painfully. I didn¡¯t think, I just moved. Wilbur and Woodrow¡¯s shouts blurred together as I ran for the door, channeling the flame into a short wall of fire that rose between us, a barrier to keep them from following. ¡°I have to go to him,¡± I called over my shoulder, my voice breaking. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful, I swear!¡±


    The fire flickered and died down, leaving only the two of them staring back at me. I can see their urge to pull me back. The earth trembled again, and this time shouts rang out from the village of Kent. I took a deep breath and met their eyes, pleading silently for their understanding.


    ¡°Go. Protect the people,¡± I urged. ¡°You¡¯re needed here if the direwolves come. I leave the monastery to your care.¡± I glanced at Woodrow, his face taut with worry, but he nodded sharply, rushing past me to rally the villagers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not be reckless, I promise,¡± I added. ¡°I just¡­ I need to see him. I¡¯ll do my best without risking my life.¡±


    ¡°Ryne¡­¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice was thick with pain as he tore his gaze away, hands trembling as he turned to help the villagers. I swallowed hard, the weight of his unspoken words pressing down on me.


    ¡°Ember, to me!¡± I called softly. She darted to my side, her small, fierce form set and ready.


    The path outside was dark and treacherous, but I knew it by heart. The wind howled through the trees, carrying ash. My heart raced with every step, my mind a chaotic swirl of fear and hope. I¡¯d promised myself I wouldn¡¯t fall apart, wouldn¡¯t let the terror overtake me.


    But the thought of losing Claude¡­


    I bit down on my lip, forcing the fear back. I have to find him. I pushed on, knowing that whatever lay ahead, I¡¯d face it. For Claude. For Rothfield. And for the sliver of hope that we might have a future beyond this night.


    ¡ªROTHFIELD TOWN¡ª


    Keeping to the shadows, Ember and I crept toward the town square. From beneath the twisted boughs of the trees, the low, guttural growls of shadowbeasts reverberated through the crisp night air. My pulse quickened as a direwolf prowled closer, its hulking form shifting through the underbrush. With a focused flick of my wrist, I summoned a bright sphere of flame and hurled it directly at the beast¡¯s muzzle. The wolf howled and staggered back, its snarl cut short as the fire engulfed its face, igniting its fur in a flash.


    My breath hitched. Realization struck like a thunderclap. I had forgotten. Fire. They burn easily. Before I could conjure another flame, a second direwolf streaked through the trees, eyes glinting with feral hunger. Ember snarled beside me, her fur bristling as she let loose a burst of flame of her own that seared the shadow wolf¡¯s pelt. Without missing a beat, I grabbed her by the scruff and sprinted deeper into the chaotic town square.


    The scene was bedlam. People darted in all directions, shrieking in terror. Townsfolk pounded on doors that refused to yield, while others frantically dragged children from the open streets. Ragged elders, looking like frail beggars, threw themselves over the little ones, shielding them with trembling limbs. I ducked low, using the trees for cover, my heart twisting at the sight of frightened eyes staring up from the dirt-streaked faces of children.


    For now, the direwolves had yet to breach the town wall, but the defenses were crumbling. Soldiers, distinguishable by their iron helmets and ragged armor, manned the barricades alongside townsfolk wielding nothing but wooden sticks and hastily fashioned spears. There was no discipline, no order. Just desperation.


    Sinking to my knees, I clasped my hands over my chest, feeling the warmth of the flame coiling within me. ¡°Gaelmar, show me where he is,¡± I whispered. The flame obeyed. It surged forward, leaping from torch to torch until it landed in an alley not far off. But before I could shadowstep, a scream rent the air. Wood splintered, followed by the sonorous blare of a warning horn.


    ¡°The wall has fallen! The beasts are coming!¡± The panicked shout echoed from the belltower above. Soldiers scrambled into the streets, pounding their shields together, rallying themselves to face the coming storm. My blood froze as I watched a hulking direwolf barrel through the breached wall, straight into the heart of Rothfield. Men shouted orders; weapons clattered. Women¡¯s screams tore through the night.


    I forced myself to keep moving, clinging to the trail of the flame like a lifeline. Fear knotted in my stomach, threatening to overwhelm me. I darted through alleyways, squeezed into the shadows of abandoned carts. Then, a soft whimper pulled me up short. I looked down and found a dusty-faced child huddled beside an unconscious old man. The man¡¯s head lolled, blood trickling from a gash above his brow.


    Crouching beside him, I pressed a hand to his wound and murmured a prayer. Heat radiated from my palm, sinking into his flesh. The bleeding stopped; bruises lightened. The man sagged, his grip slackening on the child, but the boy clutched at his sleeve, eyes wide and fearful. I managed a small, strained smile and pointed down the alleyway. ¡°Stay hidden. I¡¯ll keep the beasts away.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Leaving them behind, I followed the flickering trail of flame until it brought me to the town square. Claude stood in the center, sword held ready, his jaw set with grim determination. Makeshift barricades of barrels and ruined carts littered the square, offering little more than a symbolic defense.


    ¡°Flee, boy!¡± A townsman shoved Claude aside, his face a mask of anger and fear. ¡°Go back to your farm and protect your mother!¡±


    Claude¡¯s voice, calm yet unyielding, rose over the din. ¡°My mother is here. We were summoned by Lord Bahram.¡±


    The man cursed under his breath, his knuckles whitening around his spear. ¡°Then may the Four Saints guard you, lad. You know how to fight?¡±


    Claude nodded, the set of his shoulders firm. ¡°Aye.¡±


    The townsman eyed the sword Claude carried, recognizing the fine craftsmanship of the blade. ¡°Good fortune that you brought your father¡¯s sword. Use it well.¡±


    With a fierce roar, the man charged into the fray, thrusting his spear into a wolf¡¯s belly. From the belltower, archers rained flaming arrows down, setting the carts ablaze and driving the beasts back. I lashed out with my own flame, sending a bolt streaking toward a wolf¡¯s face. The creature yelped, its pelt catching fire as it careened into another.


    It seemed we might hold the square. Then a greater direwolf emerged from the shadows. Twice the size of its kin, it reared back and howled. The sound reverberated through the square like a death knell. Soldiers faltered, their weapons slipping from nerveless fingers. Panic gripped the air.


    ¡°No!¡± I shouted as the beast lunged forward, jaws clamping around a man¡¯s leg. It dragged him down, the rest of the pack descending on him in a frenzy. My gaze snapped to Claude. He stumbled, his legs giving way. Three wolves closed in¡ªtoo fast for him to rise, too many for him to fend off.


    Panic roared through me, but I pushed it back. I remembered Woodrow¡¯s teachings, Agate¡¯s calm voice: Control your power. Do not let it control you. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand on Ember¡¯s fur and released it. A great sphere of flame blossomed in front of Claude, shielding him from the wolves¡¯ snapping jaws. The holy fire consumed them in an instant, reducing fur and flesh to ash.


    Claude staggered to his feet, his expression one of awe and bewilderment. For a moment, our eyes met across the battlefield. His lips moved, as if to speak, but there was no time. The greater direwolf snarled at my shieldflame, its eyes blazing with hate. Just then, a flaming arrow struck it in the eye.


    The crowd roared as the beast toppled. But more wolves took its place. Claude squared his shoulders, shaking off the daze. With a powerful swing, he cleaved through three wolves in one fluid motion, his sword a blur of silver and firelight. The men around him shouted in support, falling back to give him space as he cut down the remaining beasts.


    ¡°More of them are coming from the east!¡± a soldier yelled. ¡°But the forest... it¡¯s like it¡¯s... protecting us?¡±


    ¡°What nonsense is that?¡± the commander barked. ¡°Are you seeing ghosts, lad?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± the soldier stammered. ¡°It must be a trick of the moon. I thought I saw pale figures fighting in the trees.¡±


    The commander waved it off. ¡°Whatever it is, bring more flames! We¡¯ll drive them back.¡± He clapped Claude on the shoulder. ¡°Good work, lad. But stay here. Hold the line and protect the people.¡±


    Claude nodded, determination hardening his features. His sword moved with deadly precision as he finished off the stragglers, his stance sure and unyielding amidst the chaos. I watched from the shadows, pride and something deeper warming my chest. Even in the firelight¡¯s harsh glare, he moved like a natural, his blade cleaving through the darkness.


    But then Ember¡¯s growl drew my attention. The greater direwolf, the one I thought slain, slunk through the smoke, using the haze as cover. Its gaze was fixed on Claude, hungry, vengeful.


    ¡°Behind you!¡± I shouted.


    Claude turned just as the beast lunged. My arm shot out, fingers trembling with power. The sword in Claude¡¯s hand flared to life, glowing brilliant blue. He stared at it in wonder, but only for a heartbeat. Then, with a powerful thrust, he drove the blade straight into the beast¡¯s skull. The direwolf crumbled into ash.


    Exhaustion washed over me. The heat inside me flickered, guttered out. Stumbling back into the shadows, I called Ember close and slumped against the wall, my vision blurring. Darkness closed in as I murmured a final prayer, letting it carry my thoughts to Claude, wherever he was.


    The world slipped away.


    ¡ªDREAM¡ª


    "I hope you have not forgotten about me, little brother," a voice called out, deep as the earth, resonating like distant thunder.


    "I would never," I replied, though my words seemed to dissipate into the oppressive darkness surrounding me. The figure I spoke to was hidden in the void, yet the voice pulled at my chest with a familiar gravity, drawing me closer and closer. It whispered to me again, like wind through cavernous halls.


    "I knew you had it in you. I always told Wilbur you were strong. Now, look at you. Wielding a power that can heal and save the world. Oh, Ryne. Let me see you that way."


    "Tell me where you are, brother."


    But no answer came. Only silence and darkness. Yet, I found myself moving. Though I had no legs, I ran and ran through the emptiness, desperate to find the source of that voice. Something heavy and powerful throbbed in my chest like a distant drum, and the air tasted of metal and storm.


    "In the mountains," the voice finally echoed. "I will call you. Hurry, Ryne. Hurry before I hurt anyone else."


    ¡ªCHURCH¡ª


    I woke in a haze, my head pounding like a blacksmith¡¯s hammer on iron. The infirmary was dimly lit, shadows bending around a lone candle flame on the table beside my bed. Blinking, I saw familiar faces flicker into view. Woodrow, his arms crossed, a sharp glint in his eyes. Wilbur, his gentle hands supporting my back as I struggled to sit up. Agate, Harlan... and Claude.


    Claude stood at the far edge of the room, his posture tense, his gaze fixed on me. His expression was firm, as if he¡¯d held back a torrent of worry behind that hardened stare. My chest tightened at the sight of him. I opened my mouth, scrambling to find something to say.


    ¡°I can explain,¡± I blurted, but Wilbur¡¯s soft voice cut through the air.


    ¡°Claude carried you on his back once the direwolves retreated.¡±


    I blinked, trying to process. ¡°Are they gone?¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± Claude replied quietly, his voice like a balm on a wound. He moved closer, and the others slowly withdrew, sensing the need for privacy. Soon, it was just the two of us.


    ¡°What were you thinking, going into Rothfield like that?¡± His tone was stern, yet his eyes softened, lingering on the bandage at my temple.


    ¡°What were you thinking,¡± I countered, heat rising in my chest, ¡°charging into the town square to fight those beasts?¡±


    ¡°To protect my family,¡± he said, the words a stubborn truth that settled between us like an unmovable stone.


    ¡°And I went to make sure you were safe,¡± I shot back.


    ¡°You could have died!¡±


    ¡°So could you!¡±


    The tension broke, and we both chuckled, the sound light and brittle, like shattering glass. For a moment, the weight of fear lifted. Then, w ejust stared at each other. Understanding flickered in his gaze. ¡°Ryne, I can see you have your secrets, but... I want you to know, whatever they are, I¡¯ll stand by you. I don¡¯t need to know everything. Just that you¡¯re safe. That¡¯s enough.¡±


    I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat like thorns. Instead of speaking, I reached forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. He tensed at first, then relaxed, his hand coming up to rest against my back. I breathed in the scent of ash and sweat and felt a knot of relief loosen inside me.


    ¡°Is Lydia and Annette all right?¡± I asked softly as I pulled away.


    ¡°They¡¯re fine,¡± he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. ¡°They waited out the onslaught at a friend¡¯s house. Ma will probably tie me to a chair once she hears I was in the thick of the fight.¡±


    I smiled back, heart warming at the thought. ¡°I¡¯d feel the same way.¡±


    He squeezed my shoulder gently before stepping back. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to rest. I¡¯ll come back as soon as I¡¯m able.¡±


    With a final, lingering glance, he turned and left the room. The door swung shut softly, and then all four of my visitors flooded back in, their voices overlapping.


    ¡°He was so brave, bringing you back.¡±


    ¡°That was reckless, Brother Ryne. Admirable, but reckless.¡±


    I held up a hand, and the room fell silent. ¡°Agate, you first.¡±


    ¡°The direwolves were bigger this time. Smarter. We almost lost three men, and if it weren¡¯t for Gaelmar¡¯s flame illuminating the church, we would¡¯ve lost more.¡± Agate shivered, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the memory.


    ¡°You two were seen,¡± I said, turning to Wilbur and Woodrow. ¡°The soldiers saw you in the battle.¡±


    Woodrow nodded, expression grim. ¡°We realized too late that the few wolves that came near the settlement were just a distraction. Their true aim was Rothfield Town. But the dark forest hemmed us in, letting us fight only at the edges. We did what we could.¡±


    ¡°You did well.¡± I tried to smile, but weariness tugged at my limbs. ¡°And... I didn¡¯t lose control.¡±


    Woodrow blinked in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his face. He clapped me on the back, and I winced. ¡°You fought well, Brother Ryne.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I murmured. ¡°And your men?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re resting in the church nave,¡± Agate replied. ¡°Brother Wilbur treated their wounds. They¡¯ll be moved here as soon as they¡¯re stable enough to walk.¡± His gaze shifted to Wilbur, a sly grin forming. ¡°Though it¡¯s odd, isn¡¯t it? Our dear healer here flinching at the sight of blood.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s smile was tight, but he nodded curtly. ¡°It¡¯s an old affliction. One I manage. Let¡¯s focus on the injured.¡±


    The group left me with well-wishes, and I leaned back against the pillows. I could still see Claude¡¯s worried expression, the way he¡¯d stood guard over me like a sentinel. A strange warmth settled in my chest, half comforting, half frightening.


    ¡°We need to stop the source,¡± I murmured, my mind drifting back to the voice in the dream. ¡°There¡¯s something in Mount Lhottem. A force tied to the beasts and the earthquakes. We have to investigate.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s voice cut through my reverie, firm and unyielding. ¡°Not until you¡¯ve regained your strength.¡±


    There was no arguing with him, not in this state. I nodded, the fight draining out of me, and slumped back into the bedding.


    Woodrow gave a nod to Wilbur, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he retrieved his wooden pipes. ¡°I¡¯ll check on the people of Kent,¡± he murmured, then slipped from the room, his silhouette fading into the darkened corridor.


    Wilbur sat beside me, handing over a bowl of steaming porridge. He watched silently as I lifted the spoon to my lips, his gaze steady and reassuring. From the hallway, the soft notes of Woodrow¡¯s music floated through the air like a lullaby, filling the quiet spaces left in the aftermath of battle.

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 6)

    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    I had another dream that night. Or a vision. It was hard to tell anymore: the line between sleep and reality blurring until one melted into the other like colors on a painter¡¯s palette. In this vision, there were two flames. One a vibrant gold. The other, a deep, indigo blue. They twined together like oil on water. They flickered and mixed, their light dancing and merging until a blade of radiant steel sliced through them, scattering them away to make room for a dazzling bright light.


    I woke with a start, the remnants of the dream still shimmering at the edges of my thoughts. My head throbbed, unable to make sense of it. With a sigh, I shook off the lingering sense of unease and rose to face the day.


    Claude and leaned against a low stone at dusk. The meadow stretched out before us, the grass turning lavender as night crept closer. We were accompanied by other people from Kent. The sheep milled about lazily, a few bleating softly, but otherwise, the evening was still.


    Claude¡¯s hand moved in a slow, gentle rhythm, fingers trailing through Belle¡¯s soft fur. The sheep¡¯s ears perked as he scratched behind them, her head resting contentedly in his lap. Beside me, Ember nestled close, her little body a warm weight against my leg. I ran my fingers lightly over the top of her head, smoothing the fine fur between her ears. A soft rumble of satisfaction came from her throat, her amber eyes half-lidded in contentment.


    ¡°Annette and Lydia are doing fine,¡± Claude murmured, his gaze distant as he stared out at the rolling hills. ¡°Ma put up a bit of a fight before letting me leave. You know her enough by now to see how stubborn she could be.¡±


    There was a hint of a smile on his lips, but the tension in his shoulders hadn¡¯t eased since he arrived. I knew his family meant everything to him, and the possibility of losing them to those shadow direwolves weighed on him more than he¡¯d ever admit.


    We lapsed into silence, the stillness of the fields wrapping around us like a comforting shroud. The sheep grazed, oblivious to our presence, and the only sound was the soft whisper of the wind through the grass. After a long pause, Claude cleared his throat.


    ¡°Thank you for saving me back there.¡±


    I stopped stroking Ember. I looked at him, the sincerity in his gaze striking something deep within me. I said, ¡°Of course. I told you, I¡¯ll do my best to make sure you¡¯re safe.¡±


    His jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t look away. ¡°When I was fighting them, all I keep thinking is that they would never get through to me. They will not harm my mother or my sister. Or you. I prayed to my father. I asked him to give me strength. And then my sword glowed blue and I knew I would be all right. Because you were near.¡±


    The way he said it, the way his voice softened, made my heart ache. I¡¯d seen too many people come and go, lost too many I¡¯d dared to care about. But Claude? He¡¯d always been there, a constant presence. Steady and unyielding. I didn¡¯t deserve his friendship, his unwavering faith in me. Especially when I kept so much from him.


    Images from that evening flashed through my mind: the direwolves¡¯ fiery eyes, their teeth glinting in the dim light, the way their snarls echoed through the forest. ¡°It won¡¯t be the last time,¡± I murmured, dropping my gaze to the ground. ¡°There will be more, if we don¡¯t do something soon.¡±


    Claude¡¯s hand stilled on Belle¡¯s head. ¡°We?¡± His voice was low, almost wary.


    I nodded slowly, choosing my words carefully. ¡°The greater direwolves won¡¯t stop now that they¡¯ve found their way to Rothfield town. It¡¯s like what happened at Harlan and Agate¡¯s camp. They had the protection of the dark forest, but the town... it¡¯s too exposed. The shadows will find their way there.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond right away, just stared out over the fields, his brow furrowed in thought. We sat in the growing darkness, the only sound the rustle of leaves and the occasional bleat from a distant sheep. Then, the ground trembled beneath us¡ªa faint rumble that passed through the earth like a shuddering breath.


    Ember lifted her head, her ears twitching, and Belle pressed closer to Claude¡¯s side, trembling. My chest tightened, a strange pull coursing through me that I couldn¡¯t quite place. I winced, gritting my teeth as a sharp pain lanced through my chest.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± Claude¡¯s voice was urgent now, his hand finding my shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. ¡°It¡¯s... nothing. Just tired. Again.¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem convinced, but he turned his attention back to Belle, soothing the sheep with soft murmurs until her shivering stopped. Then he looked back at me, his eyes narrowed with worry. ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± he said quietly. ¡°These quakes. They¡¯re not normal. Rocks are sliding down the mountains, blocking the roads. Lord Bahram¡¯s been having trouble sending messages and supplies.¡±


    The mention of Lord Bahram made my stomach twist. Claude was getting pulled deeper into this, whether he realized it or not. ¡°Is that why he summoned you once more?¡± I asked, keeping my voice steady.


    Claude nodded. ¡°They heard about my... performance against the wolves.¡± He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers flexing against his knee. ¡°I think they want to test me. See if I¡¯m worth keeping around.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Instead of rewarding you for risking your life?¡±


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    He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. ¡°Maybe this is their reward. Testing me, pushing me. If I survive, maybe they¡¯ll consider me worthy of something more.¡± He paused, then added softly, ¡°They want me to investigate the rumbling in the mountains. The direwolves come out at night, so I¡¯ll be joining the soldiers in the town during the day. I leave tomorrow.¡±


    My blood ran cold. This was happening too fast. He was slipping further and further into the role of a soldier. A soldier I¡¯d never wanted him to become. He was so eager, so willing to prove himself, and it terrified me. My hands shook, so I tucked them inside my cloak, whispering a prayer for protection under my breath.


    ¡°Claude...¡± I struggled to find the words, my throat tightening. ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll be careful. And take Wilbur¡¯s vitamins. You know, they¡¯re supposed to be taken daily, not weekly. But with the limited resources we have now¡­¡±


    ¡°Goodness, does that mean I¡¯ll get even stronger if I take that every day?¡± His smile was gentle, his gaze soft as he looked at me. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Ryne. I¡¯ve got Belle, and I¡¯ve got you watching my back. What more could I need?¡±


    His faith in me, so absolute and unshakeable, made my heart clench painfully. I wanted to reach out, to hold him close and make him understand just how much I needed him to stay safe. But I didn¡¯t. I simply nodded, swallowing back the fear that threatened to choke me.


    ¡°Just... come back in one piece,¡± I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper.


    ¡°I will,¡± he promised, his hand brushing against mine in a fleeting, reassuring touch. ¡°You have my word.¡±


    We stood there for a long time, the night deepening around us, each lost in our own thoughts. I watched him close the sheep enclosure, the firelight from the monastery casting long shadows across his face. And I knew, deep down, that no matter how much I wished to keep him out of this fight, Claude was already a part of it.


    And I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of losing him.


    ¡ªCRYPT¡ª


    The stone walls of the crypt seemed to close in around us as I stood between my brothers, the shadows thick and cold. Candles flickered along the narrow alcoves, their dim light doing little to chase away the chill. Woodrow, usually so quick to joke, sat stiff-backed and grim, his face set in the hard lines of a soldier. Gone was the easygoing demeanor of the older brother I¡¯d grown up with. In its place was a strategist, a warrior calculating odds and risks.


    ¡°We can¡¯t defend them all, not every time,¡± he said. His gaze was steady, his voice low. He looked at me, then at Wilbur, as if weighing us both on a set of scales.


    Wilbur shifted uncomfortably, clutching his satchel against his chest like a shield. The faint clink of glass vials echoed in the silence. The small herbs and concoctions inside his bag seemed almost useless now against the enemy we faced. I could see the doubt flickering in his eyes: whether he¡¯d be able to do enough, whether he¡¯d be enough.


    Then another strong tug. ¡°Hurry,¡± whispered the voice from my dream, faint and insistent. I closed my eyes, straining to recognize it, but it remained just out of reach. I could¡¯ve sworn it sounded like Blake¡¯s, except that I¡¯d silenced him long ago.


    A twinge of pain shot through my chest. I gasped softly, one hand clutching at my ribs as if to still the sudden ache. Wilbur noticed and leaned forward, concern etched into his brow. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°A strange feeling,¡± I murmured, my voice tight. ¡°Like something pulling at me.¡± I looked between them, the realization dawning slowly. ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s like what we felt that first night. When the others splintered away.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening his expression. ¡°Who¨C?¡±


    ¡°Ealhstan.¡± I stood abruptly, my senses tingling with the urgency of that voice. His deep voice, like an earthquake, like thunder. I focused hard on the tug, on the connection, and I followed it outside. ¡°It¡¯s Ealhstan. I can feel him¡ªhe¡¯s near. But twisted. Warped by something dark.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, I bolted for the entrance, my feet moving on instinct. I heard Wilbur and Woodrow scramble after me, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone. Outside, the wind bit at my cheeks, but I didn¡¯t slow. I plunged through the grasslands, through the treeline, and down to the dark forest that led to Mount Lhottem. The air was thick with damp earth and the scent of moss. I dropped to my knees, pressing my hand against the soil.


    The world shifted.


    My mind plummeted through the roots, through the intertwined branches of the forest¡¯s ancient trees, diving deep into the heart of the mountain. The chambers of Lhottem spread out before me, a labyrinth of twisting tunnels and echoing caverns. Some caverns glimmered faintly with deposits of chalky white gems and glowing crystals. But it wasn¡¯t these gemstones that held my gaze.


    It was the den.


    The direwolves¡ªlarger and more feral than any I¡¯d seen¡ªmoved restlessly, their fur bristling with a dark, oily sheen. At their center, a massive figure loomed. His fur was dark, nearly black, with eyes that burned red like embers in a dying fire. Fangs gleamed as he let out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the earth.


    Ealhstan.


    My breath caught in my throat. My brother¡¯s gaze snapped to mine as if he could see me through the layers of stone and soil separating us. He let out a roar that shook the ground, a howl of hunger and rage. The cavern walls trembled, stones tumbling down in clouds of dust. The sound reverberated up through the roots, out into the forest, and finally to where I knelt.


    ¡°Ealhstan,¡± I whispered, the word a broken prayer on my lips. I could feel his anguish, his isolation, and the terrible, consuming darkness that coiled around him like chains.


    The vision snapped back, and I stumbled, my chest heaving. I clutched at Wilbur and Woodrow¡¯s arms, my fingers digging into their sleeves. ¡°It¡¯s him. He¡¯s not himself. The miasma has taken hold of him, twisted him into th monsters you become when famished.¡±


    ¡°Where is he?¡± Woodrow¡¯s voice was steady, but his eyes were wide, the concern he rarely showed us brothers flaring beneath the calm exterior.


    ¡°Deeper into the mountain. The path is treacherous, twisting. I can find the way, but I need you both with me.¡± I swallowed hard, my voice wavering. ¡°I¡¯ll need to summon Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame to purify him, just like I did with Ember. He¡¯s surrounded with greater beasts, dripping with the miasma that corrupted him.¡±


    Woodrow nodded slowly, his expression hardening as he thought of a solid strategy in his head. ¡°We¡¯ll need more than just the three of us, then.¡± His gaze turned shrewd, the soldier reasserting itself. ¡°Harlan for his strength, Jerome for his archery. He¡¯s nearly as good as Agate was. And we¡¯ll take three of the best fighters.¡±


    I bit my lip, fighting back a wave of dread. ¡°No, don¡¯t bring anyone else. I¡¯ll bring Ember. She¡¯s fast, and they¡¯re weak to kindflame. If I can target the biggest ones, we might stand a chance.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a plan.¡± Woodrow turned to Wilbur. ¡°Think you can whip up some explosives? I¡¯d rather be prepared.¡±


    Wilbur nodded, a determined set to his jaw. ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty stock of the everbane flowers and fire opals. I just need to combine them and heat it with your flame, Ryne,¡± he muttered, already sifting through his satchel. ¡°It¡¯ll take time to process the flowers. They need to be carefully separated and purified. Then I¡¯ll need to heat the opals to the point they turn white-hot, but not crush them completely. They need to burn bright enough to trigger the reaction with the kindflame.¡±

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 7)

    ¡ªINFIRMARY¡ª


    We went back to the infirmary. I watched him work, his hands moving with quick, practiced precision. The infirmary was a whirlwind of activity. Wilbur boiled petals and distilled their essence, then placed the opals in a fire until they glowed like miniature suns. The air filled with the sharp, acrid scent of the concoction as he mixed the ingredients in a careful ratio, his brow furrowed in concentration. The result was a series of small, crystalline bombs¡ªeach one glimmering faintly with inner fire.


    By the time we were finished, exhaustion had settled into my bones. The weight of what we were about to face hung over us like a shroud. Our own brother, corrupted and monstrous


    We sat in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The gravity of what lay ahead settled in, solid and unyielding. Facing the direwolves was one thing. But Ealhstan? The thought of striking down our own blood, of cleansing him with flame and steel, was almost too much to bear.


    And yet, deep down, a fragile thread of hope wound through the fear. If we could purify him and save Ealhstan, then he would be part of us once more.


    Even if that hope was the smallest of sparks, it was enough.


    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    Morning came, and already I felt wrong. The garth and granges were shrouded in a miasma so thick it hung like smoke in the air, twisting around us as if alive. I dispelled it, banished Blake, and gathered Harlan and Agate by the monastery walls, where the dawn light struggled to pierce the gloom. Their faces tightened as I spoke of the monstrosity lurking deep within Mount Lhottem. I told them that it was once our Brother Ealhstan, now something altogether different and dangerous.


    When I told him about his size, Harlan¡¯s brows shot up. ¡°Bigger than me?¡± Harlan, the largest man in Rothfield, whistled low, surprise flickering across his rough-hewn features. ¡°You monks never cease to amaze me.¡±


    ¡°More like worry us,¡± Agate murmured, her gaze lingering on Jerome, who stood beside her, cradling the bow she¡¯d just handed him. Her fingers lingered on his shoulder, as if reluctant to let go. ¡°Keep it with you, and remember what I taught you,¡± she said softly.


    Jerome nodded, adjusting the shield strapped across his back. His voice was low but sure. ¡°I¡¯m stronger now. And Woodrow and Wilbur will be with me. Brother Ryne, too. He¡¯ll look out for us.¡±


    Her proud smile twisted something in my chest. It humbled me that Jerome thought of me as his protector, though I wasn¡¯t sure I was worthy of it. But I offered him a reassuring nod, my hands trembling slightly at my sides, hidden beneath my cloak. ¡°Stay safe, Agate. Pray for us. And keep those candles burning.¡±


    The chapel doors closed behind me with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the empty corridors like a benediction. Agate¡¯s face lingered in my mind¡¯s eye as I led Woodrow, Wilbur, and Jerome through the forest. I murmured a prayer, reaching out to the ancient trees that surrounded the monastery, pleading for them to show us the way. The branches above rustled, and the underbrush shifted, vines and roots responding to my call.


    The ground seemed to breathe beneath my feet. Twisting roots burst from the earth, clearing a path through the forest¡¯s dense tangle. The vines wound their way forward, leading us to a narrow, shadowed crevice that yawned wide like the mouth of some slumbering beast.


    The air within was icy, seeping into my bones, but I cupped my hands and murmured another prayer. A flame flickered to life, fed by the gathered power of Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame. The torch I carried blazed with warm light, chasing the cold away. ¡°Stay close,¡± I whispered, guiding my brothers and Jerome into the mountain¡¯s twisting depths.


    The path wound ever downward, narrow and treacherous. Shadows danced in the torchlight, curling against the walls, and making eerie shadows. At each fork, I paused, feeling the tug of the forest¡¯s guidance. My prayers echoed softly through the stone, dispelling the miasma that clung to every crevice.


    Jerome moved carefully behind me, his grip on his bow tight. At one point, he stumbled toward what looked like solid ground, only for the path to abruptly end in a sheer drop. I pulled him back just in time, my heart pounding. ¡°Watch your step. The mountain¡¯s twisting itself, trying to deceive us.¡±


    He swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he glanced over the edge. ¡°Got it.¡±


    We pressed on, the walls closing in until we emerged into a wide clearing. It was a cavern lit with an eerie, pale light that seemed to pulse from the stones themselves. Low growls reverberated through the chamber. Harlan and Jerome readied their weapons as I blessed their armor with trembling fingers. But the blue flames that licked at Claude¡¯s swords didn¡¯t appear. Instead, a faint shimmer enveloped them, like a veil of protection too weak to hold.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± Harlan muttered, gripping his spear. He glanced at me. ¡°Whatever you did for Claude, now¡¯s the time to do it again.¡±


    Wilbur stepped forward, stuffing a sticky, putty-like substance onto the arrow Jerome had notched. Jerome lit the arrowhead with my kindflame lighting the torch. When it struck one of the wolves slinking in the shadows, the creature yelped, flames bursting along its fur. It skittered away, igniting the others as they came in a wave, yellow eyes gleaming, teeth snapping in the darkness.


    Woodrow¡¯s daggers flashed, catching the light as he wove around us, striking at any wolf that drew too close. Wilbur hurled his mini-explosives, each detonation sending direwolves scampering back with yelps of pain.


    We progressed down the path. ¡°I¡¯m quickly running out of bottles,¡± Wilbur shouted through the snarls and explosives.


    ¡°We¡¯ll deal with that once we¡¯re through here,¡± Woodrow replied, his voice tense but unshaken. His dagger arced out, catching a direwolf across the eye. It howled, stumbling back.


    The beasts circled us, darting in and out like shadows come to life. Harlan stood at the center, holding the line as his massive spear cleaved through fur and flesh. Jerome¡¯s arrows hissed through the air, each one trailing flames. And Wilbur, standing just behind, threw what few explosives remained, lighting up the chamber in flashes of red and orange.


    But they kept coming. From the shadows, more appeared, snarling and slavering, their howls reverberating through the cave like a grim chorus. Harlan¡¯s breath came heavy, each thrust of his spear slower than the last. Jerome was trembling, sweat dripping down his brow as he fired again and again. I could see the desperation in their eyes, and fear clawed at my own heart.


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    ¡°Ember!¡± I called. My companion darted forward, her small frame lighting up with a roar of flame that scattered the wolves. I drew the kindflame from her, spreading it into a shimmering shield that flared out, holding the beasts at bay. Ember sagged at my feet, panting.


    ¡°We have to move!¡± I shouted, scooping her up and stumbling toward a side passage. The others followed, covering my retreat as we plunged deeper into the mountain¡¯s heart.


    We stumbled into a second chamber, larger and more foreboding. Stalactites hung like fangs from the ceiling, and veins of luminescent crystal lined the walls, casting a ghostly glow across the rough stone. Harlan and Jerome stood guard while Wilbur approached the crystals, his gaze bright with recognition.


    ¡°Howlite,¡± he whispered. ¡°It¡¯s rare. And potent. If we can harvest it¡ª¡± He turned to Harlan and Jerome. ¡°Start mining. We¡¯ll need every bit we can carry.¡±


    The two soldiers set to work, their strikes echoing through the empty space. Wilbur¡¯s voice was tight as he explained, ¡°Howlite strengthens the base of our potions. I can use it to make better fortifying brews for Claude and the others. It¡¯ll make them stronger, faster, and more resilient against the direwolves.¡±


    A surge of hope flared through me, followed almost immediately by a cold, nauseating dread. As they chipped away at the crystals, a deep rumble shook the ground. We froze, our breaths caught in our throats.


    The rumbling grew, a roar building up through the rock. Harlan moved to shield Jerome as Woodrow and Wilbur leapt to my side. Stones tumbled from above, crystals shattering as the very walls seemed to tremble with rage. The floor bucked beneath us. Then, with a deafening crack, the earth split open.


    We were thrown apart, scattered across the cavern. Wilbur¡¯s scream was swallowed by the darkness as a wall of rock crashed down, separating us. Jerome¡¯s voice rose in a panicked shout, but it was cut off as another slab fell, blocking the way back. Dust and debris filled the air, and I coughed, scrambling backward until my back hit cold stone.


    The mountain settled, the quake subsiding. Silence fell, thick and oppressive. I was alone, cut off from the others by a wall of stone. The darkness pressed in, suffocating.


    ¡°Wilbur? Woodrow?¡± I called, my voice a fragile thing, lost in the void.


    Only silence answered as the blackness enveloped me.


    ¡ªCAVERN¡ª


    I awoke in deep darkness. And Blake was awake¡ªhis presence coiling around me like a serpent. He murmured in my ear, an insistent, poisonous echo.


    I forced myself to meditate, calling the sacred flame. ¡°Be gone,¡± I hissed, and Blake screamed as the fire chained him back into silence, scattering his hold on me to smoldering ashes. But Ealhstan¡¯s pull remained, drawing me upward like a puppet on strings.


    Stumbling to my feet, I made my way through the labyrinthine cavern, the sound of my breath loud in the stillness. I reached the entrance, and a guttural roar reverberated through the stone, shaking dust from the ceiling. I felt the vibration in my bones. Ealhstan. The monstrous presence loomed ahead, twisted and feral.


    Blake¡¯s voice slithered back, taunting. ¡°How delicious it will be to see your giant brother squash you like a gnat. What will he feel, I wonder, when he awakens to find you as nothing more than a smear on the ground, ground into pulp beneath his feet?¡±


    I banished the specter of Blake again, heart pounding, and called out for Wilbur and Woodrow. Silence answered me, oppressive and heavy. A chill ran down my spine. I touched the ground and sent my senses questing outward.


    To my horror, I found them.


    Standing there, heads bowed, their postures tense and rigid. The vision of their dark states crashed over me. Wilbur¡¯s body was contorted, fingers twitching against the stone walls like a spider testing its web. Woodrow loomed behind him, face blank, but I saw the tremor in his hands. They were barely containing themselves, barely holding back their monstrous forms.


    When satiated, they would sleep through the dawn, but in the depths of hunger and darkness? They were lost.


    And then I felt something else. A warm presence treading softly into the miasma-laden path we had taken earlier. My heart leapt, fear mingled with relief. Claude and his soldiers were there, following our trail of shattered bottles and broken arrows, tracing the ash-streaked path. My pulse quickened as I saw Claude crouch down, examining a fragment of Wilbur¡¯s glasswork.


    ¡°No, Claude! Don¡¯t follow the ash!¡± I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the shadows.


    His gaze locked onto a scrap of torn robe¡ªone of ours. His eyes darkened as he spread from the men he was with. I watched him trail a different path, drawn by another marker: the tuft of Ember¡¯s fur snagged on a rock, a boot print half-embedded in the dust.


    Claude moved faster, darting toward my location. I strained, willing him to hear me, to turn back. But it was too late. He slipped through a narrow gap in the stone, closer now, his torchlight flickering at the edges of my vision.


    Meanwhile, I saw the other soldiers clustered around the collapsed boulders, where Harlan and Jerome were trapped. Their shouts rang out, echoing through the cave as they heaved against the rocks, freeing them.


    I wanted to scream, but all I could do was watch, helpless, as the boulders shifted, a few men managing to pry them apart. Harlan staggered free, his broad shoulders hunched with pain, but he pointed frantically.


    ¡°We have monks for company. They are trapped, too! We have to¡ª¡±


    He didn¡¯t get to finish. A blood-curdling scream tore through the air, freezing them all in place. Claude was near me now, his breath coming fast and shallow as he set to work, using his strength to chip away at the boulders. I pushed from the other side, and with a final shuddering crack, the rocks parted.


    We stumbled through the opening, embracing briefly in relief. But then the sound of snarling tore us apart.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Claude asked, his voice urgent.


    I barely heard him over the screams of terror reverberating down the passageway. My heart dropped, and I knelt, touching the ground. The vision came to me in a rush. The soldiers who had sought to free my brothers, thinking them harmed, were now trapped in a nightmare.


    Wilbur moved with serpentine grace, teeth flashing as he sank them into a man¡¯s throat. Blood spurted, staining his chin as he fed hungrily. Woodrow stood over two others, a cruel smile on his face as he beckoned one closer, the other already crumpled at his feet. He slipped out of his robes, swaying hypnotically, drawing the remaining man toward him like a moth to a flame.


    I shut my eyes, my chest tightening with grief. There was nothing I could do for those lost lives now.


    It was midday. The sunlight should have brought clarity, but in this darkened womb of stone and bloodshed, it felt meaningless. The men were just laughing earlier, talking about families and children back home.


    Claude rose, his face ashen. He realized what he thought happened: that direwovles had devoured the men from Rothfield town. He stared down the passage, listening to the last, wet gasps. ¡°I liked them,¡± he whispered, the pain raw in his voice. ¡°They told me about their children¡­¡±


    He dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping with a defeat that felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I didn¡¯t want to lie to him, but the truth would crush him. Woodrow and Wilbur would be horrified if they ever remembered what they¡¯d done. But now wasn¡¯t the time.


    I grabbed his arm, shaking my head as tears stung my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s too late, Claude. They¡¯re gone. You have to stay here and¨C¡±


    ¡°Like hell I will.¡±


    Taking a breath, I made myself meet his eyes. All right, half-truth it is. I said, ¡°Claude¡­ you remember I told you I have brothers scattered around, right? One of them is here, in this mountain. He¡¯s the one causing the earthquakes. His name is Ealhstan, and he¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s not himself anymore. The miasma has changed him, twisted him. But somewhere inside, he still has a gentle heart.¡±


    Claude¡¯s gaze softened, confusion giving way to something like understanding. ¡°What do we need to do?¡±


    ¡°Distract him,¡± I whispered, my voice trembling but steady. ¡°Don¡¯t approach him head-on. Just keep him occupied long enough for me to reach him. I¡¯ll talk to him, try to remind him of who he is, like I did with Ember. Trust me. I can do this.¡±


    Claude nodded slowly, his hand gripping mine. ¡°I trust you.¡±


    Together, we made our way through the single path, the torchlight dancing in the murk. Ember¡¯s small form flitted between us, her fur a flash of warmth and light in the dark. We pressed on, deeper into the heart of the mountain where our brother awaited¡ªa slumbering giant, and we, mere shadows at his feet.

 Chapter 24 - The Farmer Soldier (Part 8 - END)

    ¡ªDARK EALHSTAN¡¯S CAVERN¡ª


    By the time I reached him, the cavern was already trembling with the force of Ealhstan¡¯s rage. Rocks fell from the jagged ceiling like the sky itself was collapsing, dust choking the air, but I couldn¡¯t stop now, not when my brother was a raging beast before me. He towered over us, muscles rippling and twisting beneath flesh that shuddered as if it might burst. The miasma was coiled around him like a second skin, black and pulsing, tainting his every movement.


    ¡°Must not hurt¡­ Must stay away¡­¡± he muttered, his voice low and mournful, like a storm whispering through a broken window. But his body defied his words, moving with a deadly purpose. He bent low and grabbed a boulder as if it were a mere pebble, his monstrous hands gripping it tight. With a grunt, he hurled it straight at us.


    ¡°Claude, get down!¡± I shouted, throwing myself against him. The boulder hurtled past, smashing into the ground where we¡¯d stood moments before, splintering into a cloud of dust and pebbles. We rolled away, coughing and blinking through the dust, but Ealhstan was relentless. He stomped his foot, and the ground heaved beneath us as if alive, fissures splitting open and jagged rock erupting in our path.


    Claude scrambled to his feet, eyes wide but calm. Quick as a cat, he darted left, narrowly avoiding another cascade of stone from the crumbling walls. But every time we tried to close the distance, Ealhstan would slam the ground again, his massive feet sending shockwaves that made us stumble and lose our footing. The floor beneath us bucked and cracked, splintering the cavern and shaking loose more debris.


    ¡°Must not¡­ become a monster¡­¡± Ealhstan rumbled, but his voice warred with itself. Beneath the hoarse growls, I could hear him, truly hear him. ¡°Must protect Ryne¡­ must not hurt Ryne¡­¡±


    ¡°Brother, listen to me!¡± I shouted, pushing through the chaos, but he wouldn¡¯t hear. His eyes, once so kind, were wild and unfocused, pupils swallowed by darkness. With a roar, he swung his massive arm, sending a cascade of shattered stone hurtling toward us.


    I barely had time to react, raising my hands instinctively. Flames surged around me, a barrier of kindflame bursting forth just in time to shield us from the deadly spray. ¡°Claude, get ready!¡± I shouted over the roar of the fire. I gathered the kindflame in my palms, the sacred fire that thrummed with warmth and life. With a swift gesture, I let it flow into Claude¡¯s sword. The blade roared to life, bathed in blue-white light. Claude only had eyes on Ealhstan.


    ¡°That¡¯s your gentle giant?!¡± he screamed, but then he nodded, determination etched on his face. With a cry, he charged forward, swinging the flaming sword in a wide arc. But through the cracks along the walls, shadowbeasts clawed out. They growled and swarmed upon us. Claude¡¯s blade carved through one of the direwolves that had emerged from the cracks in the walls, disintegrating it with a shriek. Ealhstan roared, his huge body swinging toward us as if in slow motion, his sheer size making every movement devastating.


    ¡°Ealhstan, remember who you are!¡± I called again, voice breaking. ¡°Please, Brother! You¡¯re hurting us!¡±


    ¡°Ryne¡­¡± His voice faltered. His gaze wavered, confusion flickering through the monstrous visage. Then he snarled, shaking his head violently. ¡°Ryne¡­ stay¡­ away¡­¡±


    Desperation surged through me as I saw more shadowbeasts crawling from the cracks, their forms slick and sinuous, fangs bared and eyes glowing with hunger. There was no time. The others¡ªHarlan, Jerome, and perhaps my brothers¡ªwere somewhere behind us, holding off the horde, but they wouldn¡¯t last long.


    ¡°Claude, close your eyes and stay away!¡± I yelled. He did so, just as Ealshtan threw a boulder aimlessly and threw dust everywhere. I focused on the kindflame, feeling it surge through me like a river of molten gold. I raised my hands and flung the fire into the air, forming a wall of searing blue flame between us and Ealhstan. It wouldn¡¯t hold long, but it would give us a moment¡¯s respite.


    Before I could take another breath, two figures darted through the chaos¡ªa flash of red and silver. Wilbur and Woodrow burst into the fray, their eyes still tinged with crimson. Their movements were sharp and feral, but they were aware, lucid.


    ¡°Get down!¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice rang out. With a swift motion, he hurled all the remaining explosive bottles he carried. They arced through the air, smashing against Ealhstan¡¯s chest in a blaze of fire and shattered glass. The explosion sent sparks and splinters cascading around him, but Ealhstan barely staggered.


    Woodrow lunged at his side, his dagger flashing as he tried to restrain Ealhstan¡¯s massive arm. ¡°Wilbur, now!¡± he shouted, muscles straining against his brother¡¯s monstrous strength. Wilbur nodded and threw a handful of powder, the fine grains settling over Ealhstan¡¯s face like dust.


    Ealhstan coughed, a wet, ragged sound. But he did not slow. Instead, he looked down at Woodrow, recognition and sorrow flickering in his wild gaze. ¡°Brother¡­?¡± he whispered, voice breaking.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me¡­ We¡¯re here to bring you home,¡± Woodrow murmured softly.


    But then Ealhstan¡¯s expression twisted. With a roar, he moved with terrifying speed, grabbing Woodrow and hurling him like a doll. Woodrow¡¯s body collided with Wilbur¡¯s, and both my brothers crashed into the cavern wall with a sickening thud.


    ¡°No!¡± I screamed, heart clenching with fear. Before I could even think, I was running toward them, kindflame blazing in my hands. But Ealhstan¡¯s roar froze me in place. He turned, his gaze locking onto me. The ground shuddered beneath him, cracks spidering outward.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I shouted, pouring everything I had into my voice. The words reverberated through the air, and I heard Gaelmar¡¯s power surged through me, deep and unyielding. ¡°Stop!¡± It was his voice in my mouth.


    Ealhstan froze, trembling. I stepped closer, breathing hard, the kindflame flickering in my hands. ¡°Look into my eyes, Ealhstan. Remember the goodness of your soul.¡±


    His gaze met mine, wild and full of pain. I could see him¡ªthe real Ealhstan¡ªtrapped beneath layers of corruption and agony, chained by the miasma. I stepped closer, murmuring his name over and over, each word a lifeline pulling him back.


    ¡°You¡¯re a gentle giant, Brother,¡± I whispered, voice breaking. ¡°You used your strength to build homes for the homeless, to raise castles for the common people. You repaired, not destroyed. You built places of rest and safety. You promised to build me a cottage in the peaceful Alps. Come back to us, Brother Ealhstan. Come back home.¡±


    Tears welled in his eyes. His body convulsed, fighting against the chains of darkness. I reached out, touched his face, letting the kindflame flow over him, burning away the miasma that clung to his soul.


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    A terrible, angry scream filled the cavern as the darkness recoiled, fighting back. But I held firm, pouring every last bit of my strength into the flames until the shadows shriveled and fell away, leaving only Ealhstan¡¯s true form beneath.


    He collapsed, his massive frame shuddering. His eyes, now clear and bright, looked up at me, filled with tears. He reached out with a trembling hand.


    ¡°Brother¡­ Ryne¡­¡± he whispered, voice hoarse and broken.


    I fell to my knees beside him, reaching out to grasp his hand. ¡°I¡¯m here, Ealhstan. You¡¯re safe now.¡±


    And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw my brother¡¯s true tired smile. Before the flame ebbed away from me, leaving me breathless and shaking.


    I have gotten used to fainting by now.


    ¡ª


    When I finally stirred, I wasn¡¯t sure where I was. The ground beneath me wasn¡¯t as cold as I remembered. There was something soft, solid, like a steady rise and fall. Blinking, I looked up to see Ealhstan¡¯s face looming over mine, his eyes gentle and warm, his brows furrowed in concern.


    ¡°Keep him close to the flame,¡± I heard Wilbur mutter softly beside him. Woodrow hovered at his other shoulder, both brothers¡¯ faces drawn and tight with worry.


    ¡°Ealhstan¡­?¡± My voice came out as a cracked whisper. The relief that washed over his expression was enough to make my own vision blur. I reached out, touching his cheek with trembling fingers. His skin was rougher than I remembered, lined and creased by hardship and pain. He was too young to look so worn.


    And yet, he smiled¡ªa soft, broken smile¡ªas a tear slipped down his face. I barely managed to blink back my own before throwing my arms around him. Hugging him felt like embracing a boulder, a wall of solid muscle that seemed to hold me together. He rumbled softly, his voice a low, comforting vibration in his chest.


    ¡°Thank you for saving me, Brother Ryne,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°I missed you,¡± I whispered, my words muffled against his broad shoulder. I felt small, fragile, but whole. ¡°I missed you so much.¡±


    ¡°And I, you.¡± He pulled back slightly, letting me down gently. I swayed, unsteady, but Woodrow and Wilbur moved in to catch me, the three of us sharing a brief embrace before stepping back.


    Ealhstan nodded approvingly at them, his gaze full of pride. ¡°These two brothers told me of your adventures. Well done. Very well done. I always knew you had power within you. I never doubted you for a moment.¡± His smile widened as he glanced at Woodrow and Wilbur. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, shaking them slightly. ¡°Woodrow, your strategy and soldier¡¯s spirit helped your brothers survive. Be proud that they can depend on you.¡± He turned to Wilbur, his voice deepening with gratitude. ¡°And you, risking your life to help others¡­ You¡¯ve saved more than you know.¡±


    Woodrow and Wilbur exchanged glances, their expressions shifting to something darker, more somber. ¡°We¡­ drained people of their blood this day,¡± Woodrow muttered, his voice low. ¡°We became killers, too.¡±


    A heavy silence descended upon us, the weight of our deeds crushing what little joy we¡¯d managed to rekindle. Ealhstan looked down, shame etched into every line of his face. ¡°So did I,¡± he murmured, stepping back as if to distance himself from us. ¡°I lost control. I found myself in a village¡­ I destroyed it in a heartbeat. Once I realized what I¡¯d done, I fled to the mountains, through the trees and past the vines, until I reached this place. And then¡­ nothing. I didn¡¯t wake until now. All I remember was that I kep calling for help. I kept calling for you, Ryne. All I saw was this tiny bright light amidst a sea od shadow.¡±


    He turned away, shoulders hunched. My heart twisted at the sight, but I stepped forward, refusing to let this darkness pull him under again. ¡°That is not you. That is not who you are,¡± I said firmly. ¡°None of this was you. And I¡¯ll keep reminding you of that, for as long as it takes.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. Wilbur swallowed hard, staring at the ground. ¡°They probably had families¡­¡±


    ¡°Then we will bury them with dignity,¡± I said, my voice steady and strong. ¡°And we will make sure their families are taken care of. We owe them that much.¡±


    Ember, who had been pacing anxiously at my side, let out a sharp bark. Ealhstan glanced down, and I nudged her forward gently. ¡°Go on, Ember. Say hello.¡±


    Tentatively, Ember sniffed at Ealhstan¡¯s outstretched hand. He grinned; a weary, lopsided grin that felt more like the brother I remembered. ¡°Hello, furball.¡± His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Ember licked his fingers, her tail wagging. She looked up at me with bright, trusting eyes, as if reassuring me that this truly was our brother. A small, wavering smile broke out on my face.


    But then I remembered something and whirled around. ¡°Claude!¡± I called, looking past Ealhstan¡¯s massive form.


    ¡°Right here,¡± came his voice from beyond the shadowed edges of the cavern. He stepped forward hesitantly, flanked by Harlan and Jerome, their eyes wide with awe as they took in Ealhstan¡¯s towering figure. Harlan stared open-mouthed.


    Ealhstan turned his gaze toward them, raising a hand in a tentative wave. ¡°We¡¯ve already made our introductions,¡± he said softly, voice still rumbling like distant thunder. ¡°They were gracious enough to give us some space.¡± He nodded toward Claude. ¡°Though that one kept checking over you.¡±


    Claude stepped closer, his expression uncertain, but his eyes were soft with relief. I reached out, gently grabbing his arm and pulling him in beside me. He looked up¡ª way, way up¡ªat Ealhstan, and for a moment, I saw the faintest flicker of awe and nervousness in his gaze.


    ¡°The friend of my dearest brother!¡± Ealhstan boomed suddenly, making us all jump. He laughed; a deep, booming sound that echoed through the cavern. ¡°Another little brother joining our flock, eh?¡± Before any of us could react, he scooped Claude up as if he weighed nothing but haystack, tossing him into the air. Claude¡¯s startled laugh rang out, arms flailing in surprise before he landed gently back in Ealhstan¡¯s massive hands.


    Laughter filled the empty cavern, bright and joyful. Even Harlan and Jerome chuckled, the sound cutting through the lingering tension. Ealhstan grinned at them, his eyes sparkling.


    ¡°And you, Brother Ryne,¡± he murmured, turning to me. Before I could protest, I found myself lifted into the air alongside Claude, both of us laughing breathlessly as Ealhstan juggled us like we were no heavier than wooden balls. The laughter was freeing, cleansing, and for a brief moment, everything felt normal again.


    Ealhstan finally settled us down, his massive arms cradling us close. ¡°I felt like a bird!¡± Claude gasped, his cheeks flushed with exhilaration.


    He looked up at Ealhstan, eyes shining. ¡°Such strength you have, Brother! A gift from the Miracle. A monastery full of blessed monks. The other priests will seethe with envy.¡±


    Ealhstan gently set us on the ground, turning to face Harlan and Jerome. ¡°Well met and well fought,¡± he said, inclining his head. ¡°And now¡­ where do we go from here?¡±


    I glanced around, noticing a faint glimmer of light beyond a narrow passage. ¡°There¡¯s a path that leads to the monastery,¡± I murmured. The others nodded, but just as I finished speaking, a low growl echoed from the cavern entrance.


    We all fell silent, tension coiling tight. Harlan and Jerome raised their weapons. But Jerome was almost out of arrows, so Harlan broke his spear in half. It was pitiful, but it was all we had. Ealhstan¡¯s gaze hardened as the growls grew louder, closer.


    ¡°All right,¡± he muttered, turning toward a weak section of the wall. ¡°This way.¡± With a single powerful punch, he shattered the rock, sending dust and debris flying. He struck again, again, until the wall gave way, revealing a narrow tunnel that led outside. Wilbur and Woodrow scrambled through, pulling Harlan and Jerome after them.


    But as I turned to follow, Ealhstan didn¡¯t move. ¡°What are you doing?¡± I cried, heart pounding.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I can¡¯t trust myself¡­ not like this. Wilbur and Woodrow can barely contain themselves with their hunger, and there¡¯s a small settlement nearby. I can¡¯t¡­ I won¡¯t risk it.¡±


    I grabbed his arm, desperation clawing at my throat. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll come back for me,¡± he murmured, a sad smile tugging at his lips. ¡°I want to be with you, to see what you¡¯ve accomplished. You¡¯ll find a way. You¡¯re the bringer of hope, Brother.¡± He winked, gently pushing me forward. ¡°Go.¡±


    Before I could protest further, the beasts were upon us. Ealhstan turned, his massive frame blocking the entrance. With a roar, he struck out, scattering them like leaves in the wind. Ember darted past me, flames roaring from her jaws as she scorched a path through the darkness. Ealhstan gave me one last smile. One final amused wink and a salute before the tunnel collapsed around him, sealing him inside.


    ¡°Ealhstan!¡± I screamed, but it was too late. All I could do was watch, heart aching, as his silhouette faded into the dust and darkness.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Claude murmured, his voice tight with urgency. He gently tugged me away, and I followed, the echo of Ealhstan¡¯s laughter lingering in the empty air behind us.

 Chapter 25 - Brother Ealhstan Returns (Part 1)

    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    We rushed outside, our breaths ragged and uneven. The path wound steeply along the mountainside, the narrow ledge overlooking the cavern¡¯s entrance below. Claude¡¯s arm clutched mine, our fingers digging into each other¡¯s sleeves as we gazed at one another, lips trembling with all we couldn¡¯t say. But before we could find a voice, the entrance below shook violently. A cloud of dust erupted, scattering two survivors, the men from Rothfield, dragging bodies out into the open air.


    We bolted down the trail, my pulse hammering in my throat. The survivors staggered, faces drawn and haunted. All of us rushed towards them. My brothers held the bodies of their victims grimly, their expressions set in stone. The torn scarves around their necks failed to fully conceal the bloody wounds beneath. Fang marks. Proof of what they¡¯d done. They paused until I approached them and gently placed my hand on their arms. I tied the scarves securely around the bodies¡¯ necks to cover their bite marks.


    A chill slithered down my spine. A dark realization clawed its way into my thoughts, one I¡¯d foolishly overlooked until now: in my certainty that Woodrow and Wilbur could protect Claude, I¡¯d forgotten the darker possibility: that he might become their victim if hunger drove them to madness. Without thinking, I pulled Claude closer to my side. He blinked at me, his gaze curious, unafraid.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never seen a lifeless body before?¡± he asked, his voice calm, almost soft. He mistook my fear for his safety with my queasiness to corpses. He looked over the bodies as though they were bundles of firewood. ¡°When the sickness came to Rothfield and took some of our elders, we helped care for the bereaved and bury the dead.¡±


    For a moment, I could only stare at him, words caught in my throat. There was a resilience to Claude, a quiet acceptance that made him seem older, wiser than he had any right to be. No wonder he could hold himself together when the world around us is crumbling.


    ¡°Go back to the monastery,¡± Woodrow said quietly to Harlan and Jerome. ¡°See to your people and rest. You¡¯ve done more than enough.¡± His voice was soft, gentle; a stark contrast to the cold set of his jaw. He turned to Jerome, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ¡°You did mighty well. You must be proud.¡±


    Wilbur crept to the two other men, who nodded stiffly when asked if he could check their bruises. Wilbur knelt and readied his more common concoctions; harmless vials of healing herbs to clean wounds. I understood that he did this to avoid suspicion when the soldiers came back to town with already-healed bruises.


    ¡°Fortunate that we have a physician amongst all that rubble. And pity that our comrades weren¡¯t able to save themselves when they saved you.¡± The man winced, shaking his head when he realized that his tone could have been taken as accusatory. ¡°I do not blame anyone but the beasts.¡±


    Wilbur only nodded as he tended to his arms and face. The other man with haunted eyes asked only that we pray for the souls of their fallen, that they might find peace in the Miracle¡¯s embrace.


    Woodrow¡¯s composure slipped for a moment, but he quickly regained it. We bowed our heads. I was the only one who dared to pray aloud. As I murmured the words, a sudden cold fear gripped me; a shudder that rippled through my veins like ice. I closed my eyes, and the vision hit me like a blow.


    Ealhstan. I saw him deep in the tunnels, pummeling beasts into dust. He was battered, weak, yet still strong. But then the vision shifted, pulling me deeper into Mount Lhottem¡¯s heart. There were dens, vast chambers filled with more monsters¡ªcreatures with tails and wings and spikes. My breath hitched, the weight of it crushing my chest. My knees buckled, but Claude and Wilbur caught me before I hit the ground.


    ¡°Ryne?¡± Claude¡¯s voice, low and steady, grounded me. I blinked, the edges of reality slowly coming back into focus. Wilbur was asking me with his eyes what I saw.


    I shook my head, forcing a smile. I turned to Claude. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just¡­ exhausted.¡±


    Claude frowned, his grip tightening as if he feared I might collapse at any moment. He glanced at the bodies, one on each of Woodrow and Wilbur¡¯s broad shoulders, their limbs hanging limp and cold. He bit his lip, the weight of grief settling into his gaze. ¡°We¡¯ll carry them home,¡± he murmured quietly, his voice a thread of resolve.


    Woodrow stepped closer, his presence a quiet, unspoken command. ¡°Why don¡¯t you two go on ahead?¡± he said softly. ¡°Check on Wilbur¡¯s new ores for a moment. Make sure there¡¯s no more danger coming from the blocked entrances.¡±


    Before Claude or I could protest, Wilbur gave us a gentle shove, his gaze pleading. I glanced back, but Woodrow caught my eye and shook his head firmly. He turned to one of the Rothfield men, his voice dropping to a low, insistent murmur.


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    ¡°What do we tell Lord Bahram?¡± one of the survivors asked, his voice trembling.


    Woodrow¡¯s eyes glowed a faint green, the air around us seeming to thrum with power. ¡°You will tell them nothing. All of you fought well, and it was Claude who led you back to safety when you did not listen to him.¡±


    The man nodded slowly, his gaze unfocused, and I felt a pang of guilt. Woodrow¡¯s charm washed over them, clouding their memories, turning them into a nightmare.


    When he was done, Woodrow left the dazed men and approached us. ¡°Claude,¡± Woodrow murmured, turning back to us. ¡°Promise me. You must not tell them what you saw in the cave. Not a word. And you must not speak to the men about what happened. We ask this of you, please.¡±


    Claude was taken aback by the new tone in Woodrow¡¯s voice. He looked at me and I nodded, pleading with my eyes. He fixed Woodrow with a resolute gaze. ¡°I promise. I haven¡¯t told them anything about what happens at Rothfield.¡± Then he added quietly, ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m not sure your monastery will be able to hold its secrets much longer.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s mouth tightened, a shadow crossing his face. He nodded. We set them home, Claude and I clasping our arms together, before leaving.


    ¡°The boy speaks truth,¡± one of the Rothfield men muttered. ¡°Try as we might to keep our secrets, the world has a way of uncovering them.¡±


    There was nothing more to say. The truth hung heavy between us, unspoken but undeniable. With a silent nod, we made our way back to the monastery. Exhaustion seeped into my bones, my sight blurring as I recounted what I¡¯d seen in the vision, the weight of it pressing down on me like a shroud. We trudged through the trees, three weary souls returning home.


    We should have been glad. Ealhstan was safe. We had new ores to strengthen us. We had survived.


    But mixed with the relief was shame for the lives we took, and fear of the dark things still lurking deep within Mount Lhottem.


    Ember rested on my lap and I stroked her fur as sleep took me in its arms. Tomorrow evening, we will prepare for our brother¡¯s return. And on the next moon, Rothfield Monastery would welcome a new monk into our fold.


    ¡ªROTHFIELD MONASTERY¡ª


    A chill wind swept through the monastery¡¯s courtyard. The dark stone walls seemed to close in on me as I made my way down the winding path that led to the chapel. My boots scuffed against the flagstones, the soft thud of each step echoing louder than I liked in the evening quiet.


    The blood vials in my satchel clinked together, a sharp, accusing sound.


    I paused at the chapel doors, taking a deep breath. The heaviness in my chest tightened, and I pressed a hand to my sternum, as if I could ease the guilt that coiled there like a living thing. I glanced up at the sky, where clouds drifted across the sliver of moonlight, casting fleeting shadows over the monastery grounds.


    I wondered if Gaelmar saw everything that I did tonight. His statue looked at the church, still and unmoving; sometimes he looked more like a stern figure than a solemn one. I did not look into his eyes, fearing he would glare down at me, the colors dulled and darkened in the fading light.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯re watching,¡± I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°But I feel it. Your disappointment.¡±


    The silence pressed in around me, and I bowed my head. Gaelmar¡¯s gaze bore down, cold. Each week, I drew more blood than I should. Each week, I crossed the line between necessity and greed. And each week, I felt the sting of shame burn deeper.


    The worst part was knowing they trusted me. The villagers came willingly, offering their blood without complaint. I saw the way they looked at me, hope mingled with acceptance. Even the children came, their tiny arms outstretched, eyes squeezed shut against the sharp prick of the needle. I tried to steel myself against the sight, tried to focus on the task at hand, but each time, my resolve wavered.


    I offered them nothing more than a weak smile. No honey-dipped petals like Wilbur had. No soothing words. Just a tired, strained smile that Agate noticed never reached my eyes.


    With a weary sigh, I turned away from the chapel and made my way back to the village. Evening shadows lengthened. The trees and their branches looked like arms crossed in disappointment. I shuddered. I promised only that I will make it up to them, so each time I gathered prayers, I offered it all to strengthen Gaelmar¡¯s holy hopeflame in the lake and meadow, making it brighter.


    Thankfully, I can reserve more of my kindflame now with the miasma lessening along with Wilbur¡¯s many experiments. I thanked him, thanked Woodrow as well, telling them both that I could not have done this without them. They smiled, but Wilbur crept close to me and held my lowered gaze. I admitted I felt awful harvesting their blood.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing what you have to,¡± Wilbur said softly. ¡°For Ealhstan. For all of us. You¡¯re not betraying anyone.¡±


    ¡°But the blood¡ª¡± I faltered, my voice breaking. I clenched my fists, staring down at the ground. ¡°It¡¯s too much. I¡¯m taking too much.¡±


    ¡°And yet they still trust you,¡± He murmured. He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing against my arm. ¡°Because they know you¡¯d never take more than you have to. Because you¡¯re you, Ryne.¡±


    I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening. I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that the villagers trusted me and what I was doing will benefit them. But doubt gnawed at me, whispering dark thoughts at the edges of my mind. I will make it up to them.


    ¡ªLAKE¡ª


    I approached the edge of the village. A familiar figure came into view. Claude leaned against a low fence wall, arms crossed, his gaze distant as he watched the flicker of lantern light from the cottages. His face softened when he saw me, and he straightened, his easy smile a balm to my frayed nerves.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± he called softly, stepping forward. ¡°Finished already with your bloodletting? What did Wilbur find?¡±


    I nodded, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. ¡°For now, yes. And Wilbur has found nothing yet.¡±


    He studied me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my face. There was concern in his eyes. He reached out, resting a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through the layers of fabric, grounding me, as it always did.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he murmured, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the lake. Get some fresh air. We can fish a bit, if you want.¡±


    I blinked, surprised. ¡°Now?¡±

 Chapter 25 - Brother Ealhstan Returns (Part 2)

    ¡ªLAKE¡ª


    Claude shrugged, his smile widening just a fraction. ¡°Why not? It¡¯ll do us both some good.¡±


    For a moment, I hesitated. But there was something in his quiet and steady gaze that made the decision for me. I found myself nodding, the weight on my chest easing just a little.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I agreed softly. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The path to the lake wound through the forest, the trees tall and silent sentinels on either side. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and moss. We walked in comfortable silence, the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound.


    When we reached the lake, the water stretched out before us, a mirror of dark glass reflecting the black sky. Claude set down the fishing poles, casting a line with practiced ease. I watched him, the way his shoulders relaxed, the small, contented smile that played on his lips.


    He glanced back at me, catching my gaze. ¡°You thinking about Brother Ealhstan?¡±


    I let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking my head. ¡°I promised to come back for him.¡±


    ¡°It was his decision to stay, Ryne. And he knows that you will. You''re working yourself to the bone again preparing for his arrival.¡± He smiled at me knowingly. ¡°Besides, I  think he can take care of himself.


    It was such a simple thing to say. And yet, those two words wrapped around my heart, chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. I took a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs, and I looked out over the water.


    ¡°I feel¡­ lost,¡± I admitted quietly, thinking again as I harvested the blood from our villagers. ¡°Like I¡¯m betraying everything I stand for. Everything I was taught.¡±


    Claude¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he stood beside me. The contact was brief, but it sent a ripple of warmth through me.


    Before I could speak, Claude¡¯s fishing line jerked sharply. He let out a soft curse, his hands moving swiftly as he fought to reel it in. I stepped forward, watching as the line thrashed, the water churning.


    ¡°Got something big?¡± I asked, a hint of amusement coloring my tone.


    ¡°Feels like it!¡± he grunted, his muscles straining. With a final heave, he pulled the fish from the water, its scales glistening in the moonlight.


    It was a striped bass, its body sleek and powerful. I stared at it, my eyes widening in surprise. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s new.¡±


    Claude grinned, holding the fish up for me to see. ¡°Seems like they¡¯re getting more common. Maybe it¡¯s a sign.¡±


    ¡°A sign?¡± I echoed, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said with a playful shrug. ¡°A sign that things are changing. For the better.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile at his optimism. Claude had a way of turning even the bleakest situations into something bearable.


    We spent the rest of the night fishing in companionable silence, our baskets filling with silvergill and occasionally, striped bass. By the time we returned to the village, the tension in my chest had eased, replaced by a sense of calm.


    The villagers welcomed us back with smiles and murmurs of approval. The fish we brought were more than enough for a feast, and soon the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Laughter and conversation buzzed around us, the warmth of the communal fire casting flickering shadows across familiar faces.


    I found myself standing at the edge of the firelight, watching as the villagers shared stories and laughter. Claude stood beside me, his gaze soft as he looked out over the gathering. Woodrow came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.


    ¡°See?¡± he murmured, his voice low and warm. ¡°You¡¯re not a monster, Ryne. You¡¯re their hope. Their protector.¡±


    I turned to look at him, my heart swelling with a mix of gratitude. Claude overheard and though he did not quite understand, smiled gently, ¡°I believe in you, too. Even if you don¡¯t believe in yourself.¡±


    The words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and I let out a shaky breath, nodding. ¡°Thank you,¡± I whispered.


    Claude¡¯s smile widened, and he reached out, squeezing my hand briefly before letting go. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s enjoy the feast. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    As the night wore on and the firelight flickered against the darkness, I felt something shift within me, twilight turning into the dawn. I will continue atoning for drawing blood.


    For tonight, though, I allowed myself to simply be. To exist in this moment, surrounded by the people I was sworn to protect.


    And with Claude beside me, that seemed just a little bit easier.


    ¡ªMEADOW¡ª


    The obelisk¡¯s flame burned brighter in the night. I felt it as I was helping Wilbur mix vitamins. We hurried to the meadow at once.


    Something mixed with the fragrance of wildflowers and freshly turned earth. A deep, heady scent that carried with it memories of distant fields and simpler times. I glanced down at the cluster of dark berries cupped in Wilbur¡¯s weathered hands. They were small and plump, almost gleaming with the juice they held, droplets glistening like precious gems in the dim light.


    Wilbur¡¯s sharp gaze shifted to mine, and he arched a brow. Without a word, he plucked one berry from the bunch and popped it into his mouth. His expression remained neutral as he chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small nod.


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    ¡°Elderberries,¡± he murmured, his voice as soft as the whisper of leaves overhead. ¡°I can make these into healing balms. If not that, then to oats and pottages.¡±


    That is exactly what I did. I delighted the villagers when I served them warm oats cookied in milk and mashed elderberries and scorchberries. Agate and Harlan slumped over holding their bowls. ¡°I was seven when I last had these,¡± Harlan said. I smiled at how they lost themsleves to childhood, imagine a much smaller Harlan being trained by Agate.


    The next evening was grazing night. I watched as Wilbur gathered more of the berries, his fingers moving swiftly through the foliage. Around us, the meadow buzzed with quiet life. Sheep grazed in clusters, their woolly bodies dotted against the darkening grass like shadows. Claude stood nearby, his silhouette steady, the curve of his shoulders relaxed in the fading light.


    I took a deep breath, feeling the lingering remnants of miasma that had once tainted this place dissipate further with each breeze. Ealhstan¡¯s battle with the direwolves had helped the land, and the earth seemed to sigh with relief beneath our feet. The meadow felt more alive than it had in weeks, a subtle pulse of vitality thrumming through the soil and roots.


    ¡°It¡¯s quieter now,¡± Claude remarked, his voice breaking the gentle hum of the evening. He turned to me, his gaze thoughtful. ¡°Since Ealhstan dealt with the wolves.¡±


    I nodded, my gaze following how the light made his dark curls brown, a burnished halo against the encroaching dusk. ¡°The miasma¡¯s thinning.¡± I glanced at Wilbur, who had finished gathering half of what the meadow had to offer. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Wilbur looked up, brushing the dirt from his fingers. ¡°I¡¯m glad I can replant these elderberries on our soil, and soon we¡¯ll have more remedies.


    A smile tugged at my lips. We lingered a while longer, watching the sheep graze and the twilight deepen. The sky shifted to a deep indigo, the first stars flickering into view like the tentative glow of the torches. I closed my eyes, breathing in the cool air. For a moment, everything seemed still and perfect; the weight of our struggles lifted, if only briefly.


    But Wilbur¡¯s words brought me back to the present.


    ¡°Claude,¡± he said suddenly, his tone more serious. ¡°Where did they bury the dead in Rothfield?¡±


    Claude turned, brow furrowing slightly at the shift in topic. ¡°For nobles, it¡¯s inside the church. But for commoners... They¡¯re laid to rest in the softlands.¡± He gestured vaguely in the direction we¡¯d come from. ¡°Remember the scattered boulders and the soft ground before our farm? That¡¯s where they rest.¡±


    Wilbur only nodded, his expression inscrutable. He rose to his feet, the elderberries bundled carefully in his hands. ¡°Good to know. Thank you.¡± He offered a tight smile and, with a nod to both of us, made his way back to the monastery.


    I watched him go, a small knot of something forming in my chest. There was something in his voice, but I let it be. For now. Claude stepped closer, his presence a quiet comfort at my side. He glanced at me, his eyes searching my face. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Just thinking about nothing,¡± I murmured, shaking my head slightly. I managed a smile, but it felt strained even to me.


    He didn¡¯t press further, just nodded and turned his gaze back to the meadow. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re ever ready to talk, I¡¯m here.¡±


    I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. We stood like that for a while, the silence between us comfortable and unspoken words hanging in the air like mist. When we finally returned to the village, Wilbur had already set some of the elderberries aside, and the villagers were bustling about, preparing for supper.


    The communal fire crackled, casting long shadows against the trees. The villagers of Kent gathered around, the scent of roasting fish and simmering stew filling the night air.


    ¡ªEALHSTAN¡¯S CAVERN / HOWLITE CAVERN¡ª


    Come Saintsday, the new pews had been arranged neatly, and everyone settled on the sturdy benches, their chatter and laughter a low murmur against the crackling firewood.


    Life had found a fragile balance again. And yet, the unease remained, a shadow lurking at the edge of my thoughts when I collected their blood once more. But this was the last time I would do so for another while. For when I poured all their blood into the bottle I used for collecting them, It almost reached the brim. It was enough for Ealhstan.


    That night, when the crowd had thinned and the fire burned low, I slipped away, my satchel heavy with Ealhstan''s welcoming gift. The blood I¡¯d gathered sloshed softly in the bottle, dark as wine in the moonlight. I told no one where I was going, but Wilbur and Woodrow stood guard at the monastery doors, waiting for us to come home.


    The vines carried me swiftly through the winding paths of Mount Lhottem, Ember¡¯s small form always at my side. The tunnels whispered around us. Inside the chambers, we encountered two stray direwolves. Ember and I burned them away with the kindflame, the flames licking at the tunnel walls in a burst of warmth and light. The smell of charred fur hung in the air long after they were gone.


    I reached Ealhstan''s cavern entrance, pressing my hands against the rough stone that he had used to seal himself inside. ¡°Ealhstan,¡± I whispered, my voice reverberating through the hollow chamber. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    The stone shifted with a low groan, and Ealhstan¡¯s massive form emerged from the darkness. He smiled down at me, his teeth gleaming white against his ashen skin.


    ¡°Ryne,¡± he rumbled, his voice like brooming thunder in the still air.


    I held up the bottle, offering it to him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry it took so long.¡±


    Ealhstan waved a hand dismissively, his smile widening. ¡°What is time to us?¡± He took the bottle, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of the blood. ¡°This... this is rich.¡±


    ¡°Wilbur and Woodrow fasted for weeks,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Bless them,¡± I murmured, watching as he downed the bottle in one gulp. The blood flowed through him like liquid fire, and I saw his shoulders straighten, his eyes brighten with renewed strength.


    He smacked his lips. ¡°I feel alive,¡± he sighed, rolling his neck and clenching his fists. I flinched, but Ealhstan¡¯s gaze softened. He reached down, his hand encompassing mine. ¡°I do my best not to think of our people as cattle. It¡¯s not their fate. Not while I draw breath.¡±


    My heart tightened, and I nodded slowly. ¡°We¡¯ll do good, Ealhstan. We¡¯ll make it worth it. Somehow.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I know we will.¡±


    And then, as if to chase away the somber air between us, he scooped me up, placing me on his broad shoulders like he used to. Before everything changed. My legs dangled over his back, and I laughed despite myself.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he murmured, his voice rumbling beneath me. ¡°Let¡¯s show me what I¡¯ve missed.¡±


    We made our way back to Rothfield, the village torches shining like a beacon in the night. The villagers stirred at our approach, a mix of fear and awe in their eyes. Agate and Harlan met us in the center of the fields, their weapons held steady, though the unease in their stances was clear. They thought we were intruders.


    I raised a hand, calling for peace. ¡°This is Brother Ealhstan,¡± I said softly. ¡°He¡¯s come home.¡±


    Slowly, the tension eased. Agate lowered her spear, her gaze flickering between me and Ealhstan. ¡°You weren¡¯t exaggerating. He is a tank." Harlan, beside her, nodded mutely, his eyes wide.


    Ealhstan tried to make himself look small; tried to lessen his presence, but it only made him appear more comical. He smiled sheepishly, a giant among men, and I saw the villagers¡¯ fear melt away, replaced by hesitant smiles.


    We returned to the monastery, and under Gaelmar¡¯s watchful gaze, Ealhstan bowed low, murmuring thanks for the chance to atone. We showed him the infirmary, the kitchens, the crypts we slept in. He laughed, a deep, rolling sound, when he saw the size of the sarcophagus.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fit in here,¡± he said with a grin, the soft soil cradling his massive form.


    "We don''t sleep inside," I chuckled.


    That night, as the stars wheeled overhead and the village quieted, I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of my brothers¡¯ presence around me. The burden of our existence hung heavy still, but for the first time in a long while, it felt bearable. For tonight, we were together.


    And the world was right again.

 Chapter 25 - Brother Ealhstan Returns (Part 3 - END)

    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The communal fire blazed high, casting a warm, golden glow over the clearing. The scent of cooked fish and ale with elderberry juice wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of conversation. We brought Ealhstan slowly at the edge of the circle, his broad form a shadow against the firelight. The conversation muted.


    The settlers of Kent stared, eyes wide and mouths agape. Some of the children shrieked, hiding behind their mothers¡¯ skirts, peering out with wary curiosity. Though the villagers had been warned and reassured about his presence, seeing him up close, towering and imposing, was another matter entirely.


    Woodrow stepped forward, his voice smooth and reassuring, already weaving stories of Ealhstan¡¯s gentle nature and strength of character. Wilbur, standing tall beside us, exuded a calmness that helped ease the tense atmosphere. Claude moved through the crowd like a breeze, speaking softly to those who looked the most unsettled. He was crucial to making them feel calm, for he was one of them; mortal and bleeding.


    I reached up and tapped Ealhstan¡¯s arm. He glanced down, and I gestured for him to bend. ¡°Make me fly?¡± I whispered.


    Ealhstan¡¯s eyes sparkled with understanding. His low chuckle rumbled like distant thunder, and before I knew it, he scooped both me and Claude up as though we weighed nothing at all. There was a collective gasp from the villagers as we were launched high into the air, the world spinning beneath us in a blur of firelight and shadows. Laughter bubbled from my chest, mingling with Claude¡¯s beside me. For a heartbeat, we were weightless, caught between the earth and sky.


    When Ealhstan¡¯s massive hands caught us safely, cradling us back to the ground, there was an astonished silence, and I worried that my plan scared them more. Then a cheer rose up from the crowd. I glanced at Claude, our faces inches apart as we caught our breath. His eyes shone, the firelight reflecting the warmth of his smile. He held my gaze for a moment longer, a look of shared exhilaration passing between us. I found myself grinning back.


    ¡°Do it again!¡± one of the braver lads called, his voice high and excited. He stepped forward, his small form trembling slightly. I nodded to Ealhstan, who lowered a hand, palm up and steady.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I murmured, placing a gentle hand on the boy¡¯s back. ¡°Ealhstan¡¯s as gentle as a lamb.¡±


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    The boy bit his lip, hesitated, then placed a tentative foot on Ealhstan¡¯s hand. With a slow, deliberate motion, Ealhstan lifted him, as though raising a fragile fledgling from its nest. The boy¡¯s eyes widened, his fear melting into pure joy as he was lifted high, high above our heads. He spread his arms, face turned toward the sky.


    ¡°I¡¯m flying!¡± he cried, laughter breaking free like the first song of spring.


    And just like that, the floodgates opened. Children flocked to Ealhstan, their small hands reaching, clamoring for their turn. His deep laughter boomed through the clearing, filling the night. He lifted each child with care, raising them gently into the air, and lowering them back to the ground as if they were no more than feathers caught in a breeze.


    It was a sight that tugged at something deep within me; a memory of another time, another place. I saw, for just a moment, the old Ealhstan surrounded by children from Trushire monastery, his arms outstretched as they climbed over him like squirrels scampering up a tree. Their laughter had been the same then, bright and carefree, and he had always worn that same smile of genuine contentment.


    Claude moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine. ¡°That didn¡¯t take long,¡± he murmured softly. I nodded, my gaze still on Ealhstan¡¯s towering form, the children perched on his arms like sparrows. ¡°Things will change for the better, Ryne. You¡¯ll see.¡±


    His conviction seeped into me, and I turned to him, my heart swelling. I wanted to say more, to thank him for always being there. For believing in me, in Ealhstan, in all of us. But I couldn¡¯t find the words. Instead, I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly against his. Claude¡¯s eyes flickered down at the contact, a faint smile tugging at his lips.


    ¡°Stay with me?¡± I asked softly, the question carrying a weight I didn¡¯t fully understand. It was a request for his company, but more than that, for his steadiness, his presence beside me in whatever lay ahead.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he whispered, his hand closing around mine for the briefest of moments before he stepped away.


    Ealhstan¡¯s laughter drew my attention back to the scene unfolding before us. The villagers, once apprehensive, now looked on with smiles and soft murmurs. The children continued to scramble up to him, their voices a symphony of delight.


    And in that moment, I felt so much hope, like I did that first night in Rothfield after Gaelmar connected with me, bestowing me his kindflame. With Ealhstan here, with Claude beside me, with all Woodrow and Wilbur, we could rebuild Rothfield. We could turn this fragile hope into something lasting.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do good here,¡± I murmured to Gaelmar, my voice low.


    ¡°We already are,¡± Wilbur said next to me, his gaze soft as he watched the children swarm Ealhstan.


    And as I stood there, the warmth of the fire wrapping around us, the night alive with the sound of laughter and joy, I felt the truth of his words settle deep within my bones.


    Rothfield would heal. It would thrive. I looked at Ealhstan¡¯s mighty stature. Woodrow¡¯s easy smile and quick hands. Wilbur¡¯s gentle, resolute form. Claude¡¯s sword sparkled on his belt. He smiled at me.


    We¡¯ll make sure of it.

 Vol. II Chapter 1 - The Beginnigs of a Brewery (Part 1)

    ¡ªINFIRMARY¡ª


    The heavy scent of iron filled the air as we prepared to harvest blood after Saintsday mass. Ealhstan held a glass vial filled with dark red liquid, the blood of the villagers, and his brow furrowed in uncertainty. ¡°Are you sure you want to watch us¡­ drink this?¡± he asked, glancing between me and the vial.


    ¡°I¡¯m used to it, brother. Go ahead and nourish yourself,¡± I replied, making a dismissive gesture with my hand, though I felt a knot twist in my stomach.


    Ealhstan shrugged, lifting the vial to his lips, and with a swift tilt, he poured the contents into his mouth. Wilbur and Woodrow joined him. Ealhstan¡¯s shoulders relaxed as he swallowed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a smile breaking across his face as if a weight had been lifted. But then the guilt settled in, casting a shadow over his expression.


    I patted his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. ¡°We have to rely on them for that,¡± I reminded him, my voice steady.


    Ealhstan glanced down at the empty vial, a flicker of unease in his gaze. ¡°So, what we¡¯re doing¡­ is trying to protect them while Gaelmar shows you how to defeat this Unending Chaos?¡±


    I nodded, the gravity of our mission hanging in the air. ¡°Yes. I think he reveals the visions to me gradually, and all I know is that it corresponds with returning this monastery to its former glory.¡±


    Ealhstan pondered for a moment, then shrugged. ¡°Well then, you know best how to put my talents to good use.¡±


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The communal fire at the granges flickered brightly, laughter echoing from the village of Kent. I could see villagers gathered around, their faces glowing in the firelight, their spirits lifted as they shared stories. Maybe Woodrow will join them later.


    Ealhstan approached me quietly, settling down beside me. I missed how small and comfortable he made me feel. ¡°Feeling overwhelmed?¡± he asked, his voice low and soothing. ¡°You carry a heavy burden, my brother. To have so many lives depend on you, when just this winter you were but Wilbur¡¯s ordinary apprentice. Well, ordinary save for your unaging nature.¡±


    I turned to him, brow furrowed in worry. ¡°I¡¯m hopeful that we can do this, but doubt lingers like a specter, refusing to move away.¡±


    He studied me, understanding flowing from his gaze. ¡°What I know is that you have shown these people kindness and strength. They see you as a protector. And that you¡¯ve always given your best to heal them and this land. It¡¯s natural to feel doubt, but always remember, we are here to offer our support.¡±


    A smile broke across my lips, feeling lightness swell within me. ¡°That is true. With you here, I feel stronger already.¡±


    Ealhstan¡¯s smile deepened. ¡°And there is also that friend of yours. You have Claude by your side, and he seems like a good lad. Wilbur and Woodrow both mentioned he is steadfast and loyal. But beyond their words, I can see how he treats you. I am grateful you have such a friend.¡±


    His words ignited warmth within me, a flicker of something deeper, something I wasn¡¯t yet ready to acknowledge. ¡°You think so?¡± I asked, searching Ealhstan¡¯s face for confirmation, a small hope flickering in my chest.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Ealhstan replied, his tone reassuring. ¡°His faith in you reflects the faith others have as well. Cherish those bonds, Ryne. They will sustain you when the weight feels too great to bear.¡±


    I took a deep breath, allowing the storm within me to settle. ¡°Thank you, Ealhstan. I have missed your words.¡±


    He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie that filled me with comfort. ¡°Lean on me when you need to. Together, we will see Rothfield flourish.¡±


    ¡ªGRANGES (EALHSTAN''S POV)¡ª


    Ealhstan stood, surveying the untouched expanse before him. He had long dreamed of a place where he could harness his skills in blacksmithing and crafting; a place where he could meld metal. Forging tools and weapons to aid in the protection of the land. It is what Ryne needed, he thought.


    With a determined glint in his eye, Ealhstan knelt to the ground, his fingers brushing against the earth. He envisioned the workshop taking shape, its sturdy beams rising to the sky.


    He set to work, using his strength to uproot fallen trees from the dark forest. The dead, gnarled trunks yielded effortlessly to his grip, uprooted as if they were mere saplings. Ealhstan dragged the massive logs to the chosen site, arranging them in a wide circle to form the framework of his workshop.


    With each tree he felled, Ealhstan methodically stripped away the bark, revealing the rich, warm wood underneath. He crafted the logs into long beams for the walls, using a sharpened stone to smooth the surfaces. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he stacked the beams, raising the structure with speed and efficiency. The people stared. He waved at them.


    The air buzzed with excitement as he worked, the sounds of murmurs blending with the rhythmic thud of wood striking against wood. Ealhstan secured the beams with thick vines, weaving them tightly to hold the structure firm against the wind.


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    The walls took shape. Now, the roof. He fashioned a slanted design, allowing rain to run off easily. Using his strength, he hoisted large, flat stones he collected from the swamp, placing them atop the framework as shingles. The sound of stone striking stone echoed through the clearing.


    Once the walls were complete, Ealhstan built a sturdy door from one of the sturdier trees, reinforcing it with iron straps. He pounded iron nails into the wood with ease, hoping it would last a couple of storms. After crafting a simple latch from wrought iron, he stood back, admiring his handiwork.


    Nights went by. He was sent on missions that dealt with pesky direwolves. Harlan and the other men cheeren as he made quick work of them. Several night, he joined them during supper. Harlan clapped him on the back, admiring his work.


    ¡°A true workshop. Right here in a monastery,¡± he whispered.


    Then Agate came, frowning slightly. ¡°Why is it that I have never seen you monks eat, save for Brother Ryne? Surely you would have an appetite doing all that work in so short amount of time?¡±


    Ryne and Ealhstan locked eyes. They said nothing.


    ___


    Inside the workshop, Ealhstan fashioned a forge from local clay and stones, shaping them into a hollow rectangle that would hold the fire. He used his strength to gather chunks of coal and iron ore from the earth, filling the forge with the materials needed to fuel his craft. A sturdy bellows, made from leather he had tanned himself, sat beside the forge, ready to breathe life into the flames.


    Next, he constructed a workbench from the remains of the logs he had cut. Ealhstan meticulously joined the pieces, ensuring the surface was wide and flat, perfect for laying out tools and materials. He carved grooves into the wood for holding tools and an area for quenching hot metal, using a bucket of water he had filled from the nearby stream.


    The final touches included shelves built into the walls, where he could store herbs, tools, and other supplies. He created hooks for hanging weapons and tools, ensuring everything had its place within the organized chaos of creation.


    As night came, Ealhstan stepped back and surveyed his workshop. The smell of wood and earth lingered in the air. This would be more than just a workshop; it would be a sanctuary for his craft, a haven where he could hone his skills and create with purpose. For centuries, Knox and Blake banned him fro pursuing his interests. Now he will work and give his service to the people here.


    With a smile tugging at his lips, Ealhstan turned to the forge, stoked the fire, and watched as the flames danced higher, eager to embrace the metal he would soon shape into something extraordinary.


    ¡ªGRANGES (RYNE''S POV)¡ª


    The crops steadily grew in the monastery grounds, vibrant and lush. So too flourished the flowers in Wilbur¡¯s garth, a riot of colors brightening what was once a barren wasteland. Now, rows of young shoots stood defiant, their roots plunging into dark, rich soil, the power coursing through it evident in every verdant blade. I could see Wilbur¡¯s influence in the bright colors and curious shapes sprouting in tidy beds, a testament to his care and expertise.


    Ealhstan¡¯s strength reshaped this land, as he felled trees twisted and gnarled with his bare hands, plucking their roots from the earth as if they were nothing but weeds. He wielded his power with a relentless, patient force, shifting the very fabric of the terrain. Just beyond, a swamp emerged, a surprise to us all, as Ealhstan continued chopping wood to build decent homes for the villagers of Kent. Wilbur and Ealhstan¡¯s efforts transformed foul waters into irrigation channels, a lifeline for our growing crops.


    Ealhstan''s strong hands moved with purpose as he prepared to forge new alchemical tools for Wilbur. With each powerful stroke, he shaped raw materials into the instruments of science.


    A sturdy anvil lay at the center of a makeshift workshop. Ealhstan''s breath came in steady puffs as he wielded a heavy hammer from the toolshed, striking a piece of copper with precise, calculated force. The metal sang under the blows, transforming from a rough ingot into a smooth sheet. He measured carefully, recalling the designs Wilbur had sketched; alembics for distillation, crucibles for heating.


    With a flourish, Ealhstan heated the copper sheet over a roaring forge, the flames licking up around it, illuminating the glint of his muscles as they flexed with each movement. He watched the metal glow, his eyes keen, feeling the heat as he transferred it to a simple stone mold shaped for the alembic¡¯s body.


    The real challenge lay ahead. Ealhstan poured the molten copper into the mold, feeling the weight of the metal shift as he expertly controlled the flow. After a moment, he placed the top of the alembic¡ªa finely crafted cap with a long neck¡ªover the body, forging it together with expert precision.


    Once the alembic was complete, Ealhstan turned to the crucibles. He carefully shaped a heavier alloy of iron for durability. The process was the same, but he found joy in the meticulousness required. Ealhstan folded the iron into layers, hammering them flat and stretching the material, crafting several crucibles that would withstand the rigors of heat and experimentation. The ringing of the hammer against metal echoed through the clearing, harmonizing with the songs of birds flitting about, oblivious to the creation of tools meant for magic.


    As the last crucible took form, he set the tools aside, and a satisfied smile creased his lips.


    ¡°Wilbur!¡± he called, his voice booming through the trees. ¡°Come and see what I have made for you!¡±


    Wilbur emerged from his infirmary. His eyes widened at the sight of the tools laid out before him. The alembic shone, while the crucibles looked sturdy. ¡°Ealhstan, these are incredible!¡± he exclaimed, his fingers hovering over the polished surfaces as if afraid to touch them. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such craftsmanship. You¡¯ve outdone yourself.¡±


    Ealhstan chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. ¡°They are yours now. Use them well.¡±


    Wilbur wasted no time. He gathered the alembic and crucibles, his excitement bubbling over as he hurried back to the lab. Ealhstan followed, a proud smile on his face as he watched Wilbur set everything up.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see how quickly we can get this new batch started!¡± Wilbur declared, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. He waited for me to light a small fire beneath the crucibles, the flames licking up hungrily as they caught. Carefully, he measured out the herbs and minerals they had gathered: dried orpine, crystalized sap, and a few shards of fire opals.


    With practiced hands, he poured the ingredients into the first crucible, watching as they began to melt and blend together. He placed the alembic atop a wooden stand, filling the lower chamber with water to create steam for distillation.


    ¡°This will speed up our experiments!¡± Wilbur exclaimed, his heart racing. ¡°I can make more in a shorter amount of time!¡± He turned to us. ¡°Do you know what this means? With Ealhstan here making quick work of the beasts, we can collect more ores, and then I can make more vitamins, medicines, and supplements! I can even have more to stock!¡±


    Ealhstan watched as Wilbur¡¯s fingers flew over the apparatus, excitement propelling him forward. With each new process, the air around them thickened with the heady scents of alchemy.


    The alembic began to gurgle softly as the steam rose, a clear liquid condensing in the lower chamber. Ealhstan grinned at Wilbur¡¯s delight, feeling a swell of pride.

 Woodrows Journey - Pleasure District (Part 1)

    The evening air was heavy with moisture, dew glistening on leaves like a thousand glassy eyes watching from the dark. The woman''s breath came out in shuddering puffs, misting in the twilight. She staggered forward, legs weak and burning, bleeding from where brambles had torn into her. One shoe lost somewhere in the underbrush, the other slipping on the moss-slicked stones beneath her. Still, she ran, a silent prayer slipping from her lips with every panicked heartbeat.


    Run only at dusk, never in the light, they had told her, the women who had escaped. And she had listened. She wasn¡¯t a fool. No one could escape in broad daylight. But she hadn¡¯t counted on the new jailor¡¯s guard dogs; sleek, black beasts that could scent blood from miles away. The sleeping potion she had poured into the guards¡¯ ale knocked out the dogs penned in the yard, along with their masters always drinking at night. But the hounds this new jailor brought with him¡­ why did he not join their blasted merrymaking?


    Somewhere behind her, their snarls rent the night air, hungry and close. And then the sharp, bellowing voice of the jailor, filled with vile satisfaction.


    ¡°Rip her apart, boys! Bring me her bones!¡± he shouted, the crack of a whip following as a shrill encouragement.


    Alice dared a glance back. It was a mistake, for her foot caught on an outcropping stone. She fell, her hands breaking her fall, leaving her palms scraped raw. Pain shot up her arms. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the blood trickling down her arms. She could barely see the path anymore, barely see anything beyond the thick wall of brambles hemming her in. She felt trapped, like a mouse in a snare, each breath coming faster than the last, each heartbeat a pounding drum.


    The howls grew closer. They had her scent.


    And then she found herself at a dead end. She skidded to a stop, staring at the sheer rock wall rising before her. It loomed like a tombstone.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she whimpered, the sound of it pathetic in her ears. She turned wildly, searching for another route, any other way to escape, but the branches snagged at her hair and clothes, tearing and pulling, as if the forest itself had turned against her. Even the trees, with their gnarled limbs and twisted roots, conspired to keep her here.


    A growl broke through the foliage, low and menacing. She turned in time to see a pair of deadly eyes glinting from the shadows. The jailor¡¯s two hounds emerged, hackles raised, lips curled back to show sharp, glistening teeth.


    The woman sank to her knees, trembling hands raised in a feeble shield against the inevitable. The sound of footsteps crunched on the path, and then the jailor stepped out, sneering. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing thick, scarred forearms, his belt swinging free at his hip like a pendulum of malice.


    ¡°What did you do to them back there, girl?¡± he spat, voice dripping with venom. ¡°And you thought you could get away with it, did you?¡±


    He reached for his belt, the well-worn leather coiled like a serpent in his grip. Alice squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the first lash, the searing pain. She wanted to scream but wanted badly to not give him the satisfaction.


    But the blow never came.


    Instead, there was a high-pitched yelp from one of the dogs, a choking whine, and then silence. Alice dared to open her eyes, just in time to see something dark and swift slip between the trees, followed by a heavy thud. The jailor¡¯s hand froze in mid-swing, confusion flashing across his features.


    ¡°What¡ª?¡± He spun around, peering into the shadows. ¡°Who¡¯s there?! Show yourself, coward!¡±


    A rustling sound came from behind him. The jailor whirled again, eyes wide and wild. A figure stepped into the clearing; a slender, almost ethereal man clad in a monk¡¯s robe. His hair was a deep, fiery red, his skin so pale it seemed to glow. His eyes were green and bright, alive and sinister and unsettling and joyful.


    The monk¡¯s lips curved into a slow smile, revealing the barest hint of sharp teeth. There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and his fingers, long and elegant, were stained crimson.


    The jailor backed up a step, then another. ¡°Who¡­ What the hell are you?¡± he demanded, voice trembling now.


    The monk raised a hand, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve in an almost absent-minded manner. ¡°No one of consequence to you, I¡¯m afraid,¡± he said softly. His voice was like silk, soothing and sinister all at once. He glanced down at the bodies of the dogs sprawled in the brush. ¡°Such a shame. Poor creatures never had a chance. I suppose I put them out of their misery, mutated creatures like those. A forceful fusion between sweet docile animals and what beasts resided in the mountains.¡±


    The jailor swore and cried out. He swung his belt at the monk, but the pale man was a blur of movement. There was a flash of metal, a silver dagger slicing through the air, and then the jailor was on the ground, clutching his throat as blood welled between his fingers.


    Alice watched, horrified, as the jailor convulsed and went still. She looked up at the monk, heart hammering in her chest. He hadn¡¯t moved from his spot, his gaze fixed on her with a strange, unreadable intensity. Then he held a finger, told her to wait, as he dragged the limp, lifeless jailor into the thick brambles. There was a sound Alice did not recognize, and then the monk came out from the darkness and wiped his mouth with his sleeves.


    ¡°You are¡­ Brother Woodrow?¡± she stammered, clutching her own chest as if to still the frantic beating of her heart.


    The monk inclined his head, the same smile lingering on his lips. ¡°That I am, Alice.¡±


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    ¡°How do you know my name?¡± she whispered, voice barely audible.


    ¡°The same way you know mine,¡± he replied lightly. ¡°The women who escaped spoke of you. And now they wait, just beyond.¡± He gestured behind her, towards the solid wall of rock. ¡°Step aside, if you will.¡±


    With a graceful, almost languid motion, he reached out and pressed a hand against a loose stone. There was a grinding sound, and to Alice¡¯s astonishment, the rock wall slid aside, revealing a hidden passage beyond.


    ¡°A little contraption made by one of my brothers,¡± Woodrow explained, glancing at the opening with a touch of pride. ¡°He has a talent for such things. Ealhstan, that is. Come, you¡¯ll be safe now.¡±


    Alice hesitated. Could she trust him? How fast and effortless this strange monk made those kills. But then she remembered the women she had met in secret, the ones who had whispered of a place beyond the forests, a sanctuary for those like her. They had given her the sleeping draught, too. Made from a certain alchemist accompanying Woodrow once.


    I¡¯ll take my chances, she decided, stepping forward. The passage closed behind them with a soft rumble, sealing off the outside world. Expecting a cramped tunnel, she was surprised to find herself standing in a small clearing, ringed by tall, dark trees. Lanterns glowed softly, casting a warm light over a series of low wooden buildings nestled beneath the boughs.


    It wasn¡¯t a village, not quite. It was too small, too hidden. But it felt like a place where she could rest, where she could be free.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you escaped at night. Or else I wouldn¡¯t have found you.¡± Woodrow¡¯s smile curved with a wicked, playful edge, his voice smooth and low as he surveyed the darkened street. ¡°Welcome to my pleasure district.¡±


    ¡°Pleasure district?¡± The words left Alice¡¯s mouth in a choked whisper. Her chest tightened, a flash of fear stiffening her spine. She took a half-step back, her gaze darting between the raucous laughter drifting from the large inn and the serene, unblinking monk beside her. So that¡¯s why the other women were so vague about escaping, she realized, heart sinking. They¡¯d rather sell their bodies and live freely than be trapped and tortured by vile men.


    The thought filled her with a bitter, swirling nausea. She turned, expecting Woodrow to lunge and seize her, like the others did. The men who hunted her down never stopped, never tired. They always caught her, always dragged her back to that cage of filth and despair. She would much rather accept her fate here than be forced back into that hell¡­


    But Woodrow did not move to catch her. Instead, he raised his hands in a calming, almost placating gesture. ¡°I only meant that as a cover,¡± he said softly, voice sliding like silk over the tension between them. His fingers, pale and graceful, curled and uncurled with a hypnotic ease. Alice¡¯s gaze lingered on them; a musician¡¯s hands, or perhaps a poet¡¯s. Certainly not hands that belonged to a bloodstained monk.


    ¡°Welcome to the pleasure district,¡± he repeated, more gently this time. ¡°It¡¯s not much yet, but it will be. A place for everyone to start anew. Or to start over.¡± He paused, watching her carefully as she grappled with the weight of his words. ¡°Yes, this is a community that focuses on pleasure, but there is protection in it as well. See that big manor up ahead? That is my house and my base. You will know it well. But for now, I¡¯ll say that this is a place for those who wish to work and live here. If you want to leave, just tell me, and we¡¯ll make plans. You might fancy a monastery at Rothfield or the crafting community near Rothlake. But if you wish to fight and learn how to protect yourself, this is the place where you¡¯ll train.¡±


    His smile faded as he turned to face her fully, his expression turning serious. The lanterns flickered, casting long shadows over his face. ¡°You¡¯ll learn to defend yourself, Alice. To defend others. Some find refuge here. But I want you to know that the pleasure side of this place is a front for something more. Something that will allow us, one day, to strike back against the men who hurt you.¡±


    Alice swallowed, the bitterness in her chest mingling with a spark of something fierce and wild. Could it really be true? Could she find strength here? Could she become something more than just prey?


    ¡°I¡­¡± She hesitated, the word trembling on her lips, then steeled herself. ¡°I am.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile softened, almost imperceptibly. He inclined his head. ¡°Good. Then welcome, Alice, to Rothshade. Welcome to the true Order of the Kindflame.¡±


    ---WOODROW¡¯S BASE / ROTHSHADE---


    Woodrow nodded toward the inn that looked like a grand manor, still smiling. The ground floor was full of raucous laughter and music. The second floor had windows that were either lit by warm and candles or were dark. The third floor had no windows at all. ¡°It lulls the men into a false sense of comfort. The place gives them what they desire and, in return, we learn everything they know. Information is the most valuable coin here. But this¡ª¡± Woodrow swept his hand behind his house, towards the small cottages, the gardens and fields where children played and women huddled together¡ª¡°this is what our pleasure district truly serves. To hide what is underneath.¡±


    The sharpness of his gaze softened. ¡°You will find pleasure here too, Alice. Pleasure in a freedom few know. Pleasure in revenge. If that is what you seek.¡±


    Alice swallowed hard, words failing her. But she fell into step behind him. Her gaze darted from the flickering firelight of the village¡¯s center to the small community of women and men gathered there. A wide communal firepit glowed with a welcoming light, its warmth drawing the villagers close.


    To her surprise, there were children; young boys and girls clutching at their mothers¡¯ skirts, laughing and playing while their mothers looked on with the fierceness of lionesses guarding their cubs. One woman knelt, her arms wrapped around two children¡ªtwins, judging by the identical dark hair and frightened, wide eyes. Tears traced down her cheeks, her mouth moving soundlessly in prayer or gratitude.


    Woodrow noticed Alice¡¯s lingering stare. ¡°She waited months for us to save her children. The corrupted Order of the Sacred Flame separated them at birth,¡± he murmured, a hint of anger sharpening his words. ¡°The boys trained for war. The girls¡­ trained to serve, like livestock bred for their use. It was not easy getting them back, Alice. They were kept in different towns, hidden away.¡±


    The woman¡¯s sobs softened to breathless laughter as her children nuzzled into her embrace. Alice¡¯s throat tightened at the sight. A mother, reunited at last.


    The weight of all the losses, her own daughter among them, crushed her breath in her lungs. She forced herself to look away. It wasn¡¯t her place to envy others¡¯ happiness.


    Woodrow pointed to some young men cutting wood and hauling stone and lumber. ¡°Some of these men came from Rothfield,¡± Woodrow continued, his tone lighter now. He glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. ¡°Have you heard of it?¡±


    ¡°The monastery of Rothfield?¡± Alice blinked in surprise. ¡°The grand monastery that houses the true flame of Saint Gaelmar?¡±


    Woodrow smiled softly. ¡°The very same.¡±


    Alice gaped at him, realization dawning. The stories she had dismissed as superstitious nonsense¡­ the tales of a brotherhood guarding miracles¡­ this man had lived them. She had thought them to be little more than fanciful rumors, whispers meant to stoke false hope. Yet here he stood. ¡°You were of the original brotherhood?¡±


    His gaze was distant, ¡°Yes. I still am.¡± But he said no more, only holding a wooden charm wrapped around his neck.


    Woodrow pointed out the other structures scattered across the clearing then. The barnhouse, the stables, and, finally, back to the grand structure that loomed above the rest.


    The pleasure house.

 Woodrows Journey - Pleasure District (Part 2)

    ---WOODROW¡¯S INN---


    Alice studied it further. The building resembled a lavish inn, more manor than tavern, its stone walls adorned with ivy and lanterns casting a warm, inviting light. Laughter and music spilled from within, the raucous notes of a fiddle mingling with voices raised in drunken song. A wide road snaked from the inn to the outside world, connecting this hidden place to the unsuspecting villages beyond.


    Alice¡¯s stomach churned. So much noise, she thought, staring at the entrance. So much light.


    Woodrow touched her shoulder lightly, his expression gentle. ¡°Let us enter. And try not to worry.¡±


    But worry she did, especially when Alice recognized some of the faces inside. Men she had once served in captivity, men who had leered and jeered at her weakness, now lounged on the inn¡¯s polished benches, cups of mead in hand. She shrank back, pressing closer to Woodrow as the crowd thickened. Women she had known, women who had whispered of this place, moved between the tables, their aprons low-cut and their smiles painted on.


    Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Laura, a gentle soul who had spoken to her in the darkness of the prison. The woman was draped over the arm of a minor lord, giggling softly as he stroked her hair. She wore a revealing blouse that bared her shoulders and clung to her hips, accentuating every curve. Laura¡¯s gaze flitted to Woodrow, and a fleeting look of relief passed over her features.


    The minor lord stumbled forward, nearly colliding with Woodrow. The man thrust a fat bag of coins into Woodrow¡¯s hands, his smile sloppy with drink. ¡°There he is! Thank you for finding such a beauty in Laura. She¡¯s been good to me.¡±


    ¡°And she will continue to be good to you, my lord if you treat her right,¡± Woodrow said smoothly, discreetly slipping a few coins into Laura¡¯s hand.


    The lord snorted, oblivious to the exchange. ¡°I always am,¡± he slurred, staggering off.


    Laura¡¯s smile melted into something more real as she leaned close to Woodrow, whispering something into his ear. Woodrow nodded, and from somewhere within the folds of his robes, he produced a small black glass bottle, handing it to her.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Laura murmured and gave Woodrow a grateful look. It spoke of loyalty forged in suffering, of promises made and kept. Laura glanced at Alice, her eyes softening. ¡°You¡¯ll be alright here, love,¡± she said quietly. ¡°We¡¯ll take care of you.¡±


    Alice nodded, too overwhelmed to respond. Woodrow turned to her, his gaze steady.


    ¡°Every woman here has a choice,¡± he said softly. ¡°To serve, to fight, or to flee. If you wish to leave, you are free to do so. But know this: If you stay, you will not only survive. You will become stronger than you ever dreamed.¡±


    He held out a hand, pale and blood-streaked. ¡°What will you choose, Alice?¡±


    ---WOODROW¡¯S OFFICE---


    Woodrow¡¯s office door creaked shut, sealing them away from the clamor and din below. The small space was lit by a single brass lantern, its flame casting long shadows over the aged maps strewn across his desk. Alice glanced down, noting the circles and X-marks that dotted various kingdoms and territories. Some were scribbled with notes in Woodrow¡¯s elegant script, marking the names of towns and routes, others simply designated with a cross like a grave.


    Alice crossed her arms. ¡°I will stay to learn to fight, but I have no interest in joining your pleasure business. I¡¯ve had enough of men putting their hands where they don¡¯t belong.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s lips twitched, his smile tightening for a heartbeat. He looked at her, then away, as if choosing his next words with care. ¡°You may do as you like here, Alice. It is the choice of the women and men to join me in the pleasure house.¡± Woodrow swept his hand over the maps, tracing lines and symbols with a delicate, almost reverent touch. ¡°You know this place is a facade. I want you to know that it is a way to gather information. On our enemies, our allies, and those caught in between.¡±


    Alice¡¯s brow furrowed, confusion flickering through her eyes. ¡°Information?¡±


    Woodrow walked to the far wall and, with a deft twist, pulled a hidden lever. The sound of wood grinding against stone filled the room, and a section of the wall slid open, revealing a series of curious contraptions. Brass tubes jutted out at odd angles, some with earpieces attached, others with mouthpieces like the kind used to amplify a singer¡¯s voice. Alice stepped closer, her gaze following one tube that disappeared into the floorboards.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Woodrow said softly, nodding at the earpiece. ¡°Press it to your ear.¡±


    She hesitated but complied. At once, the low murmur of voices filled her head. A conversation¡ªno, more like sweet nothings exchanged between Laura and the minor lord¡ªfiltered through the metal.


    ¡°¡­and how many soldiers does your lordship think will be needed to take the western garrisons?¡± Laura¡¯s voice was light and airy, threaded with faux curiosity.


    ¡°Five hundred at most. And we¡¯ll strike at dawn¡ªno one will see us coming,¡± the lord slurred, the telltale drawl of a man deep in his cups.


    Alice pulled away, staring at the tubes in amazement. ¡°How¡­?¡±


    ¡°A strong mug of ale, a beautiful lady, and a touch of sleeping potion that loosens the tongue¡ªand there you have it.¡± Woodrow¡¯s smile was faintly sardonic. ¡°I used to do it myself. Some people cannot resist me, as you¡¯ve seen.¡± He chuckled, though his laughter was hollow. ¡°But I am just one monk, and I need others. People come to me, and I ask them if they¡¯re sure this is the life they want. Sometimes, they leave for Rothfield or Rothlake or Rothgreen. They seek new lives, to gather their loved ones¡­ but most find it easier to stay here. Easier to take back control than to run.¡±


    Alice¡¯s heart beat faster. Her fear of the place, of the women swaying to the whims of the lords and knights, began to fade.


    ¡°Where do I stay if not in the inn?¡± she asked cautiously.


    ¡°You can join the farmers, the seamstresses, or the cooks. There are many roles, Alice. We are a community first.¡± Woodrow¡¯s gaze darkened with some memory. There was a long moment of silence where Alice and Woodrow stared at each other, waiting.


    ¡°I need to find my daughter,¡± Alice whispered, voice raw with longing. ¡°Whatever it takes.¡±


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    Woodrow¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°I understand.¡± His voice dropped to a murmur. ¡°I¡¯m looking for mine too.¡±


    The admission stunned her. She stared at him, words caught in her throat. A child? He has a child? The revelation reframed the man before her. He was no longer a mysterious monk with shadowy motives, but a father, like her, bereft and desperate.


    Woodrow¡¯s smile was sad. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I had a life before I took my vows. A life I only recently remembered¡­ when our dear Abbot showed me the truth.¡± His fingers clenched, knuckles white. ¡°She was taken from me while I was away at war. I won that war, but at the cost of my humanity. Now I need to find her. To let her know that her father has not abandoned her.¡±


    Alice saw the pain inside her mirrored in his eyes. Slowly, she reached out and grasped his hand. She gasped at its chill, absent of life. She dropped Woodrow''s hand and instead looked him straight in his brilliant green eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything,¡± she said fiercely. ¡°Anything that helps me get her back.¡±


    Woodrow nodded. ¡°Then there¡¯s something you must see.¡±


    He moved behind his desk, pulling out a worn tome. A soft click echoed in the small room as he opened the book, and suddenly, the bookshelf beside him slid open, revealing a set of descending stairs. A chill breeze wafted up from the darkness below.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± Woodrow murmured, lantern in hand.


    They descended into the dim underground, the air thick with the scent of sweat and leather. The sound of grunts and the sharp clash of wood against wood reverberated off the stone walls. Alice squinted as her eyes adjusted, and what she saw stole her breath.


    Women, dozens of them, moved through the dimly lit space, their bodies twisting and turning with the precision of dancers. They wielded wooden poles and swords, the gleam of steel flashing in the faint light. Some wore scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, while others sported bandages, the marks of recent battles. A few men stood among them, sparring partners who moved with fluid grace.


    ¡°They¡¯re training,¡± Alice murmured, watching in awe as one woman leapt, feinting a strike before slipping under her opponent¡¯s guard and landing a clean blow to his side.


    ¡°Training to fight,¡± Woodrow confirmed. ¡°Every woman here was once considered a victim, a pawn. Now they are warriors in their own right. The use the pleasure house to deceive those who think they can take what they want.¡± His voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°But should they try¡­ they will find themselves facing something far more dangerous.¡±


    One woman spun, landing gracefully on the balls of her feet, the dagger in her hand a blur as she deflected a strike aimed at her head. She moved like the wind itself; swift, deadly, and untouchable.


    Alice¡¯s heart raced. This is what they¡¯ve been doing all along. They act meek and submissive, only to learn everything they can, to bide their time and prepare¡­


    ¡°Show me,¡± Alice whispered, her voice trembling with newfound resolve. ¡°Show me how to fight.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile was small, but his eyes blazed with approval. He nodded slowly, and without a word, he stepped back, gesturing for her to take the place of one of the trainees.


    ¡°Your first lesson,¡± he said quietly, ¡°is to learn how to reclaim your power. Everything else follows after.¡±


    ---TRAINING GROUNDS---


    Alice¡¯s transformation was quick. The meek, frightened woman who had first stumbled into the pleasure house now stood with her shoulders squared and head held high, every muscle coiled with purpose. The daggers beneath her robes, once alien and intimidating, now felt like extensions of her own will. And as she learned from Woodrow, she also learned from the women who had fought the same war she was now embroiled in: how to hold a blade, how to strike fast and true, and, when necessary, how to turn a man''s desire against him.


    Woodrow¡¯s guidance was as complex as he was. By day, he would vanish into his office, the door closed and locked tight. The faint scrawl of his pen on parchment would echo through the quiet halls, along with the occasional low murmur of his voice, as though he spoke to unseen visitors. Once, Alice noticed a trail of dark soil leading from his office to his bedchamber door, always locked, always barred to prying eyes. She dared not ask about it, though it piqued her curiosity.


    But it was in the late hours of the night, under the flickering torchlight of the training yard, that Woodrow¡¯s true lessons were imparted. He taught her to move with grace and to command attention without saying a word. To smile when she wanted to scowl, to bat her eyes when she wanted to scream, and to sway her hips as if the world itself could be bent to her will.


    ¡°The corrupted men of the Sacred Flame fear a woman¡¯s power more than any sword,¡± Woodrow would murmur as he guided her steps with gentle hands. ¡°The Order of the Sacred Flame seeks to diminish your worth. They want you to believe you¡¯re less than them. But never forget: you are strong. Stronger than any blade they wield.¡±


    He would take her hand, pressing her fingers to the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath her robes. ¡°Before you resort to violence, use your wits. Be kind. Speak to the right people, and find the weaknesses in their armor. Seek peace when you can. But when does it come to violence¡­¡± His voice would harden, his gaze darkening like a thundercloud. ¡°Do not hesitate. Make an example of anyone who dares to violate your boundaries. Cut off a finger if a hand wanders where it shouldn¡¯t. Draw blood, and they will think twice before trying again.¡±


    And Alice found herself changing. Where once she had flinched at a raised voice or shied away from a man¡¯s touch, now she faced it with cold, calculating resolve. Every movement she made was deliberate, every smile laden with meaning. Woodrow and the other women mades her comfortble in her own skin, and under their guidance, showed the beauty that she was hiding. She wielded it like a weapon, drawing in glances and loose tongues alike.


    One evening, she tested herself. AShe tried to allure a young nobleman visiting the inn. She leaned close, murmuring sweet nothings about his horses and lands, while hiding her disgust as he leaned in, breath heavy with drink, eyes roaming her form. When he reached for her, she slapped his cheek playfully, eliciting a laugh from him and a few coins passed discreetly to Woodrow. The coins were pressed into her hand moments later, followed by a small vial of dark liquid.


    ¡°Pour this in his drink,¡± Woodrow instructed softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. ¡°It¡¯s a sleeping draught. A signature concoction of my brother Wilbur¡¯s. It will render him unconscious and, when he dreams, he will think his wildest fantasies were fulfilled.¡±


    Alice glanced at the vial, brow furrowed. ¡°Is that why they keep coming back? They think they had a night of real pleasure?¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile was faint, tinged with something like pride. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    She stared at the dark liquid, the weight of it suddenly heavy in her palm. ¡°And what of your brothers?¡± she asked softly, curiosity finally winning out. ¡°Where are they now?¡±


    ¡°Back at Rothfield, or attending their own duties across the land,¡± Woodrow answered, his gaze distant, as if peering through the very walls of the pleasure house to places far beyond. ¡°We are separated by necessity, each tending to a specific need. Brother Wilbur, for example, manages a hospital village for the sickly. You¡¯ve seen his work in our gardens and fields.¡±


    He gestured broadly around the inn, encompassing the bustling establishment, the lush gardens beyond, and the thriving village around it. ¡°Each of us ensures that in every settlement, there is a piece of what we¡¯ve built together. Here, the crops flourish thanks to Wilbur¡¯s perfected fertilizers in a miasma-corrupted soil. His potions also aid our people. I am needed here, at the edge of the mountains, near zealots and fanatics who tear families apart and use women as breeding stock.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s gaze turned somber, his eyes flickering with a shadow of guilt. ¡°I feel partly responsible. We liberated women from bondage, gave them authority over their own fates¡­ and the Order of the Sacred Flame retaliated. They want things done their way, where the weak serve the strong, and the strong take what they will. But we will not let them.¡± His voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. ¡°My town will grow, Alice. And it will need women like you to protect it.¡±


    Alice swallowed hard, the enormity of what he was saying sinking in. This wasn¡¯t just a fight for her daughter. It was a battle for the soul of every woman and child who suffered under the Sacred Flame¡¯s rule.


    ¡°And your daughter?¡± she asked quietly, searching his face for any sign of hope.


    Woodrow¡¯s expression tightened, a flicker of pain flashing through his eyes. ¡°She is out there, somewhere. Hidden. I will find her, Alice. No matter how many kingdoms I have to tear through, I will find her.¡±


    Alice nodded slowly, resolve hardening within her. ¡°Then we¡¯ll fight them together. Until every daughter is back in their parent''s arms.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile was small, but true. He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. ¡°Good. Because the Order of the Sacred Flame will not stop. They will poison the minds of our husbands, turn our sons against us. We must stand ready for the final battle, Alice. And it is coming.¡±


    The lantern¡¯s flame flickered as if in agreement, casting their shadows long and dark against the stone walls.

 Vol. II Chapter 1 - The Beginnings of a Brewery (Part 2)

    ---ROTHFIELD GRANGES---


    The stench of failure clung to the air; a mix of dying crops, blackened soil, and the sharp, acrid tang of Wilbur¡¯s burnt concoction. The new crops had showed promise. Now they lay shriveled and lifeless, stalks of Wilbur''s experimental grain curled like the fingers of a starving man. Even weeks after the miasma''s retreat, its taint lingered, choking the land of life and hope.


    I watched Wilbur sift the grain between his fingers, his brow furrowed as if willing the seeds to sprout by sheer force of will. His hands were stained with earth and ash, the smell of sulfur clinging to his robes, refusing to be washed away. He muttered under his breath, voice low and tense.


    ¡°It should have worked,¡± Wilbur murmured, crushing the brittle stalks into powder. ¡°The soil was treated properly. I accounted for every element¡­.¡± He flung the remains of the grain to the ground, his shoulders slumping. ¡°If we can¡¯t find a solution soon, there won¡¯t be a harvest. There won¡¯t be anything left.¡±


    I glanced out over the desolate fields, a heavy sense of guilt pressing down on me. I had watched Wilbur pour his heart into this endeavor, hoping that his reliable fertilizers would bring salvation to Rothfield and the lands surrounding it. But instead, the blight was winning, suffocating everything it touched. And the villagers had begun to whisper of curses, omens, and the Saints themselves turning their backs on us. I stared at my open palm, and thought that maybe I was lacking or insincere in my prayers for dispelling miasma. I shook my head, and poked my finger on the ground, just like I did that very first night in Rothfield.


    I connected myself to the ground¡­ and I felt... hungry for something; a nutrition I could not describe. I grabbed Wilbur¡¯s arm and translated what I felt through touch. We stared at each other, stayed there on the granges, looking comical: a grey child poking the earth holding his lanky older brother¡¯s arm. Wilbur concentrated, then opened his mouth in realization. He closed his eyes, nodded, and called Ealhstan over the cottages he was building. We told him what must be done.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s risky, but we have to try. The feldspar could enrich the soil, release the miasma still deep in the roots, further away from where Ryne¡¯s kindflame cannot reach, and protect whatever we plant next.¡± WIlbur was pacing again. As he did, Claude came up from behind Ealhstan, already sensing a night excursion to the mountains.


    ¡°Feldspar¡­ yes, and unakite ore from one of the caverns below the mountain. The unakite¡¯s crystal properties should enhance the soil¡¯s resilience. Strengthen it against the corruption.¡±


    He stared at me, weighing my words, his face taut with worry and weariness. Then he sighed, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the world pressed down on him alone. ¡°This is a new chamber. You mentioned there were new shadowbeasts waking?¡±


    I nodded. And then we ventured thorough the dark forest. We were ready. My party walked with me to the dark trees until the communal fire of Kent was past behind us. I placed both hands on the soil and allowed the vines in the earth to connect me to the mountain¡¯s chambers. Through the dark tunnels I went, past soil and rock, until I saw the color of the unakite ores, and the new flying beasts we would encounter.


    ¡°It¡¯s guarded by a flock of corvus,¡± I whispered, and I felt an old, familiar dread creep down my spine. ¡°Great black crows with wingspans as wide as oak trees. They nest in the deepest caverns, jealously protecting the unakite deposits. They¡¯re vicious creatures, from what the stories say. Smart and relentless.¡±


    ¡°We will go,¡± Elastane said simply.


    ¡ªMOUNT LHOTTEM¡ª


    Mount Lhottem towered above us with its jagged peaks. But our path was deeper into the tunnels. Claude¡¯s hand rested on his sword hilt, his gaze locked on the darkness beyond. After passing many familiar tunnels and the common iron and copper ores, Ealhstan made new tunnels with his strength toward our destination.


    Then we heard a deep squawk.


    ¡°Stay close,¡± Claude said. ¡°They¡¯ll strike fast and without warning. We need to reach the unakite and take what we can before they overwhelm us.¡± I looked at him. He probably heard of how corvux behaved from the many stories passed down.


    Wilbur and Ealhstan nodded at him approvingly. Elastane hauled us all over his shoulder as he climbed a steep wall. Beyond that was a platform with walls glittering faintly with veins of unakite, their rosy and green hues stark against the gloom. Up above were stones jutting out from the walls like branches of trees. I strained my senses, every nerve on edge, searching for any sign of movement in the shadows.


    Then I heard it¡ªa faint rustling, like the stirring of dead leaves in a winter forest. I turned just as a shadow fell over us, and a screech echoed through the cavern, sharp and piercing. A massive Corvus swooped down, its wings like the blade of a scythe, its talons gleaming like daggers.


    Claude was ready. He leapt forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The Corvus veered away, but not before Claude¡¯s strike caught it across the chest, feathers and blood turning to ash, splattering over us.


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    ¡°Keep moving!¡± Ealhstan bellowed, his voice carrying above the din. He bent low, heaving a boulder the size of a small house and hurling it at another of the attacking Corvus. The creature shrieked, its wing crumpling under the force of the blow. But more were coming; dark shapes slipping from the shadows, eyes gleaming with hunger.


    I focused my breath, reaching for the warmth of my inner flame. I held out my hands and called forth the shieldflame, a barrier of flickering red light erupting around Claude. The Corvus slammed into it, beaks and talons scraping against the shield¡¯s surface, but it held strong. And just like the direwolves, these creatures of shadow burned quickly at Gaelmar¡¯s holy flame. It went up in the air, then fell as the flames consumed it, like burned leaves. My shield disappeared just as another giant crow was about to peck him. Wilbur and Ealhstan were battling two or three squawking corvus each.


    ¡°Claude, now!¡± I shouted.


    He spun inside the shield, his blade lighting momentarily as I channeled my kindflame on his sword. The Corvus recoiled, feathers singed and smoking. But even as they faltered, another one swooped low, its beak aimed at my throat.


    My heart lurched. I called upon the flame and it came surging up my arm like liquid fire. The flame exploded from my hand, a brilliant arc of white-blue light that engulfed the Corvus. It shrieked in agony, the flames searing through its feathers, reducing the creature to ash in seconds.


    Panting, I glanced at Claude, who nodded grimly. We turned to Ealhstan, who was clearing a path to the unakite vein, crushing any Corvus that dared come close. A giant corvus¨Cmust be one of their leaders¨Cflapped its wings suddenly and all of us save for Ealhstan were buffeted away, rolling over the flat ground of this chamber.


    ¡°Get the ore!¡± Ealhstan roared, his voice reverberating through the cavern. ¡°I¡¯ll keep them off you.¡±


    We stood and moved swiftly as Ealhstan distracted the giant corvus by hurling boulders at it. It swerved and dived at Ealhstan. Wilbur searched his satchels and threw off an explosive bottle at the creature in midair. It fell to the ground, and Ealhstan jumped and landed on its neck. There was a crunch, and all was silent. Claude and I broke off chunks of the precious ore and stuffed them into our packs. Each piece glimmered faintly in the torchlight.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Ealhstan rumbled, wiping ash from his brow.


    We emerged from the cave battered but victorious, the unakite secured. It was time to fight the darkness threatening our fields, and save Wilbur¡¯s dream from withering on the vine.


    ¡ªINFIRMARY / LAB¡ª


    The air smelled of bitter herbs and metallic tangs, sharp and unyielding. Wilbur, his eyes shadowed with concentration, hunched over the massive kiln, the unakite ores and feldspar chunks glinting beside him.


    ¡°Unakite¡¯s ready,¡± Wilbur muttered, his voice a low rasp. He glanced up, the light painting his features in an otherworldly glow. ¡°This part is delicate. We have to break it down slowly with heat, then fuse it with the feldspar to create a potent mix and hopefully bring life into those dead fields.¡±


    I nodded, feeling the familiar rush of purpose course through my veins. For weeks, we¡¯d struggled. The barren fields seemed to mock our efforts. The deep soil was still being choked with miasma, heavy with its foulness, making it impossible for the new crops to take root. And now, with so much at stake, our hope lay in these strange, stubborn rocks and the power within them.


    Wilbur¡¯s hands moved deftly, laying the unakite shards in a shallow copper tray. He sprinkled a dusting of crushed feldspar over them, the reddish powder settling like rust over mossy green. ¡°Feldspar will keep the blend stable during calcination. We¡¯re going to melt away impurities, leaving only the essence that the soil craves.¡±


    I watched as he lit the flame beneath the tray. ¡°Ryne,¡± Wilbur said, gesturing for me to step closer, ¡°when I give the word, use your kindflame to concentrate the heat. We need to keep it hot but controlled. Too much and it¡¯ll shatter. Too little and the reaction will fail.¡±


    I took a deep breath and focused inward, feeling the familiar warmth of my power thrumming beneath my skin, eager to be released. I extended my hands, palms up, and called it forth. I funneled it toward the tray.


    Wilbur nodded in approval, eyes narrowing as he watched the minerals begin to sweat and glisten under the heat. The feldspar liquefied first, forming a molten cradle for the unakite shards. I could see the impurities bubbling up to the surface; dark, greasy flecks that spat and hissed as they were burned away.


    ¡°Steady now, Ryne,¡± Wilbur murmured. ¡°Just a little more.¡±


    Sweat beaded along my brow as I forced the kindflame to focus even tighter, the orange flames dancing within the kiln¡¯s blazing heat. The unakite shuddered, then split with a sharp crack. A thin, verdant smoke coiled up from the tray, swirling in intricate patterns before dissipating. The once-solid rocks had turned to a shimmering, greenish-gold liquid, glowing faintly.


    ¡°There!¡± Wilbur¡¯s voice was triumphant. He reached for a pair of long, iron tongs and dipped them into the mixture, carefully lifting it into a smaller, waiting crucible. ¡°Now, we let it cool and solidify. Once it hardens, it¡¯ll form the core of our new fertilizers.¡±


    As the mixture cooled, Elahstan turned to the feldspar chunks we¡¯d harvested from Mount Lhottem. He took a deep breath, setting one chunk aside, and picked up another, larger piece. He told Wilbur that they looked familiar.


    ¡°I should imagine so,¡± Wilbur replied. ¡°Feldspar is a natural stabilizer. it¡¯s what¡¯ll make our fertilizer mix easy to apply and control. But it¡¯s also glass when treated correctly.¡±


    Ealhstan, said no more, only picked up a hammer, the tool looking almost comically small in his massive hand, and struck the feldspar with precise, deliberate blows. The chunk split along clean lines. He then placed the shards into a separate crucible, his movements slow and deliberate. ¡°I¡¯ll need to temper it with normal flame, then mold it into the shapes we need.¡±


    Back at Ealhstan¡¯s workshop, the shards of feldspar began to melt in the flame, oozing into a viscous, glowing pool of liquid glass.


    Ealhstan moved quickly, using a slender iron rod to draw out threads of the molten feldspar. With a flick of his wrist, he spun the glass into thin vials, shaping them with an artistry I hadn¡¯t known he possessed. Each vial gleamed like a frozen tear, the glass clear as crystal but strong enough to withstand any corrosive mixture Wilbur could concoct.


    ¡°One for every tincture and tonic,¡± Ealhstan rumbled, his eyes never leaving his work.

 VOL II Chapter 1 - The Beginnings of a Brewery (Part 3)

    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The crops did not take long to grow after our weeklong efforts. Cauliflowers and carrots sprung up from the soil; strange new crops that the villagers gawked at.


    ¡°Are you sure they''re edible?¡± Harlan asked as he stepped closer, making Wilbur and I chuckle.


    I stood at the edge of the fields, the wind carrying the sweet scent of ripened wheat. Ealhstan had his arms folded, gazing out with an expression of calm pride. Wilbur lingered nearby, carefully inspecting a cluster of vines that coiled around a wooden trellis, his fingers tracing the plump grapes.


    ¡°Well this is new,¡± Agate murmured, carefully passing the white and orange crops, voice brimming with appreciation.


    "It will help the children of Kent grow into fine young warriors," Wilbur said. "Though that crops for now are delicate. I¡¯ll need to monitor it closely.¡±


    Agate gave Wilbur a soft smile. "My peoople are calling you the Green Sage of Rothfield, you know.¡± And then she left.


    Wilbur snorted. Woodrow, Ealhstan, Claude, and I laughed. ¡°Green sage? Goodness.¡±


    ¡ªGRANGES / EALHSTAN¡¯S POV¡ª


    The evening air of Rothfield hung with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil and dew-damp stone. Ealhstan, standing amidst the skeletal frames of unfinished walls, glanced up at the sky where twilight¡¯s last light cast a pale purple glow across the fields and the sprawling monastery granges. This evening, the brothers had resolved to begin construction on a small brewery, nestled beside the granges; a place where they could process the grains they had so painstakingly cultivated.


    Ealhstan¡¯s imposing figure moved with a deliberate grace that belied his raw, otherworldly strength. His broad shoulders shifted beneath his tunic as he hoisted a massive timber beam, muscles tensed but unstrained. With ease, he lifted the heavy oak pillar into place, positioning it upright between two foundation stones. The iron bands that secured the wood creaked and groaned, but his grip held steady, unwavering.


    ¡°Careful there,¡± Wilbur called out from below, adjusting the thick hemp ropes coiled around the timber¡¯s base. His brow was furrowed with concern, though it softened as he watched Ealhstan maneuver the beam with practiced precision. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to split any of these columns. There¡¯s no more timber like this left in the stockpile.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it, Brother,¡± Ealhstan replied, his deep voice carrying over the sound of clinking metal and wood. He gave a small, reassuring smile, then shifted his weight, pulling the beam flush against its frame. The entire structure shuddered as he released it, but the column stood firm, perfectly balanced.


    The brewery¡¯s foundation was of stone and wood. Ealhstan¡¯s every movement was methodical and careful, a display of both raw strength and mindful craftsmanship. He fetched stones quarried from the mountains and stacked them with measured precision. His large hands shaped the mortar, smoothing it between the stones with surprising dexterity, ensuring no gaps remained. The walls slowly rose, stone by stone, forming the base of what would soon house the brewery¡¯s mash tuns and fermenting vats.


    Ryne and Claude moved between the men helping Ealhstan, hauling smaller supplies; wooden planks, iron nails, and crates of provisions for the laborers. Despite their strength, they couldn¡¯t match Ealhstan¡¯s. Occasionally, they would stop and watch, marveling at the sheer power he wielded.


    Claude wiped the sweat from his brow, adjusting his grip on the iron sledgehammer he was carrying to help secure the framework of the upper levels. ¡°Sometimes I wonder if Ealhstan could raise the whole monastery by himself if he wanted,¡± he muttered to Ryne with a wry grin.


    Ryne chuckled softly, but his eyes were serious as they followed Ealhstan¡¯s movements. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    Claude and Ryne moved to the edge of the construction site, where Ealhstan had begun setting up the massive wooden casks that would form the heart of the brewery. Each cask, made of tightly bound dark oak trees and reinforced with iron bands, was designed to hold hundreds of gallons of fermenting barley mash. Ealhstan shifted them effortlessly, guiding them into the carved stone recesses that would keep them stable. His movements were smooth, almost serene, despite the weight of each barrel being enough to crush an ordinary man.


    ¡°Ready for the next one, Claude?¡± Ealhstan called, gesturing for Claude to help steady the ropes.


    Claude gripped the hemp lines, bracing himself as Ealhstan hefted the next cask. With a fluid motion, Ealhstan lifted the enormous barrel, turning it upright with the ropes taut and Claude anchoring the base. For a moment, the cask teetered, and a murmur of concern rippled through the watching craftsmen. But then Ealhstan set the barrel down gently, perfectly aligned with the rest.


    ¡°Well done, Brother Claude,¡± Ealhstan said, clapping Claude on the shoulder with a hand that could easily flatten a helm. ¡°You¡¯re getting the hang of it.¡±


    The rest of the evening passed in a steady rhythm of labor. Ealhstan alternated between laying stones for the outer walls and setting up the interior supports, while the others moved with a quiet efficiency, passing tools and materials between the different sections of the brewery. Wilbur supervised, occasionally offering guidance or encouragement.


    By midnight, the framework was complete. The bright moon casted sharp shadows across the half-built structure. Ealhstan paused, wiping his brow with a linen cloth. He glanced at the half-finished walls and the rising beams, then nodded to himself.


    ¡°It¡¯s coming together,¡± he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. ¡°We¡¯ll have the roof up before the first rains if we keep this pace.¡±


    Claude, resting beside a stack of iron nails, looked up at him. ¡°Brother Ealhstan, how do you know so much about building?¡±


    Ealhstan¡¯s smile was faint, almost wistful. He spoke slowly, the structure of a lie passing his lips. ¡°Before I was a warrior, before¡­ everything else, I was a stonemason. My father¡¯s trade. I helped build churches, manors, even a few keeps in the north. Back then, I used my strength for this,¡± he gestured at the stone and timber rising around them. ¡°For creating." Not destroying, Ealhstan thought.


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    Ryne stepped forward, wiping dirt from his hands. ¡°And you¡¯re still creating. You¡¯re giving this place a future, Brother.¡±


    Ealhstan¡¯s gaze lingered on the growing structure, his expression thoughtful. ¡°Perhaps,¡± he said quietly. Then he shook himself, a resolute light returning to his eyes. ¡°But there¡¯s still more to do. Tomorrow evening, we would make the roof beams. If we finish the upper framework by then, Wilbur can begin setting up the mash tuns by next week.¡±


    And so they continued the next evening, the air filled with the sound of hammering, the scrape of wood, and the low murmur of voices. By midnight again, the outline of the brewery was fully visible, its form a promise of the warmth and sustenance it would one day bring to the people of the monastery. Ealhstan stood at the entrance, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face lit by the glow of the communal fire. He looked down at Ryne and Claude, the pride and satisfaction clear in his eyes.


    ¡°Good work, brothers.¡±


    And with those words, they set down their tools, gathered what little food and drink they had, and shared a humble supper among the granges, the scent of earth and new timber mingling with the quiet camaraderie of those who build together.


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    Gaelmar visited me once more, and we both prayed to awaken another portion of the granges, its dark dead soil now ready for more advanced crops made for brewing.


    The fields stretched out before us, a broad swath of dark, fertile earth shrouded in the ghostly embrace of dawn¡¯s mist. The chill of the morning air clung to my skin as I hefted the spade, feeling its familiar weight in my grip. It was a sturdy tool, its wooden handle worn smooth from years of labor, its blade dulled from seasons of turning soil. Today, however, it would breathe life into these empty furrows, preparing the ground for a new crop that would delight our villagers.


    That night, Wilbur joined me. His movements were careful, almost reverent, and I could see the concentration etched on his face. He crumbled a handful of dirt between his hands, the rich, loamy scent mingling with the crisp air. I watched him drop a few of his new liverfert fertilizers into the soil.


    I poked my finger in the soil and smiled. ¡°Dark and well-aerated. Should take well to both the hops and barley.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Wilbur nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. ¡°It¡¯s quite near to the stream, too.¡±


    We worked in silence, the only sounds the rustle of burlap and the steady rhythm of the spade¡¯s descent. I watched as Wilbur followed behind me, scattering barley seeds with a practiced hand.


    ¡°Mind the spacing, Ryne,¡± Wilbur chided gently, pausing to adjust the placement of a few scattered seeds. ¡°Barley needs room to breathe. Too close, and they¡¯ll strangle each other, fighting for sunlight and nutrients.¡±


    I nodded and took a step back, mindful of the advice. We moved down the furrow, each of us falling into the familiar rhythm of labor. For a time, all that existed was the soil beneath my boots and the steady rise and fall of the spade.


    When the barley was finally sown, we turned our attention to the hop trellises standing at the far end of the field. A series of stout poles rose from the earth, each connected by ropes that would one day support the climbing vines of the hop plants. I remembered setting those poles with Ealhstan, driving them deep into the ground with a strength only he could muster. They stood now like sentinels, ready to bear the weight of the coming growth.


    Wilbur fetched a set of young hop rhizomes, each wrapped in damp burlap to keep the roots moist. The rhizomes were knobby, gnarled things, more like the severed limbs of some twisted creature than the start of a thriving plant. Wilbur knelt beside one of the trellis posts and dug a small hole, setting the first rhizome into the earth with a careful touch.


    ¡°Hops need strong support,¡± he explained as I joined him, holding another rhizome ready for planting. ¡°These vines can grow up to twenty feet in a single season if they¡¯re healthy. Their roots go deep. We need to give them room.¡±


    I followed his lead, lowering the rhizome into the hole and covering it with soil. We moved from trellis to trellis, planting the rhizomes in neat rows at the base of each post. With each rhizome set into place, Wilbur poured a measure of liverfert around the roots.


    ¡°This¡¯ll give them a good start,¡± Wilbur murmured.


    I stood back, surveying the fruits of our labor with a quiet sense of pride. The barley furrows ran in neat, even rows, and the hop rhizomes were tucked snugly at the base of the trellises. It would be weeks, normally, before we saw the first signs of growth. But Wilbur¡¯s potent fertilizers will make it harvestable in days.


    ¡°Will the hops really make that much difference in the ale?¡± I asked as we packed away the tools, my voice breaking the silence between us.


    ¡°Aye, and not just for the flavor,¡± Wilbur replied, his gaze lingering on the newly planted field. ¡°Hops act as a natural preservative, helping the ale last longer without souring. They¡¯ll also balance the sweetness of the barley with their bitterness, making for a more refined brew.¡±


    He turned to me, his eyes alight with a quiet enthusiasm I seldom saw. ¡°With this harvest, we¡¯ll be able to make a true monastery ale. Give the people of Kent a little more warmth this cold summer.¡±


    ¡ªBREWERY¡ª


    The monastery¡¯s new brewery, with its stout stone walls and timber-framed roof, stood proudly against the backdrop of the mountain. The scent of fresh mortar and cut wood lingered in the crisp air, mingling with the earthy aroma of brewing grain. Inside, the space was dimly lit by narrow, arched windows. Wooden beams arched overhead like the ribbed vaults of a miniature cathedral.


    Claude followed Wilbur¡¯s measured steps into the heart of the brewery, where rows of casks lined the walls and a broad, open floor gave way to large wooden vats. A rich variety of brewing instruments, from ladles and mash paddles to woven sieves, hung neatly on the far wall. The copper stills and fermentation vessels gleamed under the faint light, and the air was cool and moist. Wilbur moved with a quiet authority, his hands tracing over each piece of equipment as if reacquainting himself with old friends.


    ¡°Here we begin the transformation,¡± Wilbur murmured, his voice low and steady. ¡°Grain into bread of the liquid sort.¡±


    Claude nodded, brow furrowed in concentration. He¡¯d proven himself with sword and spear, yet the brewing process felt strangely elusive. It suited Wilbur. It was part alchemy, part agriculture, and wholly foreign to his rougher skill set. But he was determined to learn, not just for the practical use but for the joy it brought to those around the hearth in quiet moments of rest.


    ¡°Now, pay close attention,¡± Wilbur continued, gesturing to a large wooden vat filled with hot water. ¡°The first step is mashing. We steep the crushed barley grains in this hot water to draw out the sugars and create what we call the mash. The temperature is crucial, mind you. Too hot, and we¡¯ll ruin the enzymes. Too cold, and the sugars won¡¯t extract properly.¡±


    Claude nodded, kneeling beside the vat. The water was steaming, but not boiling, and he could see the plump grains swirling gently beneath the surface. He picked up a mash paddle¡ªan oaken rod with a flattened head, used for stirring¡ªand dipped it into the mixture, feeling its resistance as he slowly stirred.


    ¡°Like this?¡± he asked, glancing up at Wilbur.


    ¡°Good. Now keep it moving. Gently, evenly. You want to keep the heat distributed.¡± Wilbur leaned in, his fingers resting lightly on the rim of the vat as he peered down into the murky liquid. ¡°Think of it as though you were guarding a flame in a strong wind. Nurture it, coax it. The mash will reward you with a sweeter wort.¡±


    Time slipped by in companionable silence as Claude stirred, the steam rising in delicate tendrils around his face. The rhythmic motion felt almost meditative, and he found himself falling into a steady cadence, the paddle swishing quietly through the mash. When Wilbur finally nodded, satisfied, he motioned for Claude to stop.


    ¡°Now we let it rest,¡± Wilbur said, straightening. ¡°Let the grains work their magic for an hour or so. In the meantime, we can start with the mead. Did you bring the honey I aske you to buy from the market.¡±

 VOL II Chapter 1 - The Beginnings of a Brewery (Part 4 - END)

    ---BREWERY (CLAUDE''S POV)---


    Claude brought out the jar of expensive honey, recounting how the traveling merchant was glad of the coppers he was given. ¡°If only your garden could attract bees somehow, eh, Brother Wilbur? Then you can make your own. It¡¯s already attracting butterflies, anyway.¡±


    Wilbur smiled and nodded. ¡°Hopefully. Now then¡­ mead, unlike ale, is simple but fickle,¡± Wilbur explained, picking up the jar of honey and removing its stopper. ¡°It¡¯s merely honey, water, and yeast. But the yeast¡­ ah, it has a mind of its own. Too vigorous, and the mead ferments too quickly, leaving it sharp and harsh. Too sluggish, and it spoils.¡±


    He poured the honeyed water into a large wooden barrel, his hands moving with practiced ease. Claude watched as Wilbur added a bit of dried elderflower and some cloves for flavor, then sprinkled in a small pinch of yeast from a linen pouch. He stirred the mixture gently with a long-handled spoon, the pale liquid swirling in soft eddies.


    ¡°After this, we seal the barrel and wait,¡± Wilbur said, smiling faintly. ¡°There¡¯s little more to it, really, except patience and the wisdom to know when to let nature take its course.¡±


    ¡°And the grapes?¡± Claude asked, glancing at a basket of plump, dusky fruits sitting nearby. Claude marveled at how the new crops grew after they harvested the feldspar and unakite ores. He was also shy in touching the dark purple skin of the grapes as if they were the fabrics of nobles, because only the lords and clergy can plant these in their yards. Only they can eat them.


    But Wilbur did not notice. His eyes lit up. ¡°Ah, the grapes. Come, I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    He led Claude to a large wooden press, its heavy screw and planks shining with the sheen of recent use. They set the grapes into the press, the dark globes spilling and tumbling like small treasures. With a grunt of effort, Claude turned the screw, the press descending slowly onto the grapes, their skins bursting under the pressure. A thick, purple juice trickled down into the collecting basin below, filling the air with the tart, heady scent of fresh must.


    ¡°We¡¯ll mix some of this grape must into the ale and mead during the second fermentation,¡± Wilbur explained. ¡°It will add complexity, sweetness, and deepen the flavor. A bit of old Roman technique I picked up in a parchment somewhere.¡±


    Claude¡¯s hands were stained red from the grapes, the juice sticky on his fingers. He nodded thoughtfully, watching the juice collect. He marveled at the vast knowledge that Wilbur carried in his head.


    For the rest of the evening, they worked side by side. They drained the wort from the barley mash, filtering it through woven sieves to remove the husks. The sweet, golden liquid was then transferred to a large copper kettle where they added handfuls of dried hops, Wilbur explaining how the hops would preserve the ale and impart a bitter counterpoint to the malt¡¯s sweetness. They boiled the wort, the scent filling the brewery with an almost festive aroma; earthy, sweet, and slightly floral.


    When the wort had cooled, they racked it into a series of wooden fermenting casks, along with the freshly pressed grape must and a touch of Wilbur¡¯s carefully cultivated yeast. They sealed each cask tightly, and Wilbur marked them with wax seals; a different symbol for each type of brew. One for ale, one for mead, another for the mixed ale and grape blend they¡¯d experimented with.


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    ¡°Now we wait,¡± Wilbur said, wiping his hands on a rag. ¡°The yeast will do its work, turning the sugars into alcohol and infusing the brew with its own unique character.¡±


    He looked at Claude, eyes shining with a quiet pride. ¡°You did well today, Brother Claude. You¡¯ve the hands of a brewer, steady and strong.¡±


    Claude smiled, his gaze drifting over the rows of sealed casks, already thinking of the festivities.


    ---GRANGES (RYNE''S POV)---


    Weeks passed in quiet calmness. Claude was in his element. He strode through the fields with a confidence I hadn¡¯t seen in him before, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening on his brow as he directed villagers in the harvest and, surprisingly, the brewing process. Barrels were stacked high, already fermenting the


    He waved at us, a grin lighting up his face as he held up a bottle. ¡°Ryne! Ealhstan! Wilbur! Come here. You¡¯ve got to try this.¡±


    We walked over, exchanging curious glances. Claude¡¯s energy was infectious, and the workers nearby watched him. He uncorked the bottle with a flourish, pouring a deep, golden ale into wooden cups he¡¯d brought with him. Foam bubbled at the top, the aroma rich and earthy.


    I took a tentative sip, and my eyes widened in surprise. It was good. More than good. It was excellent. The beer was smooth and robust, with just the right balance of bitterness and sweetness, a hint of fruitiness lingering on the tongue.


    ¡°Claude, this is¡­¡± Ealhstan trailed off, his eyes narrowing in contemplation as he savored the taste. ¡°This is damn fine beer.¡±


    Claude¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Thought you¡¯d like it! I¡¯ve been experimenting with the new grain Wilbur and I developed. We¡¯re calling it Moonspire Barley. Actually, Wilbur says anything we grow here in Rothfield should have a ¡®moon¡¯ attached to it. Moonspire carrots, moonspire sheep, moonspire ale¨Canyway¨Cthis kind of barley seems perfect for brewing. It¡¯s so sweet! So unlike the gray barley on our farm, anyway. Or anywhere else.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ exceptional,¡± Wilbur said, examining the cup as if he did not play a big part in cultivating it. ¡°This has the potential to be a true export. People would travel from all over to sample it.¡±


    I thought of a bright possibility just then, my hopes that this monastery becomes a center for trade and innovation. Not just for our own people, but for everyone.


    Later that evening, Wilbur confined in me the changes in Claude. ¡°Your friend is growing so much. From a boy plagued by self-doubt to a man with a vision. He could be a leader who could inspire others.¡± He smiled at me softly. ¡°I see you grow, too.¡±


    I shifted slightly, feeling the faint warmth of the kindflame flickering just beneath my skin. He was right. It had changed, too, evolving as I¡¯d pushed myself further and further. Where once it had been a simple spark of heat, now it could be molded, extended; an aura of flame that wrapped around my allies, bolstering them, amplifying their strength and stamina. With it, I could shield Claude from harm or lend him the endurance to keep going when others would have faltered.


    I raised my hand, letting the kindflame dance across my fingers, the light brightening as it spread outward in a shimmering, translucent barrier. There was still so much to be done, so many threats lurking on the horizon, so many battles left to fight. But for the first time in a long time, I felt ready.


    Rothfield and the monastery were no longer places of despair. They were becoming sanctuaries, havens of growth and possibility. And it was all thanks to the efforts of a few people who refused to give up, no matter how dark the road had seemed.


    I glanced at Claude sitting with the people of Kent, waiting for me, and I felt a fierce surge of affection. He waved his arm, calling me over. Whatever came next, whatever trials awaited us, we would face them together.


    And we would not falter.

 Wilburs Journey I (Part 1)

    Wilbur knelt in the cloistered garth of the monastery, carefully tending to the rows of medicinal plants. The soil thrummed with life, and the ancient oak provided a comforting shade over his patches of feverfew, valerian, and comfrey. The villagers of Kent were mostly healthy now, but the town beyond still faced challenges.


    He picked feverfew heads, those delicate daisy-like flowers known for their ability to ease fevers, and placed them in a woven basket. Nearby, valerian thrived with its drooping pink flowers; its strong and fragrant roots soothing restless patients. Comfrey flourished in its spot, vibrant purple bells hanging low, ready to mend the wounds and fractures Wilbur encountered all too frequently.


    Wilbur carried his basket into the dimly lit infirmary. Shadows danced on the stone walls as he moved quietly among the cots. He approached a feverish woman, pricking her wrist with skill, murmuring soothing words as her blood dripped into a bowl. Later, with the patients asleep and the monastery enveloped in silence, he took the bowl down to his hidden sanctuary.


    There, alone, he raised the blood to his lips, drinking deeply as strength and clarity surged back into him. His hunger was momentarily sated, allowing him to continue his work by candlelight, crafting potions and caring for the sick under the serene cover of night.


    ___


    The communal fire crackled softly, sending spirals of smoke into the cool evening air as Ryne and Claude sat together, the warmth of the flames keeping the chill at bay. Wilbur watched them contentedly. They had been sharing quiet conversations. The monastery loomed behind them, its dark stone walls silently observing their exchange. Ryne, lost in thought, absently stirred the logs with a stick, the embers glowing red like faint stars against the night sky.


    Suddenly, hurried footsteps broke the stillness. Claude¡¯s head snapped up, his brow furrowing as he stood. A figure emerged from the shadows, stumbling toward them.


    ¡°Who goes there?¡± Claude called, squinting into the darkness as he stepped beyond the firelight.


    Ryne and Wilbur didn¡¯t need to strain their eyes; they could see clearly a slim woman crawling out from the dark trees, her hair spilling from her wimple.


    ¡°Gabriella?¡± Claude exclaimed, rushing to her side.


    Gabriella. Wilbur recalled that she was Claude¡¯s closest neighbor in Rothfield. Even in the dim light, the fear on her face was unmistakable. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her clothes were soiled from travel.


    ¡°Claude, please¡­ I didn¡¯t know where else to go,¡± Gabriella¡¯s eyes darted between him, Ryne, and Wilbur, wild with panic. She panted, her voice trembling with desperation. ¡°It¡¯s my boys¡­ they¡¯re so sick¡­ I¡¯ve tried everything, but it¡¯s getting worse.¡±


    Claude quickly moved to her side, steadying her with a firm hand. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with them?¡± he asked, concern etched in his voice.


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    ¡°Each one is different,¡± Gabriella said, her voice shaking as she looked between Claude and Ryne. ¡°One has these terrible boils that have turned black. Another trembles as if he¡¯s been cursed. And my youngest¡­ he¡¯s burning with fever, his mind lost in babbling nonsense.¡± She swallowed hard, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. Her gaze landed on Wilbur, and then she noticed the large satchel slung over his shoulder. With wide eyes filled with recognition, she collapsed into Wilbur¡¯s arms. ¡°Help us, brother. Please!¡±


    Wilbur had heard of the ailments Gabriella described, but never all at once in one family. He glanced at Ryne, who nodded gravely.


    ¡°We¡¯ll help,¡± Claude said, squeezing Gabriella¡¯s shoulder in reassurance. ¡°Wilbur will know what to do.¡±


    Gabriella¡¯s relief was evident, though fear still lingered in her wide eyes as Claude guided her toward the monastery. Ryne followed closely, his senses heightened. He could sense something darker lurking beneath Gabriella¡¯s plea. Both he and Wilbur shared the same thought: the miasma had worsened in their town.


    They entered the monastery, the heavy wooden doors creaking as they shut behind them, shutting out the night. Inside, the flickering light from tallow candles cast long shadows on the stone walls, and the air was filled with the scent of herbs, dried flowers, and old parchment. The cool, musty atmosphere of the monastery added to the somber mood, and Gabriella hesitated as they stepped into the central hall.


    They made their way to the infirmary. Wilbur approached a collection of medicinal vials and herbs laid out on a long wooden table. His pale hands moved skillfully, grinding something in a mortar and pestle. His dark, intense eyes focused on Gabriella with an unreadable expression.


    Wilbur wiped his hands on a cloth, shifting his gaze from Claude to Gabriella. He could detect the faint scent of her children¡¯s illness clinging to her; a mix of sweat, infection, and fever.


    ¡°When did this happen?¡± Wilbur asked Gabriella.


    ¡°A week ago.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s mind raced as he mentally listed the ingredients he would need. Feverflukes for the boils. Shivering maiden for the tremors. And something stronger for the fever; perhaps yellowtongues mixed with a tincture of cooling ore. He nodded, already crafting a plan in his mind.


    ¡°I will help them,¡± he said, his voice steady. ¡°But, Gabriella, you must understand that these remedies are not¡­ ordinary. What I do here cannot be discussed outside these walls. The townsfolk might fear what they don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Gabriella¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I don¡¯t care what it takes. I just want my boys to live.¡±


    Wilbur stepped closer, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face, accentuating his features. He observed her, noting the rapid pulse in her throat, a sign of her anxiety and fear. He could hear her heartbeat, smell the blood beneath her skin. He realized he was hungry.


    But he pushed the hunger aside, knowing he would feed soon enough.


    ¡°Claude, Ryne, prepare a place for them here in the infirmary. Gabriella, I¡¯ll send some of the men from Kent to help bring your boys as quickly as possible. Time is not on their side,¡± Wilbur instructed, turning back to his table, where he began gathering the necessary ingredients. He moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless times before, though in truth, each concoction was as much an experiment as it was a remedy.


    As Gabriella hurried out into the night, her relief momentarily lifting the weight of her worry, Wilbur turned to Ryne.


    ¡°This sickness will spread if we don¡¯t treat the whole town. We have to make them immune to it, or at least help them tolerate it,¡± Wilbur murmured. ¡°If I succeed in treating her children, then I will take their blood and use it for the next generation of medicines to combat these mysterious illnesses.¡±


    Ryne nodded, his unease growing.

 Wilburs Journey I (Part 2)

    The men returned to Rothfield Monastery with Gabriella and her sons, the cool night air turning sharp as the towering walls of the monastery loomed above them. Wilbur sent them back home after easing their worries about infection.


    With his previous patients dismissed, Wilbur¡¯s infirmary, nestled deep within the monastery, was enveloped in an eerie stillness; its darkened windows faintly glowing from within, where tallow candles burned low, casting long, flickering shadows.


    Inside, the air was thick with the pungent scent of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, and the soft crackle of firewood in the corner hearth added to the oppressive quiet. Wilbur moved gracefully through the shadows, his pale hands gliding over the array of vials and pouches laid out on the wooden table. His movements were deliberate, his mind racing. Yes, this would certainly not be an ordinary remedy.


    As Gabriella sat nervously near her sons¡¯ cots, she watched Wilbur intently, her heart pounding. The more she observed his methods, the less he resembled any healer she¡¯d ever known. His touch on the vials was too precise, the way he measured each powdered mineral too exact. His eyes, those dark, unnervingly sharp eyes, glinted as they caught the light from the hearth. Gabriella shuddered but remained silent.


    Wilbur grasped the trembling maiden, readying the necessary tools. He carefully crushed the petals in his mortar, the soft grinding sound echoing in the stillness of the infirmary. A sweet, almost overwhelming scent wafted from the powder as he blended it with a few drops of yellowtongue nectar, a bitter substance that Wilbur claimed was more effective against fever than feverflukes.


    He added healing ores, including rare clear quartz and fire opals from Mount Lhottem. The mineral shards, with faint veins of iron and malachite, were ground into dust under the pressure of his pestle. Gabriella felt as if Wilbur was drawing on their life-force in some way. To her, these ores were merely tools for weapons and trade, but for Wilbur, they infused his medicines with something more.


    Then she noticed his sharp nails, and how his eyes seemed to flash in the dim light, even though he was far from the candles and torches¡­ how could he mix and measure all his ingredients in that dark corner?


    Gabriella¡¯s breath caught as she leaned in closer, her suspicion intensifying. Wilbur¡¯s hands moved with an unsettling precision, and as he poured the powdered mixture into a vial of bubbling liquid, she saw a faint glow radiating from the concoction. It wasn¡¯t the warm glow of fire, but something colder, almost otherworldly. She had heard the rumors, of course; whispers in Rothfield about the monks and the strange occurrences at the monastery. It was one of the reasons for the town''s curfew¡­ yet, this physician had healed little Annette and saved her life. This peculiar monk had revitalized Claude¡¯s crops and had gathered enough to share with the neighbors who had turned their backs on him.


    Wilbur remained silent as he stirred the glowing liquid with a rod. He sensed her discomfort, but he welcomed it. Her suspicion kept her quiet, and silence was exactly what he needed now.


    Ryne was assigned to gather some plants from the secluded garden, and he returned with the final batch of freshly picked herbs, his expression grim. He handed them to Wilbur, who nodded, his focus unwavering on the potion. Wilbur sprinkled in the last ingredients; feverfluke leaves, their delicate, spindly stems curling as they dissolved into the mixture, transforming the liquid into a pale green. The firelight illuminated the concoction, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls.


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    Gabriella could no longer contain her curiosity. ¡°What¡­ what exactly are you doing?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She struggled to keep the hint of fear from creeping in, but Wilbur sensed it. He always did.


    Without looking up from his task, he replied, ¡°A new remedy,¡± his tone steady. ¡°The ingredients are rare, and the process demands precision. Your boys will be cured, but only if everything is executed exactly as it should be.¡±


    Gabriella swallowed hard, her gaze shifting from Wilbur¡¯s hands to the glowing mixture. The room felt colder, the air thick with an unsettling tension.


    Wilbur lifted the vial and poured the mixture into three smaller ones, each emitting a faint glow. He handed them to Ryne. ¡°Give these to the boys,¡± he instructed softly, his voice carrying a weight that made Ryne pause for a moment.


    As Ryne carefully administered the potions to each boy, Wilbur kept a watchful eye on Gabriella from the corner of his vision. She hadn¡¯t taken her gaze off him. He could sense her suspicions, evident in the way her eyes flicked to his hands, to the eerie glow of the vials, to the shadows that seemed to shift with him.


    But she remained silent. For now, desperation outweighed her fear, keeping her quiet.


    Wilbur stepped back, his expression unreadable as he observed the boys. The potion would take time to take effect, but already, the youngest appeared to be breaking his fever, and the violent tremors in the middle boy¡¯s hands were beginning to subside. It was working.


    Gabriella noticed the shift as well. She exhaled a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding. A wave of relief swept over her, though it was mixed with a persistent fear. She pulled the youngest child close, whispering to him that everything would be alright.


    Wilbur turned away from her, his expression darkening. The hunger clawed at him once more. He would find something to eat soon, but not in this place. Not at this moment.


    ___


    The room was quiet, broken only by the soft crackling of the hearth and the steady grinding of Wilbur¡¯s mortar. The mixtures he was creating shimmered in the dim light, a strange blend of rare ores and herbs casting a faint, eerie glow. Gabriella sat beside her children, caught between hope and a rising sense of dread. Her boys¡¯ breathing had steadied, the feverish delirium subsiding as Wilbur¡¯s concoctions took effect.


    She kept him in her peripheral vision. For hours, Wilbur had not taken a break. He hadn¡¯t touched the water she offered earlier or the small loaf of bread she left by his side. There was no sign of weariness. No sweat on his brow, no slowing of his movements. As the night wore on, Gabriella¡¯s mind raced. No human, monk or otherwise, could work like this without rest.


    Her thoughts became increasingly burdensome, but she kept quiet. Her sons were stabilizing. Any doubts she had needed to be set aside for the moment. She looked at her youngest, his fever finally easing as Wilbur¡¯s potions took effect. The relief in her chest clashed with the persistent fear eating away at her heart.


    Wilbur stayed at his workbench, mixing crushed fire opal and clear quartz dust into a small, bubbling vial. His pale fingers moved with a precision that made Gabriella uneasy; the way they never wavered, even in the dimmest light. His long, sharp nails scraped the last of the ingredients into the mixture, and she caught a glimpse of something she wished she hadn¡¯t: his fangs. They were barely visible beneath his lips, but they were unmistakable. Fangs. A shiver ran up her spine, but she remained silent, gripping her youngest son¡¯s hand tightly.


    Wilbur¡¯s own struggle ran deeper, hidden beneath his calm exterior. He felt the familiar, gnawing hunger rising within him. The energy required to mix the potent alchemical remedies had drained him. His vampiric nature demanded sustenance, and the blood he craved gnawed at his self-control. But not here. Not now. The boys needed him. She needed him.


    Without a word, Wilbur retreated to the farthest corner of the infirmary, the shadows enveloping him as he sought to regain his composure. His eyes glowed faintly, his sharp gaze flicking to the sliver of moonlight that spilled through the high windows. He clenched his jaw, forcing the hunger back down, but the effort left him feeling weak, his hands trembling slightly. He breathed slowly, focusing on the cold stone beneath his feet, trying to suppress the dark urge clawing at his mind.


    Gabriella¡¯s voice broke the silence, hesitant. ¡°They¡¯re¡­ they¡¯re getting better, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Wilbur turned, his face obscured by shadows. ¡°Yes,¡± he murmured. ¡°But the treatment must continue. The remedies I¡¯ve created are powerful. But delicate. Their healing will take time, and the ingredients must be precise, or everything could¡­ fall apart.¡±

 Wilburs Jounrey I (Part 3)

    Her fear was evident, but there was something else in her tone now. Something softer. She was observing him more intently, her suspicion growing. Yet, there was gratitude there, too. He could see it in the way her eyes softened when she glanced at her sons. Wilbur¡¯s gaze briefly lingered on her arm, noticing how she winced as she adjusted the blanket. A bruise, dark and swollen, peeked from beneath her sleeve.


    He didn¡¯t ask, but Gabriella quickly pulled her sleeve down, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She looked away, ashamed. Wilbur remained silent, but his hands moved quietly to a nearby jar of salve. His touch was gentle, almost tender, as he began mixing a simple ointment of comfrey root and calendula, his movements careful as if he were handling something precious. He brought it over to Gabriella and knelt beside her, offering the jar.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the bruises,¡± he said softly, his voice low, almost comforting. ¡°It will help with the pain.¡±


    Gabriella hesitated, her gaze flickering between the jar and Wilbur¡¯s face. For a moment, she seemed ready to refuse, but then she accepted the salve. Her hands shook as she spread it on her arm. The coolness eased the ache almost immediately, and her suspicion wavered, giving way to another wave of gratitude.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been kind,¡± she murmured, stealing a quick glance at him before looking down at the floor. ¡°But¡­ I can¡¯t help but wonder¡­ how do you know all of this? How do you know so much about healing?¡±


    Wilbur didn¡¯t respond right away, his dark eyes fixed on the flames in the hearth. ¡°Years of practice,¡± he finally replied, his voice steady. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ seen many things. Healed many people.¡±


    A silence settled between them. Wilbur moved back to his workbench, cleaning his tools swiftly. Gabriella didn¡¯t push him for more, though the questions clearly weighed on her. He could see the thoughts swirling in her mind, the doubt, the fear. She suspected something, but he also noticed how exhaustion and gratitude kept her from speaking up.


    As the candles burned lower, Wilbur completed his tasks, but his mind was far from at ease. He couldn¡¯t shake the growing hunger, the pull of the blood he needed to survive. He glanced at the boys, their breathing now steady, their color slowly returning. They would make it.


    But Wilbur knew he wouldn¡¯t survive the night without food. He took one last look at Gabriella, noticing the faint bruise she had tried to conceal and how her eyes darted away from his when she thought he wasn¡¯t watching. He suspected her silence revealed more about her pain than her fear. He would confront it eventually. For now, he needed to slip away, retreating into the shadows where his true self could roam freely.


    ¡°I need to gather more supplies,¡± Wilbur said softly. ¡°Rest. Your boys will heal.¡± His voice, though calm, carried a sense of finality. Before Gabriella could reply, Wilbur had disappeared into the dark corridor, leaving behind only the scent of herbs and the faint glow of vials.


    ___


    Weeks passed. The boys got better. Now that they had their energy back, they would not stop babbling. Claude and Ryne were a welcome presence for them. Wilbur watched as Gabriella and her sons passed through the monastery¡¯s shadowed archway, her promise to keep his methods secret lingering in the chilly night air. Despite her words of gratitude, he could sense her unease. The hesitation in her eyes as she glanced back, as if she had caught a glimpse of something hidden beneath his carefully crafted exterior.


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    He remained in the empty courtyard, his pale fingers brushing against the cold stone wall while he reflected on his latest act of healing. Yet, despite this success, a profound emptiness settled in his chest, pressing harder as he watched Gabriella¡¯s family fade into the darkness.


    Wilbur retreated to his quarters, where the light barely penetrated, the familiar shadowy corners offering him solace. Yet, he couldn''t escape the relentless thirst building inside him.


    In aiding Gabriella¡¯s sons, he had experienced the fleeting joy of a healer¡¯s role, the illusion of being part of this world of mortal lives. But the weight of reality pressed down on him: he would never truly belong. He was a creature of shadows, destined to hide his true nature from those he aided, unable to fully embrace the light.


    With a weary sigh, Wilbur turned to the narrow window, his eyes wandering over the distant rooftops of Rothfield. There would be other families, other children with fevered brows and pale faces, and he would remain here, ready to offer his rare gifts as long as he could stay hidden in the monastery''s shadows. Yet, he understood that this fragile peace could shatter at any moment, perhaps due to his own escalating need. Even the Order of the Kindflame, ever watchful against the darkness, couldn¡¯t perceive the monster lurking among them. How long could he shield them from that truth, and himself from his own cravings?


    In the twilight, Wilbur nestled further into the shadows, a bittersweet longing swelling in his chest. He would persist in this peculiar existence, bound to both life and death, as both healer and vampire. The life he had crafted in Rothfield was a fragile equilibrium, one he understood would soon be challenged. In the stillness of the monastery, he braced himself for the unavoidable, prepared to confront whatever awaited him in the dim, fractured tranquility he had forged from the night.


    But then, a noise. Wilbur turned back.


    Gabriella stood at the entrance of the monastery, her three sons by her side, their cheeks flushed and their eyes shining brighter than they had in days. She regarded Wilbur with a blend of gratitude and apprehension, but as their eyes met, her expression softened.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands fidgeted with a small, embroidered cloth, and she stepped closer. ¡°I know¡­ I know there¡¯s something unusual about your ways, Brother Wilbur. But my sons are safe because of you, and I don¡¯t know how to repay such a kindness.¡±


    Wilbur looked down, feeling an unexpected warmth swell in his chest. It was rare for anyone to regard him so openly, to speak with such heartfelt kindness. ¡°There¡¯s no need for repayment, Gabriella. It¡¯s¡­ enough to know they are safe.¡±


    Gabriella hesitated, then reached out, placing the embroidered cloth in his hand. It was small and worn from years of care, yet the intricate stitching¡ªflowers and vines woven together¡ªformed a modest but beautiful design. ¡°This belonged to my mother,¡± she said, her voice quivering. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but I want you to have it. You¡¯ve given me back my sons. I¡¯ll never forget what you¡¯ve done.¡±


    For a moment, Wilbur lost himself in the weight of the cloth, feeling the warmth it held from Gabriella¡¯s hands. He looked up to see her smiling, a tentative yet sincere expression that eased his heart. She no longer regarded him with fear, only gratitude, her gaze softening as if, for a brief moment, she saw beyond the shadows he carried.


    He nodded, his voice gentle as he replied, ¡°May your family find peace and health. I am¡­ grateful for this gift.¡±


    Gabriella inclined her head and urged her sons forward. Each boy offered Wilbur a shy, grateful smile, and he felt a faint warmth where their small hands brushed against his robe as they passed. As they departed, he watched them go, Gabriella casting one last glance back at him.

 Woodrows Journey II

    Lydia paused in the midst of arranging a cluster of flower vases on the windowsill, her fingers lingering on the delicate petals as she observed Woodrow. The inn buzzed with life: children¡¯s voices rose in a lively chorus, the clatter of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen where Annette was busy preparing supper, and the steady thump of Ealhstan¡¯s boots on the stairs resonated as he carried heavy crates filled with linens. Yet, amidst the commotion, Woodrow¡¯s voice captured her attention like a warm breeze on a chilly day.


    He sat cross-legged on the floor, the fire casting shadows that danced across his features, highlighting the gentle curve of his smile and the sparkle in his green eyes. Surrounding him were the orphans, dressed in mismatched clothing and with cheeks still rosy from play. They leaned in eagerly, their eyes wide with wonder. The flickering golden light of the fire softened their expressions, making the room feel smaller and cozier.


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t let the shadows scare you,¡± Woodrow said, his voice smooth and melodic like honey. He brought his hands together, fingers weaving an intricate dance as if he were conjuring the story itself from thin air. The children watched, entranced, their small bodies huddled close enough that their breaths mingled in the warm air. ¡°For where there is the glow of this blue-orange candle, there is the Kindflame. And when you see a blue candle flickering, know that Brother Ryne is near, guarding you from the cold chaos that tries to creep in.¡±


    The smallest child, a girl with wild curls that seemed to have a life of their own, reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of Woodrow¡¯s robe. Her eyes sparkled with innocence. Woodrow knew she experienced far too much for her young age. ¡°Will the Kindflame keep us safe even when it¡¯s dark?¡± she whispered, her voice quivering like a leaf in the wind.


    Woodrow¡¯s expression softened, the playful glint in his eyes shifting slightly. He lifted a hand and gently tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. ¡°Especially then, little one,¡± he murmured, his voice low and meant just for her. ¡°Even in the darkest hour, it shines the brightest.¡±


    The girl¡¯s face shifted to wonder as she snuggled closer to the older boy beside her, who wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulder. A wave of contentment passed through the group, and for a moment, the creaking of the wooden beams and the steady crackle of the fire were the only sounds filling the air.


    Lydia¡¯s eyes shimmered as she took in the scene, her heart swelling with gratitude and hope. She turned her gaze to Annette, who glanced over her shoulder from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Annette¡¯s face broke into a warm smile, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She wiped her hands and approached, a wooden spoon held firmly in one hand.


    ¡°Brother Woodrow always knows how to spin a tale,¡± Annette said softly, leaning down to kiss the top of the curly-haired girl¡¯s head. The girl giggled, a sound that shattered the tension like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.


    Lydia replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she met Annette¡¯s gaze. ¡°He¡¯s given them a world where they can dream again.¡±


    Woodrow looked up, catching Lydia¡¯s eye with a subtle nod. He looked up at the inn. It was their sanctuary; its dark wooden walls infused with more than just the labor that built it. It held the laughter of children, the murmur of old stories.


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    The heavy thud of Ealhstan¡¯s boots announced his return. He stepped into the room, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the doorway, and set down a crate with a grin. ¡°The last of the linens are up,¡± he declared, his deep voice rumbling. ¡°And just in time for supper.¡±


    The aroma of herbs from Wilbur¡¯s garden wafted into the air as Annette rushed back to the kitchen, the pot on the fire bubbling with a hearty stew. The children jumped to their feet, laughter echoing as they dashed to set the table, their earlier fears forgotten in the warmth and safety of the inn.


    Woodrow lingered by the hearth a moment longer, his gaze drifting to the fire where a faint blue flicker glimmered for just a heartbeat. A smile crept onto his lips, and he whispered softly, ¡°Even in the dark, we guard the flame.¡±


    Lydia observed the scene, a rare tear shimmering in her eye. Woodrow noticed her and approached with an effortless grace. ¡°Are our boys well?¡±


    Woodrow smiled up at her. ¡°They are well.¡± He closed his eyes and wished them well on their journey, where the road led them.


    Lydia¡¯s gaze swept across the room. Annette, now blossomed into a young woman with a nurturing spirit, moved among the children, offering kind words and helping them tie their scarves. She had become a big sister to them all, embodying warmth and patience. The sight brought a smile to Lydia¡¯s face. ¡°We couldn¡¯t have done it without you and the other brothers,¡± she expressed. ¡°You¡¯ve given us more than just safety. You¡¯ve given us a small corner of the world where goodness can thrive.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile broadened, a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through his carefully crafted facade. ¡°Hope can truly flourish in a palace like this.¡± His gaze shifted to Annette, who had just lifted one of the smaller boys and spun him around, eliciting a chorus of delighted giggles. ¡°And perhaps it is those who carry hope in their hearts who keep the light shining the brightest.¡±


    The inn was filled with a warm scent, a blend of woodsmoke, herbs, and the hearty meals that always simmered in the large pot over the hearth, made from the crops Wilbur grew. The aroma filled every corner, bringing smiles to everyone who walked in. The walls seemed to vibrate with life, as if the very beams had soaked up the laughter and stories shared within.


    The inn felt alive, almost breathing with its own spirit. The sturdy beams resonated softly under the weight of laughter, as if the wood held onto every whispered tale and echoed giggle. The air was filled with the warm, hearty aroma of the stew bubbling away in the kitchen, its essence drawn from the gardens that Wilbur had tended with quiet care. Each breath was infused with smoke and herbs, comforting and familiar, wrapping the inn in a soothing embrace that eased the burdens of weary souls.


    Ealhstan¡¯s heavy boots heralded his arrival as he made his way down the stairs, the sound deep and steady. He carried a stack of folded blankets, his broad shoulders making the spacious room feel smaller and cozier. He placed the blankets down and looked at Lydia and Woodrow with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. ¡°This place is as strong as a mountain,¡± he declared, pride evident in every word. ¡°Nothing will ever break this home.¡±


    Woodrow tilted his head slightly. ¡°And it is a home,¡± he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes returned to the children, who were now captivated as Annette shared tales of adventures and light. The glow of blue candles and the stories of courageous monks sparkled in their eyes, nurturing dreams that chased away even the deepest shadows.


    Outside, the night loomed, vast and frigid. Yet inside these walls, warmth and hope thrummed like a living heartbeat. As the last rays of daylight surrendered to darkness, the inn stood strong, brimming with untold stories and a promise that goodness could prevail, even in a world fraught with chaos.

 Rynes Journey I

    The moon hung low over the small town, casting a silvery glow on cobblestones slick with mist. Each stone trembled under the sheen, creating a shifting dance of reflections that flowed like liquid silver. Shadows stretched long and dark between the huddled, crumbling buildings, their jagged forms blending seamlessly with the fog that curled through the alleys. This fog was more than just a presence; it was a sickness that clung to the skin, seeping into the breath of every living thing. It whispered doubt into the hearts of those who dared to linger outside, gnawing at their courage like a hungry rat.


    The streets were silent, haunted by the distant, uneasy murmurs that seeped from behind shuttered windows and bolted doors. Wooden beams creaked as if sighing under the weight of the fear within. It was a town teetering on the edge of its own heartbeat, caught in a constant flinch.


    In an alley, shrouded by the deeper darkness where moonlight dared not reach, Woodrow stood with a calmness that contrasted the tension gripping the village. His crimson hair caught fleeting silver glimmers, threads of moonlight weaving through his vibrant strands. The subtle, predatory glint in his green eyes hinted at both danger and allure, a warning wrapped in charm. He seemed to be carved from the night itself, exuding a quiet power that promised both salvation and ruin.


    Ryne stood beside him, smaller and wrapped in the loose folds of his monk¡¯s robe. His fingers, pale as frost, twisted nervously in the fabric, forming restless knots as he tried to steady himself. The strange vein-like markings on his face pulsed subtly under the moonlight, giving him the look of a porcelain figure that was cracked but not broken.


    ¡°Steady, Ryne,¡± Woodrow said, his voice low and smooth. ¡°Your kind of charm is not to deceive. It¡¯s to offer comfort in a moment of doubt, to cradle someone¡¯s fear and soothe it without completely smothering it.¡±


    Ryne swallowed, a shiver running through his shoulders. His eyes were wide, pools of blue reflecting the flickering light above and the deeper, blue-glow flicker of hope within. Tonight was more than just a test; it was essential. If he and Claude were to navigate the corrupted lands where trust was as rare as gold and betrayal grew like wild thorns, he would need to wield this newfound skill with precision.


    The air between them was still, anticipating the first steps of their target as she moved from shadow into light. The village seemed to hold its breath, the silence only interrupted by the gentle creak of wooden signs swaying on rusted chains. Woodrow¡¯s eyes remained fixed on Ryne, the slight curve of his smile offering both reassurance and a challenge. The small monk inhaled deeply, allowing Woodrow¡¯s words to settle within him, grounding him as he readied himself to confront fear with something even stronger: trust, fragile and tentative yet flickering like the flame of a blue candle in the dark.


    ¡°Who will we practice on?¡± Ryne¡¯s voice was little more than a whisper, swallowed by the heavy, damp air. The quiet pressed down on them, thick and stifling, as if the night itself was listening.


    Woodrow¡¯s smile widened, sharp as the crescent moon above, a spark of amusement dancing in his green eyes. His red hair caught the silvery light, casting fleeting glimmers that seemed almost ablaze. He leaned in, close enough for Ryne to catch the faint scent of aged parchment and rain on stone. ¡°The merchant¡¯s wife,¡± he said, each word wrapped in a smooth cadence. ¡°She comes to the well after dark, believing no one notices. Her husband drinks himself into a stupor most nights, and she seeks the cool breath of night to soothe her anger.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    As if summoned by Woodrow¡¯s voice, footsteps echoed from around the corner, a soft, rhythmic patter that paused intermittently. The fabric of a thick wool cloak whispered against the stone, brushing nervously with each stop. The woman¡¯s steps were tentative, marked by the caution of someone all too aware of the dangers lurking in the dark. Ryne¡¯s pulse quickened, each beat pressing against the vein-like markings on his face, making them twitch as if they had a life of their own. He cast a sidelong glance at Woodrow, seeking reassurance.


    Woodrow met his gaze and nodded. ¡°Breathe,¡± he murmured, the word hanging in the air like an unspoken incantation. ¡°Let your eyes soften. Hold your hands as if you¡¯re offering something sacred. Your Saint Gaelmar said you can learn our powers. So you will. Channel your kindflame and instead of merely healing the land, let it warm your voice, your eyes.¡±


    Ryne took a slow breath, the chill of the night seeping deep into his chest, sharpening his nerves into a cold focus. He channeled the kindflame and followed Woodrow¡¯s guidance, feeling the tangible warmth envelop him like a cloak, urging him onward. He stepped into the sickly glow of moonlight just as the merchant¡¯s wife emerged from the mist. Her eyes, wide and dark beneath the shadow of her hood, met his with the intensity of a startled doe.


    ¡°Good evening, madam,¡± Ryne said, keeping his voice low and gentle. There was a softness in his tone, like a warm invitation to a cozy fire. The woman tensed for a moment, but the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed slightly. The tension in her eyes faded, as if she had just recalled a distant memory.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see you there,¡± she replied, her voice hesitant, gripping the basket she held a little tighter. Her gaze darted between Ryne and the shadowy figure behind him¡ªWoodrow, observing with a sly smile that suggested he approved of the encounter.


    Ryne shifted, the fabric of his robe rustling softly. He tilted his head, revealing his marked face in the dim light. The dark veins on his pale skin appeared almost ornamental in the gentle glow, resembling an unusual blessing rather than a curse. ¡°We mean you no harm,¡± he assured her, his voice carrying a sincere plea. He took a careful step forward, his movement. ¡°The night can be dangerous, and it would put my mind at ease to know you are safe. May we walk with you for a while?¡±


    The merchant¡¯s wife blinked, uncertainty flickering across her face. The silence hung heavily, like a taut string ready to snap. Her lips parted, and for a moment, the miasma seemed to hiss around them. But then, she nodded slightly, the movement as delicate as a moth¡¯s wing.


    ¡°If you¡¯d like,¡± she whispered, her gaze returning to Woodrow, who bowed his head elegantly. The moonlight glinted in his green eyes, transforming them into liquid emeralds, shimmering with a playful hint of secrets.


    ¡°Lead the way, madam,¡± he said, his voice smooth as silk. He stepped aside, allowing Ryne to move forward, the boy¡¯s eyes alight.


    As they walked, Ryne¡¯s voice filled the stillness, spinning small tales of blue flames flickering bravely against the cold, words that softened the hiss of the miasma and pushed back the shadows. For a brief moment, as their footsteps echoed against the worn stone of the square, the corruption felt less stifling, and the night less harsh.

 Vol. II Chapter 2 (Part 1)

    ¡ªROTHFIELD MONASTERY¡ª


    The mist hung thick in the forest, heavier than usual, curling and shifting as though it had a mind of its own. Claude slouched under the weight of the sack on his back. The grains inside were useless; dried up, brittle things. Still, he hoped Wilbur might work his alchemy on them, and maybe Saint Gaelmar would hear Ryne¡¯s prayers, too. It seems he favored only Ryne during these grey days.


    He sighed, drawing the damp, cold air deep into his lungs, and stepped into the forest¡¯s blackened shade.


    He should¡¯ve been used to this by now¡ªthe quiet that pressed down like a hand, the gnarled brambles clawing at his legs, the endless trees looming like watchful sentinels. But something about tonight was different. The mist felt alive, heavy, and every breath he took seemed to leave a trace of unease in his chest.


    The path was still there, faint but familiar, winding through the roots and underbrush. Then the mist thickened, and it felt like it was pressing down on him, curling into his throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. Claude stumbled, pausing to adjust the sack on his back, but it only felt heavier. He looked around for the landmarks he knew¡ªthe split oak, the cluster of sharp rocks¡ªbut they were gone, swallowed by the fog.


    He froze. Panic flared in his chest. His breath came in short bursts now, ragged and too fast. The weight on his shoulders pulled him down like a lead anchor. For a moment, he wanted to call out, to yell for Ryne, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. The mist was in his lungs, in his head.


    Then, he heard the bell.


    It started faint, barely there, and then it rang through the dark forest, deep and resonant. It made him feel steady, its sound sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, the weight on his back seemed to ease, and his breaths evened out. The mist began to pull back, swirling in retreat like smoke going out through the gaps of windows and doors.


    As the fog lifted, the trees reappeared, their familiar shapes guiding him again. The path stretched ahead, clearer now, leading him forward. He stumbled once but kept moving. The bell stopped ringing, and Claude hurried towards the arched trees that led to the monastery, that led to Ryne, before the mist enveloped him again.


    And then he saw it: Rothfield Monastery. Its towers rose against the night sky, solid and safe, a haven waiting to take him in.


    <hr>


    A small crowd had gathered in the middle of the field, their murmurs rising in the cool air. The soil beneath their feet was dark and soft, stained by the recent rains. At the center of it all stood the giant monk, Ealhstan, grinning like a boy with a new toy. His massive hand rested proudly atop a bell so large it seemed impossible to move.


    One man exclaimed, ¡°Well, that explains all the iron we¡¯ve been gathering from the mountain.¡±


    ¡°But that was just a week ago¡­ how¡¯d he make such a thing?¡± His friend answered.


    ¡°It¡¯s Brother Ealhstan,¡± was the only reply.


    With his size, Ealhstan saw Claude approaching and waved to him, his grin widening. Before Claude could fully approach, the monk bent down, scooped up a smaller figure, who was Ryne, and perched him effortlessly on his shoulder.


    Claude stopped in his tracks, feeling lighter all of a sudden, as though the mist did not weigh on his lungs just moments before. Ryne balanced easily on Ealhstan¡¯s shoulder, one hand steadying himself while the other shot up into the air.


    ¡°Watch this!¡± Ryne called out, his voice bright and clear.


    Claude froze, watching as Ryne placed both hands on one side of the enormous bell. Ealhstan gave the other side a firm smack, and the bell rang out¡ªa deep, resonant sound that seemed to pour warmth into every corner of the field. The crowd gasped, then broke into easy laughter. The sound lingered in the air, wrapping around Claude and settling deep in his chest. He smiled.


    As the crowd drifted back to the communal fire at the edge of the field, Ealhstan rolled the bell toward the church, leaving Ryne behind. Claude took a deep breath and stepped forward, clutching the sack of withered grains to his chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s not much,¡± Claude said, his voice soft. He held out the sack, suddenly shy. ¡°But I thought your people could use it. Maybe you and Wilbur can make something out of these.¡±


    ¡°How thoughtful!¡± Ryne¡¯s voice was warm, and the sincerity in his tone made Claude¡¯s ears burn. He reached into the sack, scooping up a handful of the shriveled grains. His smile was wide, genuine, and unguarded. It made Claude¡¯s breath catch.


    Ryne let the grains trickle slowly into his other palm, watching them as if they were gold. Behind him, rows of new potatoes and leeks swayed gently in the breeze, green and healthy, untouched by the blight that had ruined so much of the land.


    Claude¡¯s eyes drifted back to Ryne¡¯s hands. For a fleeting moment, he thought those hands could bring life to anything they touched. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against Ryne¡¯s knuckles.


    The contact was brief but electric. Claude¡¯s heart stumbled in his chest, and he jerked his hand back, stammering an apology.


    Ryne only laughed, a soft, musical sound, and waved it off as though it were nothing. He turned, handing the sack of grains to Wilbur, who had appeared silently in the doorway of the church.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Claude nodded awkwardly in Wilbur¡¯s direction, his face still warm, and watched as the monk disappeared back inside, the sack slung over his shoulder. Ryne followed him not long after, pointing Claude to the courtyard to wait.


    <hr>


    The ancient stone walls of the monastery courtyard seemed to absorb sound, leaving only the soft rustle of ivy and the gentle clatter of grain sacks as Ryne worked beside Claude.


    As expected, Wilbur emerged with Ryne following close behind, carrying a pouch of revitalized grain. Claude noticed Ryne swaying slightly, his complexion paler than usual. Despite this, Ryne smiled and sank onto the stone bench beside him, catching his breath in silence.


    ¡°Ealhstan has been busy lately,¡± Claude said, breaking the stillness. His gaze wandered to the curious oak tree and the neatly arranged stone benches scattered across the growing courtyard.


    Ryne chuckled, his voice light but tired. ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it? My brothers always need something to do. Idle hands and all that...¡± He yawned, and Claude winced, uneasy at the thought of him overexerting himself.


    But Ryne rose to his feet and extended a hand toward Claude. Without a word, they set to work.


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    As the final sack of grain was unloaded, Ryne¡¯s hand briefly rested on Claude¡¯s shoulder, guiding him toward the arched doorway of the monastery. Though the touch was fleeting, Claude felt an unexpected warmth through Ryne¡¯s cold fingers.


    Ryne turned to him, the sweat on his brow beginning to dry in the cool wind. His mind wandered, troubled. He could sense the Chaos circling them, probing for weaknesses now that Ealhstan had regained his senses. No longer shaking the earth to create barricades, Ealhstan had opened critical trade routes, allowing aid and merchants to reach interconnected villages and towns near Rothfield. Frustrated, the Chaos had turned to the mist¡ªobscuring the land and sowing unnatural fear in the hearts of the weak.


    Ryne fought to hold his smile as Claude broke the silence. ¡°The blasted priest has come back to Rothfield. He¡¯s riling up the townsfolk, talking about things happening ¡®beyond the dark forest.¡¯ As if we don¡¯t already distrust our neighbors enough.¡±


    Ryne measured his response carefully. ¡°We¡¯ll be careful.¡±


    But Claude didn¡¯t seem reassured. Ryne saw the worry etched into his friend¡¯s face and knew what he was thinking. No matter how careful they were, rumors would still spread¡ªof the houses rising faster than human hands should allow and the sick recovering with unnatural speed.


    Back at the nave, Claude helped Ryne wipe down the pews. As they stepped deeper into the monastery, the light dimmed to a faint glow, flickering where the candles had nearly burned down to their stubs. The air carried the scent of aged wood and wax, mingling with a faint dampness from the stone walls. Shadows stretched long and unnaturally across the corridor, shifting as though alive.


    Claude froze mid-step at the faint creak of a door somewhere ahead, the sound reverberating through the silence. An unnatural chill settled over him, raising goosebumps along his arms.


    Ryne noticed Claude¡¯s unease and placed a steadying arm on his shoulder. Focusing inward, he channeled the warmth of Saint Gaelmar into his aura. Slowly, he felt his friend soften under the soothing energy.


    Claude blinked at Ryne, then smiled. He rolled his shoulders back and stretched, as if shaking off an unseen weight. Whistling softly, he grinned and returned to cleaning the wooden benches.


    Ryne watched him for a moment before his gaze flicked toward the statue of Gaelmar. He hid his own fatigue, catching his breath in the flickering candlelight.


    ¡ªCHURCH¡ª


    A soft knock broke the quiet, and the heavy wooden door creaked open. Wilbur stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room like a blade. The flickering candlelight cast long, jagged shadows across his lean figure, his presence heavy and imposing.


    As Wilbur approached the pews where Ryne and Claude sat, Ryne¡¯s calm demeanor faltered. A flicker of something cold and dark passed through his eyes¡ªfleeting, but enough to catch Claude¡¯s attention. The farmer frowned, but before he could voice his concern, Ryne placed a firm hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Claude, wait for me outside,¡± Ryne said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.


    Claude hesitated, his gaze darting between the two brothers. The unspoken tension in the room made him uneasy, but Ryne¡¯s words carried weight. With a reluctant nod, he rose, casting one last glance at Wilbur before stepping out and closing the door behind him with a muted thud.


    Silence settled like a shroud, broken only by the faint crackle of dying candles. Wilbur crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°The mist grows thicker,¡± he said, his voice low, almost a growl. ¡°It¡¯s adapting. This¡­ Father Clinton could stir more than just rumors if he keeps running his mouth. The townsfolk¡¯s fear is fertile ground for Chaos to take root.¡±


    Ryne nodded, his jaw tightening. ¡°As long as I preach the warmth of Saint Gaelmar, our people will stay tethered. As long as you heal and feed them, Ealhstan secures their homes, and Woodrow keeps their spirits light. But you¡¯re right. Clinton¡¯s meddling could cause ripples we¡¯re not ready for.¡±


    The brothers exchanged a long look, the memory of Knox and Blake heavy in the air¡ªmen who had once stirred the masses to reckless action or kept them docile with fear. They both knew the power of words in the mouths of the righteous¡ªor the desperate.


    Wilbur¡¯s eyes glinted, sharp as steel. ¡°But how do we handle someone who¡¯s far beyond our borders?¡±


    Ryne¡¯s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, the weight of the question settling heavily between them.


    ¡ªGRANGES¡ª


    The granges were quiet, the stillness broken only by the distant murmur of villagers gathered around their communal fire. Brother Woodrow was already among them, his red hair catching the flames¡¯ glow as he spun stories and laughter like a master weaver. He was a starburst of joy, and Claude couldn¡¯t help but wish he could borrow him for one supper in their empty kitchen¡ªjust once¡ªso his mother and sister might laugh again.


    Claude adjusted the sack slung over his shoulder, its weight now replaced with the comforting heft of freshly baked bread. At the edge of the granges, he paused and turned back, his eyes catching Ryne standing in the doorway, outlined by the faint amber light spilling from within.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring more grain soon,¡± Claude said, his voice steady, though something unspoken pulled at his chest. ¡°To give to you. My harvest is yours. And¡­ thank you for today. For helping me.¡±


    Ryne smiled faintly, his hands clasped in front of him. ¡°Anytime.¡±


    As Claude stepped into the mist, his form was gradually swallowed by the creeping gray. Ryne lingered in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the retreating silhouette. The ache in his chest was sharp, almost unbearable. He spread his hands outward, as though the wind might carry the warmth of his well-wishes and prayers to wherever Claude would go¡ªa ribbon stretching between them, a scarf encircling his shoulders in unseen protection.

 Vol. II Chapter 2 (Part 2)

    ---BELLTOWER---


    Ryne climbed the belltower at dawn. He had woken later than usual, jolting awake when the faint light of dawn hit his eyes. Not that there was any sunlight; the sky had always been blocked out. For the past few days, rain had only worsened the gloom, a bad omen for the crops.


    The mist was thick here, too. Ryne whistled, and Ember arrived, carrying the candles. Holding out his hands, he called upon Saint Gaelmar¡¯s flame. Instantly, the candles sprang to life, their light driving the mist out through the open windows. Though the flames offered protection, they couldn¡¯t fully banish the chill.


    Ryne approached the bell, his fingertips brushing against Ealhstan¡¯s expertly crafted stonework. Gaelmar had appeared to him in a vision during one of his otherwise empty dreams. Following the instructions given, Ryne had crafted the bell of metal and iron as quickly as possible. Its ringing was meant to banish the otherworldly chill creeping into the hearts of men¡ªjust as Ryne had banished Blake¡¯s spirit from within himself with relentless prayer. The mist¡¯s curse, too, would falter.


    But only if the bell was rung. It had to be rung at the same time Ryne retreated for his prayers to keep Blake¡¯s spirit at bay. And only Ealhstan¡¯s strength could make its sound carry far enough, reaching even as distant as Claude¡¯s farm.


    Ryne picked up the heavy hammer and struck the bell with all his might. Though his attempt was weak compared to Ealhstan¡¯s, the sound was enough to rouse the sleeping villagers from their uneasy rest.


    <hr>


    ---GRANGES---


    Agate and Harlan ushered a group of wary, weary travelers into Rothfield. The newcomers were thin, their faces hollow, their clothes shabby. Ryne guessed they hailed from starving villages or impoverished towns. Their arrival had become more frequent since Ealhstan stopped shaking the earth from his chambers deep within the mountain.


    His breath puffed into faint clouds, dissolving quickly in the cold air. As he approached, he heard the rasp of coughing¡ªelders bent and hacking, children wheezing. He had instructed Wilbur to prioritize the sickly children and elderly, but the growing strain on the village was undeniable. Now even the able-bodied villagers struggled to complete daily tasks.


    At night, Ealhstan helped by chopping trees as if they were weeds, building cottages for the newcomers. But his work could only continue under the cover of darkness. For now, these travelers had to share lodging in Agate and Harlan¡¯s tent or rest around the communal fire.


    Ryne passed the two elders to greet the newcomers, noting that Agate¡¯s complexion was pale, her coughing heavier than Harlan¡¯s. Pressing his palm to her brow, he urged her to rest by the fire.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take over. Go ahead,¡± he said softly.


    Agate shook her head stubbornly. ¡°This is nothing,¡± she insisted.


    Ryne suppressed a sigh. As usual, her pride wouldn¡¯t let her admit she needed rest. Still, her resolve reminded him of what a leader should be¡ªstrong and dependable. He instructed Harlan to assist her while he stepped beyond the stone gates to welcome the arrivals.


    Ryne kept his habit close, covering his veins. His small stature often made people overlook him, but the wariness in their eyes was unmistakable. Even so, he endured their distrustful stares, grateful for the occasional curt nod or whispered thanks.


    <hr>


    At noon, Ryne spotted a figure hunched near a boulder on the roadside.


    He approached the figure¡ªa woman clutching her knees, her body trembling with violent coughs. Her lips were tinged with an unnatural blue, and her sunken eyes barely acknowledged his presence.


    Ryne knelt beside her, pulling a small vial from the pouch at his waist. Inside, the faint amber liquid glowed softly, a rare and precious remedy.


    She flinched at first as he uncorked the vial, but eventually allowed him to tilt it to her lips. The remedy trickled down her throat. Slowly, her coughing eased, though her breaths remained shallow.


    "This won¡¯t hold for long," Ryne murmured, brushing damp hair away from her forehead. The words were meant more for himself than for her.


    <hr>


    ---INFIRMARY---


    In the heart of the monastery, Wilbur slammed bottles onto the table and swirled medicinal potions with feverish intensity. Though he didn¡¯t need to breathe, he was heaving. He had a comical habit of sticking his thumb out whenever he needed full concentration, and now it jutted outward as he worked. So focused was he that he didn¡¯t hear Ryne enter the room.


    The infirmary was a chaos of scents and colors. Tables were laden with jars of crushed herbs and vials of vibrant liquids, their mingled aromas forming a sharp, metallic tang. Wilbur stood at the center of it all, his hands stained crimson as he mixed a poultice. The flickering lantern light cast long shadows across his sharp features, making him appear spectral.


    The plan was to dilute the medicine with fresh spring water so that everyone could get a share of the remedy. But even diluted, the medicine needed a baseline strength to work at all.


    Wilbur finally noticed Ryne when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked at him and sighed heavily.


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to be enough,¡± Wilbur said, letting the implication hang in the air.


    Ryne surveyed the array of work on the table, his gaze falling on two bottles of weakly diluted medicine. He closed his eyes for a moment, then combined the two into a larger bottle.


    ¡°Agate and Harlan first,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re our pillars. People depend on them. Then heal two of the sickest and one able-bodied person.¡±


    The two shared a silent glance before nodding. ¡°I need supplies, Ryne,¡± Wilbur said. ¡°And there aren¡¯t enough strong people left to defend the camp, watch over Rothfield, and gather what we need from the mountains.¡±


    The door creaked open, interrupting them. Gabriella entered, her silhouette briefly framed against the gray, rain-slicked world outside. A burlap sack hung over her shoulder, its contents clinking softly. Her face was stern, lined with exhaustion, but her brown eyes burned with determination.


    Wilbur and Ryne turned to greet her as she dropped the sack onto the nearest table, exhaling sharply. ¡°The guards are doubling their patrols,¡± she said. ¡°I had to take the long way around.¡±


    Wilbur glanced at her. ¡°Were you followed?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she replied, unpacking the sack and pulling out bundles of smuggled herbs and small bottles of tinctures. ¡°But Father Clinton and Lord Bahram have increased security. They¡¯re keeping a lookout for anyone with information about this area. The dark forest confuses their steps, still. I hope it will last.¡± Her gaze shifted to the cots lining the room, where people moaned and groaned in pain. She bit her lip, unable to look away.


    Wilbur answered her unspoken question. ¡°I haven¡¯t developed a cure yet.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He turned to Ryne. ¡°I know what I need to do,¡± he said, his hands hovering over the mortar. ¡°I¡¯ve analyzed their blood. But to create the cure, I¡¯ll have to go deep into Mount Lhottem¡¯s caverns for the amethysts.¡±


    For a moment, the room fell silent, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern. Then Wilbur resumed grinding the mixture into a fine paste. ¡°We need more time,¡± he added quietly.


    Gabriella nodded and turned to Ryne, who stood behind Wilbur. She gave him a small smile before walking toward the door. Ryne followed her, closing it gently behind them.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°For the herbs, and for helping those people find their way here.¡±


    She glanced back at him with a shrug. ¡°It¡¯s not like they¡¯re going to find help in town, Brother.¡±


    <hr>


    ---GRANGES---


    Ealhstan hoisted another stone into place, his muscles straining under the weight, though his face betrayed no effort. Newcomers stared from a distance, some crossing themselves as they watched his strength in awe. He shifted another boulder aside and caught the eye of a young girl who always seemed to watch him like an eager sparrow. She giggled as he gave her a wink.


    Some of the other children took tentative steps closer, but firm hands pulled them back. These were leaderless groups from different parts of the land, wary of one another. They camped in smaller clusters, keeping their distance from the main communal fire of Kent. Ealhstan hoped Woodrow¡¯s charm, Ryne¡¯s kindness, and Wilbur¡¯s meals would eventually draw them together.


    Ealhstan turned back to his work, chopping trees and quickly shaping them into crude huts. For now, they would suffice. Once everyone had shelter, he planned to rebuild them into proper cottages. The night before, he had broken up a heated argument between two men over who should receive a cottage first.


    ¡°Enough,¡± he had said firmly. ¡°Families and the sick will be prioritized. In the meantime, you two will settle this and learn to be neighbors. I understand your fear, but while you¡¯re here at Rothfield, you must trust each other.¡±


    The men stopped bickering but built invisible walls between them, glaring silently. Ealhstan sighed. As he turned to leave, he spotted familiar red hair emerging from the monastery. About time, he muttered under his breath.


    Woodrow¡¯s lute danced with lively notes, drawing children away from their parents¡¯ watchful eyes. Starting at the communal fire in Kent, his music spread joy to the smaller camps on the outskirts. His fingers strummed a rhythm that turned solemn faces into smiles as he sang an old story of a soldier becoming a knight.


    A fleeting memory flickered through Ealhstan¡¯s mind. He saw himself in polished armor, standing amid the chaos of battle, his voice commanding men to hold the line. The clang of swords and cries of the wounded filled his ears¡ªthen vanished, as abruptly as the memory had come. It was like sunlight glinting off a pool, there and gone in an instant.


    ¡°Do you think I could be a knight one day?¡± a boy asked Woodrow, clutching a stick as if it were a sword.


    Woodrow grinned, hiding his fangs behind a gentle smile. ¡°Every knight starts as a dreamer, lad. Keep dreaming, and you might even surpass the greatest of them.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give him ideas,¡± the boy¡¯s mother called, turning to her son. ¡°I know almost anyone can be knighted now, with so many nobles lost to the pestilence. But don¡¯t leave your mother, dear boy.¡±


    The boy¡¯s chest, which had puffed with determination moments before, deflated.


    Far away, Ealhstan stood still, trying to hold onto the memory, but it slipped through his fingers like water. His stomach churned. With a grim expression, he decided to head to the infirmary to feed, leaving the bright tune of Woodrow¡¯s lute behind.


    Here¡¯s the edited version of your scene, cleaned up for clarity and readability while preserving your original intent and tone:


    Ealhstan nearly bumped into Claude and Ryne as they stood in the chapel. The young boy''s eyes were fixed on Woodrow, listening intently to the song. His heart raced, and he realized he was genuinely excited by the story. Ryne had once told him that Claude dreamed of becoming a soldier, like the boy who had spoken earlier. They had both agreed it was a sad dream¡ªto think of oneself as brave while nobles viewed soldiers as disposable.


    But Ealhstan had seen Claude fight with his own eyes. Even Woodrow had been impressed by him. As Ryne left to bless the camp''s humble food, Ealhstan placed a hand on Claude''s shoulder in a small gesture of support.


    He took a step away when Claude spoke softly, ¡°I want to become stronger.¡±


    Ealhstan turned back to face him. ¡°Yes, but also learn to fight better,¡± he said, his voice reflective. Memories surfaced as he continued. ¡°You must learn to wield a proper shield, to stop enemies before they strike. You need to protect your home and prevent further bloodshed.¡±


    Looking over at Ryne as he blessed the food, he added, ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough for protecting him, lad. Keep doing that. You¡¯re already doing more than enough.¡±


    Claude stared at him, his lips parted slightly, as if searching for words. But Ealhstan left him a smile as he walked over to Wilbur¡¯s infirmary to drink.


    <hr>


    ---CHURCH---


    The dimly lit chapel buzzed with restless voices, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and sweat. A storm raged outside, casting an oppressive gloom over the room. Villagers huddled together, their faces tight with fear and anger.


    Claude stood beside Ryne, both of them trying to calm the growing unrest. What had started as an opportunity for unity was spiraling into chaos. Ryne had even asked Claude and Wilbur to prepare pheasant stew to foster a sense of peace.


    ¡°The mist is divine punishment!¡± an old man bellowed, his voice carrying over the storm.


    The pale-skinned, dark-robed brothers stood in a line, their exhaustion apparent. Another villager jabbed a gnarled finger at them, shouting accusations of blasphemy.


    Woodrow bristled, ready to act, but Ryne raised a hand to stop him. He could see his brothers were drained: Wilbur looked ready to collapse.


    A woman near the front clutched a child tightly to her chest. ¡°You feed us scraps while your walls protect you. Why should we trust you?¡±


    Ryne stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. ¡°Please, listen,¡± he said, his calm voice struggling to rise above the noise. ¡°We are doing all we can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not enough!¡± a younger man interrupted.


    Claude stepped forward then, his small frame casting a long shadow in the flickering candlelight. His voice cut through the clamor like a blade. ¡°Enough!¡±


    The room fell silent, the weight of his command settling over the crowd. It was not a boy¡¯s voice but something deeper, stronger. Ealhstan, standing nearby, offered an approving smile.


    Claude moved to the center of the room, his gaze steady as it swept over the villagers. ¡°We¡¯re all scared that tomorrow will never come. But it will,¡± he began, his voice firm. ¡°I know you¡¯ve lost your homes and your families. We all have lost something. But the brothers are not our enemies. They¡¯ve done everything they can to help us feel safe. They¡¯ve given us food. They¡¯ve given us shelter and protection. Food is scarce wherever you are in the realm. We need to stand together, or we¡¯ll fall apart.¡±


    The villagers exchanged wary glances, their anger simmering but no longer boiling over.


    As Claude¡¯s shoulders began to slump, Ryne tapped him on the back and gave him a warm smile.


    Ryne added the words he told the frightened villagers of Kent. ¡°So long as you are here, you will always have sanctuary. I know we cannot offer much, but whatever we have, we¡¯ll share it with you.¡±


    The church grew quiet. Some villagers began to see sense as their fear and frustration drained away. They glanced at Wilbur, murmuring about how he stayed up all night to watch over them and tirelessly worked to heal the sick. Others looked at Ealhstan, grateful for his strength in building their shelters.


    A loud bang echoed as Agate and Harlan struck their shields together, signaling that supper was ready. Slowly, the anger in the room dissipated, replaced by the primal need for food.


    Woodrow approached Claude from behind and clapped him on the back. ¡°Well done, lad,¡± he said, giving Ryne a firm nod. ¡°My turn.¡±


    With his lute in hand, Woodrow strummed a single, resonant note. The haunting sound silenced the room.


    Without a word, he began to play. The melody started slow and mournful, each note weighted with sorrow. Then his voice rose, soft but steady, weaving a tale of a town once besieged by darkness. The lyrics spoke of neighbors setting aside their differences to fight a creeping shadow.


    The room seemed to breathe with the music, fear and anger melting into reflection. Children began to play together, and their parents smiled faintly, allowing them the moment of peace. The candles flickered, their light growing steadier. Ryne felt hope stir within him like fresh kindling.


    As the final note faded, Woodrow spoke, his voice gentle but firm. ¡°Let us remember to stand together. For a house divided cannot stand.¡±


    A hush fell over the chapel. Slowly, villagers began to nod.


    Ryne stepped forward once more, his calm voice now bolstered by hope. ¡°Let¡¯s begin with what we can do today. Together.¡±


    This time, no one interrupted.


    Behind him, Ealhstan leaned in to whisper something to Claude, who looked surprised but nodded.

 Vol. II Chapter 2 (Part 3)

    ¡ªDARK FOREST¡ª


    They slipped between the trees of the dark forest, escaping the noise and seeking fresh air. Ryne glanced back at the warm glow of the church, his steps faltering. Laughter. He couldn¡¯t believe it¡ªlaughter from the church. He was certain Gaelmar would have approved of the scene: the glow of flames bathing his statue as people smiled and ate beneath his stone feet.


    Ryne turned his gaze to Claude, taking in his thick brows and untamed hair, and on impulse, he hugged him. Claude paused, startled, before hugging him back, blinking in surprise.


    They lingered in the woods for a while, playing like children, ducking behind tree trunks and grabbing at each other. Ryne kept an eye on Claude, making sure he didn¡¯t stumble over the tangled roots beneath their feet.


    He thought he was the one watching out for Claude, but Claude surprised him, catching his arm and spinning him around to face him.


    ¡°You look tired,¡± Claude remarked, his tone hovering between a gentle scold and a plea.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± Ryne replied, brushing off the concern. ¡°We have more important things to focus on.¡±


    Claude stopped abruptly, his grip tightening on Ryne¡¯s arm. The sudden movement made Ryne wobble, but Claude steadied him again, his hands lingering just a moment too long.


    Ryne opened his mouth to argue but stopped when he saw the intensity in Claude¡¯s eyes. The mist curled around them, silencing the world and leaving them alone in a moment suspended in time.


    ¡°Why do you always do that?¡± Ryne asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Do what?¡±


    ¡°Put me first,¡± Ryne said, his brow furrowing. Friendship was still foreign to him, and he wasn¡¯t used to this kind of care.


    Claude exhaled a soft laugh, the warmth of it visible in the cold night air. ¡°Because someone has to.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s heart thudded in his chest. Before he could respond, Claude patted his shoulder and started walking again, his frame cutting through the mist. Ryne stood there for a moment, watching him, his emotions tangling in his chest. He gulped.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Claude called back, his voice soft, his smile softer.


    With a faint smile of his own, Ryne followed.


    <hr>


    Claude stared at his father¡¯s sword, as though the hilt might somehow reveal his father¡¯s whereabouts. Ryne placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He remembered seeing that same look on children clutching their straw dolls, and he knew it mirrored the expression he¡¯d worn while gazing at Gaelmar¡¯s sigil.


    The two boys exchanged a quiet glance. Claude closed his eyes as Ryne gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.


    Harsh whispers and hurried footsteps broke the stillness near the church. Ryne quickly withdrew his hand when a handful of villagers from the war-torn lands passed by, their glares sharp and unkind. Ryne didn¡¯t want to mark Claude with the animosity the newcomers so freely directed at him. Not all had been moved by their words on that stormy night in the church. He wanted to protect Claude from the scorn, especially since the villagers of Kent held him in such high regard.


    But Claude made an impatient sound, his thick brows drawing together as he glared back at the villagers.


    Woodrow¡¯s whistle cut through the tension, signaling for Claude to return to their training. Claude was improving¡ªhis strikes more assured, his movements fluid. The newcomers murmured at the sight, their gasps audible. They hadn¡¯t yet witnessed Woodrow¡¯s fierce swordplay sessions. Some shook their heads in disapproval, while others stepped forward, curious.


    Ryne, for his part, was simply glad Claude was getting better at both attacking and defending. He would need those skills to survive the lower depths of Mount Lhottem, where Wilbur had requested amethysts. But first, there was training to complete. Claude needed to learn how to dodge in rapid succession, to avoid the talons of the corvus beasts.


    Woodrow mimicked their attack patterns as he sparred with Claude¡ªleaping and slashing, diving and hacking. His dagger became the monstrous beaks, and his swirling cloak, the beasts¡¯ flapping wings.


    In the nights that followed, Ryne found himself heartened by the sight of the villagers of Kent teaching the newcomers how to fight, integrating them into their training sessions. He silently thanked Agate and Harlan for their efforts.


    When Woodrow dismissed Claude from training, he would return to Ryne at the church steps. They often sat together, talking as Claude stared at the sword in his hand.


    ¡°Lord Bahram hasn¡¯t summoned me since the night we found your brother, Ealhstan,¡± Claude said one evening. ¡°But he keeps sending other common soldiers beyond Rothfield.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡± Ryne asked.


    Claude¡¯s tone turned sullen. ¡°I think it means he doesn¡¯t want to pay me. He wants to remind us that we¡¯re under his rule and powerless without him.¡±


    Ryne opened his mouth to respond, but Claude continued, his teeth flashing in a rare, bitter grin. ¡°And yet it burns him that we still manage to send him tribute. That I look well-fed and strong. Even Vincent seethes. They want me gone the moment I toss the rich grains you make.¡±


    Ryne chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll make a fine soldier indeed. He¡¯s a fool to waste your talent.¡±


    Claude beamed at the words, his shoulders straightening.


    It was true¡ªClaude had saved men before. On the night direwolves attacked the village, it was Claude who stood firm, thanks to Woodrow¡¯s training.


    Soon, they would journey to Mount Lhottem again, if they were to heal the sick languishing in Wilbur¡¯s infirmary.


    <hr>


    Ealhstan emerged from the dark forest, heaving a great boulder on his back. He set it down with a resounding thud that shook the earth, sending smaller pebbles jumping into the air. Some of the frightened children peeked back, inching closer. Ealhstan smiled at them. Like Wilbur, he would wait patiently for their trust.


    Unfortunately for him, earning trust was far easier for Wilbur. Wilbur looked harmless and soothed the sick, healing the injured with gentle care. Ealhstan, however, was seen as a brute, someone who crushed iron and stone with his bare hands. When outside, he pretended to use tools¡ªhammers and chisels¡ªso people might grow accustomed to him. He used this ruse while constructing the stone wall that would encircle the monastery.


    Ealhstan glanced back at the dark forest. It served as a natural defense, warding off the dark things slithering in Mount Lhottem. But Ryne had warned him that the force protecting the forest was weakening. Even so, the forest didn¡¯t harm living people. Trouble, as Ealhstan knew too well, often came from the living.


    Some shifty characters had recently taken refuge in the monastery. He and Woodrow had sensed it while Wilbur and Ryne were preoccupied with tending to the sick. That was when Ealhstan began building the wall. For now, it would be low, but he planned to add height and width over time. He crushed the boulders he had gathered from the dark forest, cutting them crudely. Piece by piece, he laid the stones, binding them together with lime mortar and rubble.


    Ryne¡¯s small footsteps echoed softly in the still night. Ealhstan straightened, ready to show him the progress he had made. When Ealhstan had shared his plan to build the wall, Ryne had told him precisely where it should stand. Ryne had consulted their patron saint, Gaelmar, for guidance, learning that a massive wall had once divided the land in the saint''s time.


    Ryne explained there were natural, mystical lines running beneath the ground, lines that bolstered the monastery¡¯s defenses. The power they offered was not strong, especially now, with the darkness corrupting the land, but it was something. Ryne carefully mapped out the areas where Ealhstan should place the stones.


    Ealhstan watched as Ryne moved along the wall, running his small hand across its surface as if testing its strength. Unable to resist, Ealhstan chuckled and scooped Ryne up, placing him atop the wall so they were eye to eye. Ryne let out a soft laugh, spinning around to take in the view of the small fires burning in the granges below.


    Ealhstan studied the boy¡¯s face in the flickering light, noting the weariness etched into his young features¡ªa weariness that seemed eternal. To think this boy was harmless in our time¡­


    Ryne spoke softly, his gaze lingering on the distant fires. ¡°I am glad for these flames. Back when we first came here, Rothfield was nothing but black and grey. Gaelmar approves of the life slowly lighting his land.¡±


    ¡°Is he a spirit, this Gaelmar? He does not pass to the Great Miracle?¡± Ealhstan asked, curiosity evident in his tone.


    Ryne shook his head. ¡°He is a Saint. A guardian. Back when he and his comrades were on the verge of felling the Chaos, something happened. Somehow, they could not move on.¡±


    ¡°And what of the others?¡±


    ¡°The other Saints?¡± Ryne shook his head again, a trace of sorrow crossing his face. ¡°He does not know. But he still feels them.¡±


    Ealhstan nodded thoughtfully and then reached for something at his side. He held up a metal contraption¡ªa lantern designed to protect the candle within. He showed it to Ryne with a spark of pride. ¡°I thought that since your fire keeps the shadow at bay, it would be better if it ran along the walls, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Ryne smiled gently and lit the candle inside the lantern. He whispered a small prayer of protection and carefully closed the latch. His eyes traveled the length of the wall, envisioning what it would look like once completed.


    Ealhstan shifted slightly, his brow furrowing as he voiced a concern that had been gnawing at him. ¡°I¡¯m keeping a close eye on some of these new people. We can¡¯t be too sure if they¡¯ve come as refugees or if they¡¯re here to take advantage of the poor. One of them caught my attention, It was a glint when he passed me. Could be hiding a dagger in his cloak.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s expression grew thoughtful. He, too, had noticed peculiarities among the newcomers. Some had avoided attending even a single Saintsday sermon, preferring instead to wander near the makeshift houses. One, in particular, had pressed his ear against the monastery wall as if listening for something, only to shuffle away quickly when Ryne¡¯s gaze fell on him.


    Ryne didn¡¯t speak immediately but eventually nodded, conceding Ealhstan¡¯s point. He allowed the larger man to carry him back to the ground.


    Ryne patted Ealhstan¡¯s arm with a reassuring smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It always takes time for people to warm up to us.¡± But then, his voice dropped, becoming more somber. ¡°You¡¯ll be joining Claude in Mount Lhottem to gather the supplies, yes? Be careful.¡±


    Ealhstan caught the weight in Ryne¡¯s tone and smiled faintly to reassure him. ¡°I¡¯ll protect him. Not to worry. But I must say, your friend is quite capable. Stronger than most his age, I¡¯d wager. He¡¯s got the bearing of a fine warrior.¡±


    Ryne offered no reply, his steps growing quieter as he walked away. He did not see Ealhstan¡¯s brow knit in curiosity as a faint memory stirred.


    It came like a spark¡ªa sharp, fleeting image that struck his mind¡¯s eye with the force of a flint. He saw himself polishing a great suit of silver armor, the gleaming surface catching the sunlight. Around him, the rhythmic sound of marching footsteps echoed. Soldiers, perhaps? And then, just as quickly, the vision was gone, leaving Ealhstan standing alone, puzzled and haunted by the fleeting glimpse of something long buried in his past.

 Vol. II Chapter 2 (Part 4)

    <hr>


    Ryne knelt in the quiet church, his hands clasped tightly, his voice a soft whisper in the sacred stillness. He prayed for Claude. He thought he always will.


    ¡°May their spears pierce the monsters¡¯ chests. May their shields protect them from fangs and talons,¡± he prayed, his heart heavy with worry for Claude and the others venturing into Mount Lhottem. The pale light of the early sun streamed through the stained glass, casting soft hues on Ryne¡¯s pale blonde hair, illuminating his weary face.


    If only he were stronger. If only he could control Gaelmar¡¯s shieldflame for more than a fleeting, feeble moment. But he couldn¡¯t. His strength lay elsewhere¡ªin tending the land, healing the wounded, and bolstering the spirits of those who relied on him. He was the caretaker of Rothfield, tied not by chains but by something deeper, like the gentle embrace of vines or the hum of bees swarming protectively around their hive. He could leave the monastery and its grounds if he wished, but he knew that his connection to the land would weaken, and with it, the ability to call upon Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame.


    The door groaned loudly as it opened, shattering the solemn quiet. Ryne sighed, his prayer interrupted. Rising to his feet, he turned toward the sound and saw Agate hesitating in the doorway, her figure half-hidden in the morning light.


    He nodded, a gentle permission. ¡°Come in.¡±


    Agate entered with confident strides, her gaze sweeping the space with approval. Her lips curved into a small smile as she took in the newly completed wooden pews, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly. ¡°The craftsmen have outdone themselves,¡± she said, her voice warm with admiration. ¡°It looks more and more like a church,¡± she commented.


    Agate smoothed her short hair with practiced precision before settling next to Ryne on one of the front benches, her eyes fixed on the serene statue of Saint Gaelmar. The saint¡¯s carved face bore a look of quiet resolve, a fitting reflection of the burdens carried by those in the room.


    ¡°I have to tell you,¡± Agate began, her tone measured, ¡°there have been some missing items from our camp.¡±


    Ryne turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly in concern.


    ¡°It started with little things,¡± Agate continued. ¡°Bowls, at first. Then people began noticing threads and needles disappearing. An old hat went missing. A cane. And today¡­¡± She paused, ¡°Eggs from the coop. We¡¯re certain it¡¯s not foxes, or else your sneaky brother would have spotted them by now.¡±


    Ryne lowered his gaze, his fingers lightly tapping against the wood of the bench. ¡°There¡¯s a thief in Rothfield,¡± he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with certainty.


    Agate nodded. ¡°A petty one, so far. But thieves usually start with the small things, don¡¯t they?¡±


    Ryne let out a quiet sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of the monastery¡¯s fragile stability. ¡°I understand,¡± he said after a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll call Woodrow tonight.¡±


    Agate gave a short nod, satisfied. She leaned back slightly, her gaze returning to Saint Gaelmar¡¯s statue. ¡°Best to handle it before it becomes more than a nuisance,¡± she said. ¡°The people are already anxious enough.¡±


    Ryne didn¡¯t respond immediately. He stared at the flickering candles illuminating the saint¡¯s likeness, their light casting dancing shadows along the church walls.


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± Ryne finally said, his voice steady. ¡°And if it¡¯s someone in need¡­ we¡¯ll address that too.¡±


    Agate glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. ¡°You¡¯re too kind, Ryne,¡± she said softly.


    ¡°Kindness is what keeps Rothfield alive,¡± Ryne replied, though his thoughts remained heavy.


    <hr>


    They returned early that night, their silhouettes emerging from the dark forest under the faint glow of the moon. Despite the dangers, they bore only minor injuries. Wilbur and Ryne were waiting anxiously at the border of Rothfield, carrying bundles of food and vials of medicinal tinctures.


    As soon as Claude stepped into the clearing, Ryne ran to him, scattering dried leaves with his hurried steps. Without hesitation, they embraced, Claude''s grin widening as he effortlessly picked Ryne up and spun him around, laughter filling the cool night air.


    When he set Ryne down, Claude reached into his pack and pulled out a good-sized chunk of amethyst, placing it gently in Ryne''s open palm. The gemstone sparkled faintly in the dim light. Behind him, Ealhstan carried a much larger piece in his arms, his powerful frame steady despite the weight.


    Wilbur¡¯s face lit up at the sight, his excitement unmistakable. ¡°Magnificent,¡± he murmured, already retreating toward his lab with the treasures in tow, his mind undoubtedly racing with the medicines he was about to concoct.


    ¡°You should not have worried,¡± Ealhstan said, clapping a reassuring hand on Ryne¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The lad is a natural fighter, just as I said. Even Harlan was impressed with him.¡±


    But Ryne could not help worrying. He always would, especially when it came to Claude. His concerns faded only slightly as he and Claude talked, the latter¡¯s face flushed from the rush of adventure and his hair damp with sweat.


    Later, they cooled off in the monastery¡¯s secluded pool. The night air was cool against their skin, and the water rippled gently as they waded in. Ryne sat beside Claude, his hands pressing down on Claude¡¯s swinging arm to relieve the tension in his muscles.


    ¡°You overdid it again,¡± Ryne chided softly, though his voice carried more fondness than reproach.


    Claude chuckled, leaning back against the edge of the pool. ¡°Maybe. But we made it back, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    Ryne smiled faintly, his touch steady as he worked out the knots in Claude¡¯s arm. The stars above twinkled faintly, their light mirrored in the pool¡¯s surface. For a moment, the weight of their burdens felt distant, replaced by a shared sense of peace.


    Later that evening, Ryne entered Wilbur¡¯s lab, where the room seemed alive with motion and sound. The space was a cacophony of bubbling cauldrons and hissing flasks, the scents of scorched metal and sweet petals blending into a strange, heady perfume. Shadows danced across the walls, cast by the flickering light of the lab¡¯s many fires.


    At the heart of it all stood Wilbur, stirring a small iron cauldron that Ealhstan had forged. The mixture inside glowed in shifting hues¡ªyellow, then blue, then back to yellow¡ªas Wilbur stirred it with a long iron spoon. The shivering maidens and everbane flowers in his hands added a delicate touch to the scene, their vibrant petals trembling slightly even as he plucked them apart.


    Wilbur¡¯s movements were methodical as he sprinkled the petals into various bottles, pausing now and then to scoop the shimmering mixture from the cauldron and pour it carefully into each container. Ealhstan worked nearby, grinding fire opals and amethysts into a fine, glittering powder, the sound of stone on stone adding to the lab''s chaotic symphony.


    Ryne took his place among them, his hands steady as he measured the precious powders on a set of iron scales. He worked silently, arranging the bottles as Wilbur completed them, wiping each one clean before setting it on a wooden tray. Each tray bore the name of a patient, scrawled neatly in Ryne¡¯s handwriting.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The three worked in harmony, their tasks overlapping seamlessly. Wilbur¡¯s focus never wavered as he adjusted the mixtures, ensuring the medicines were perfect. Ealhstan continued crushing the gemstones with precision, and his massive hands were surprisingly gentle. Ryne moved quietly among them, the caretaker of their collective efforts, ensuring nothing was wasted or misplaced.


    Ryne wiped his hands on a cloth and looked at Wilbur, who gave him a tired but satisfied smile.


    ¡°Another step forward,¡± Wilbur murmured, voice soft and determined.


    When they finished their work, Ryne lingered in Wilbur''s lab, meticulously cleaning the counters and tools while Wilbur left to deliver the doses. The air still carried the sharp tang of crushed gemstones and the faint sweetness of flowers as Ryne wiped down surfaces and organized supplies. It was a quiet, meditative task, a way to wind down after the intensity of their labor.


    Meanwhile, Wilbur moved through the infirmary, his satchel of medicine clinking softly as he approached each patient. He administered the doses with a practiced hand, offering calm reassurances to those who stirred in their sleep or blinked wearily up at him.


    When all the patients had been treated, Wilbur returned to his office where Ryne joined him. They slumped into chairs, the weight of the evening''s work pulling at their shoulders.


    ¡°They¡¯re all stable,¡± Wilbur said with a rare, relieved smile. His face softened as he exhaled deeply, but the moment of ease was fleeting. A sharp wince crossed his features as he clutched his stomach.


    Ryne¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°You haven¡¯t fed,¡± he stated, his tone caught between concern and reproach.


    Wilbur shrugged, brushing it off. ¡°Ealhstan needed it more,¡± he replied quietly.


    Ryne didn¡¯t press him further. Instead, he stepped outside, heading toward the communal fire where Claude, Harlan, and Agate were gathered. Wilbur stood and closed the door to his lab, leaving behind his satchels and the lingering scent of alchemy.


    Their laughter and the crackling of flames echoed warmly through the granges, a rare moment of lightness amidst the trials of their days.


    Wilbur heard the sounds even from his position further down the granges. He moved silently among the scattered houses, checking in on the families who had sought refuge at the monastery.


    Knocking softly at each door, Wilbur offered quiet updates to the worried faces that peered out. ¡°They¡¯re in good condition,¡± he assured them, his voice steady and calm. ¡°You can visit them in the morning. Look for Brother Ryne.¡±


    Each time, the families nodded, their eyes relieved. Wilbur¡¯s presence, though unsettling to some, carried an undeniable aura of competence and quiet authority.


    When he finished his rounds, he stood for a moment in the cool night air, listening to the distant hum of voices from the communal fire. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he turned back toward the solitude of his lab.


    He did his rounds until he reached the last house. Then he made his way back to the infirmary to drink the vial of blood that Ryne had collected from the healthier villagers.


    He knew something was off the moment he passed the cloistered garth.


    Someone was there, hiding behind the bushes he planted. He faced the giant oak tree.


    Wilbur¡¯s footsteps slowed as he neared the source of the scent, the faint rustle of movement just beyond the bushes giving away the hidden presence. His eyes narrowed as the shadows shifted, and he could just make out the outline of a figure huddled against the thick trunks of the oak tree.


    ¡°Show yourself,¡± Wilbur called again, his voice low but commanding.


    The air grew still, and then, a rustle, followed by the creak of the man¡¯s weight shifting as he slowly emerged from the shadows. A hooded figure stepped into view, the scent of sweat and strong beer now unmistakable, mingling with the earthy aroma of the cloistered garth.


    Wilbur¡¯s gaze hardened as he scanned the man¡¯s face, noting the furtive glances and nervous movements.


    The man¡¯s smile twisted into something more sinister as he gripped the bottles tightly in his hand. Wilbur¡¯s gaze locked onto them, the soft clinking of the glass made his eyes shoot up. His satchel of medicines.  The man took a step back, his hands subtly shifting in his cloak as he tightened his grip on the stolen items.


    ¡°I said drop it,¡± Wilbur repeated, his voice colder now, every word laced with the quiet fury of someone whose trust had been betrayed. His eyes flashed with something darker as he stepped forward, his form casting a long shadow under the faint moonlight.


    The thief hesitated for only a moment, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he broke into a low chuckle. "You think you can stop me, monk? I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be so quick to see through me." The bottle rattled again as the man gripped it tighter, his posture defensive, as if preparing to flee at a moment''s notice.


    Wilbur didn¡¯t budge, his hands steady at his sides. ¡°You¡¯ll regret this,¡± he warned, taking another step closer, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen this kind of desperation before.


    The man¡¯s hand twitched, and then, with a swift movement, he flung one of the bottles into the air, his other hand reaching for something hidden within his cloak¡ªa knife, perhaps, or a dagger.


    Wilbur was faster. He reached out, grabbing the man¡¯s wrist with a forceful grip, twisting it until the bottle dropped from his hand. Wilbur caught it before it shattered on the ground.


    ¡°Now, we¡¯re going to have a talk,¡± Wilbur said, his voice like stone, ¡°about how you plan to make this right.¡±


    The thief frowned. They had told him stealing from Wilbur was easy. Mild-mannered and busy that he was. But something about Wilbr¡¯s tone worried him. As a thief, he was trained to watch out for danger, and danger seemed to come from this lanky weak person in front of him. He pulled out his weapon, the one that almsot revealed itself to the giant monk when he was walking in that field that windy evening. ¡°Step back. It would be a shame if I kill their only healer. Such a rare skill these days. I wouldn¡¯t want to have to do this.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I. This is your final warning. I¡¯m a bit famished and there¡¯s no telling what I would do, especially with Ryne far away from me.¡± Wilbur¡¯s tone had become darker and he was losing himself to hunger and hatred. He tried to regain his senses. He tried a different approach. ¡°If you leave with that, then you will kill all the people resting in my infirmary. You don¡¯t have to steal. Who is it that you¡¯re trying to heal? Bring them here and I will care for them, just like any other. You don¡¯t know how to correctly drink those vials.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving this to anyone but the nobles who¡¯d pay in gold,¡± the thief said. He moved quickly back into the shadows, but Wilbur could see him clearly as if it was daytime. He was about to run. Wilbur felt his nails get sharper. He felt his muscles tense.


    The thief spun around and ran.


    He did not make five steps before he stumbled to the ground with a big weight on top of him.


    The thief''s heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he tried to wriggle free, but Wilbur¡¯s weight pressed down on him with unnerving strength. His arms were pinned effortlessly to the ground, his struggles futile against the monk''s grip. The air around him seemed to grow heavier.


    His breath quickened, and he twisted his neck to see the source of the eerie red glow. Behind him were two red eyes gleaming like embers, burning with an unnatural hunger. Wilbur''s fangs glinted under the pale light, sharper than any blade he had ever seen, and the thief''s blood ran cold.


    The monk''s voice was low, almost a whisper. He almost sounded sad. "Why did you have to steal? Why did you have to pick this monastery?"


    The thief swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for an answer, but no words came. All he could do was lie there, paralyzed by fear.


    The sound of Wilbur¡¯s breathing slowed as he leaned closer, his face casting a shadow over the thief. For a long moment, there was silence, the only sound being the faint rustling of the leaves in the breeze. Wilbur¡¯s fangs sank into his neck swiftly. A sharp, wet squelch followed by the thief¡¯s strangled gasp echoed through the stillness of the night. His body stiffened, his struggles weakening, as the life drained from him.


    Wilbur did not rush. He fed carefully. The thief''s vision blurred, his world fading to darkness as the monk¡¯s cold lips withdrew from his throat. The final thud of his body hitting the ground was the last sound he ever heard.


    He looked down at the lifeless body, a faint grimace passing over his features before he turned away. There was no time to dwell on this. The thief had made his choice, and now Wilbur had made his.


    With a final glance toward the monastery, Wilbur made his way back to the infirmary and washed the blood from his skin and robes.


    After supper, Wilbur did not meet Ryne¡¯s eyes as they passed each other on the grounds. He approached Woodrow instead. ¡°You told me to tell you if I fed on anyone. I did. A thief. He¡¯s in my gardens. Hurry.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile faltered, but he kept it back on his face as they walked easily back to the monastery, passing people on their way. He looked down at the crumpled corpse on the ground. ¡°Help me dig,¡± he said to Wilbur.


    Their sharp nails dug through the dirt as if it were nothing, listening to Wilbur as he explained. It was over quickly: just a fresh mound where Wilbur could plant his next batch of flowers. He was thinking of a plan to deal with the rest of the thieves in their base of operations. He knew how to handle vermin.

 Vol II. Chapter 2 (Part 5)

    Ealhstan wiped the sweat from his brow as the forge blazed hotter than he had ever seen it. The flames licked hungrily at the iron, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air was thick with heat and the scent of burning coal, but it was the holy presence in the room that made the space feel alive.


    Ryne stood nearby, his hands clasped tightly, his face serious. The prayer he had woken with still hummed faintly in the back of his mind, guiding his actions. He watched as Ealhstan hammered out the glowing spear points, his movements skilled and precise. Each strike echoed around Ealhstan¡¯s forge.


    When the spear tips were ready, Ryne stepped closer, his voice trembling with exhaustion. "Hold it steady," he instructed, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out toward the searing-hot metal. Ealhstan hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he watched Ryne''s pale fingers move toward the blistering spearhead.


    ¡°Are you mad?¡± Ealhstan growled, his protective instincts flaring. ¡°You¡¯ll burn yourself.¡±


    But Ryne ignored him, leaning in as he kissed the glowing metal. His lips brushed the scorching surface, but instead of burning, the iron seemed to cool and shimmer faintly, as though touched by divine light. He whispered a prayer to Saint Gaelmar, his voice barely audible.


    The moment was still, save for the faint hum of blessed energy resonating through the room. Ealhstan stepped back, his hand involuntarily clutching his chest as he felt the power settle over the weapons. The air seemed to hum with tension, the divine mark etched into the spear points glowing faintly.


    With a sudden, sharp inhale, Ealhstan reached out to touch the tip of one of the newly blessed spears. He recoiled immediately, his fingers tingling as though he¡¯d grasped live coals. These are no ordinary weapons anymore.


    Ryne swayed, his strength fading as the blessing took its toll. Ealhstan reached out to steady him, his broad hands firm but gentle on the monk¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than enough,¡± he said, his tone softened by awe. ¡°Rest. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡±


    But Ryne shook his head, his resolve unbroken despite the weariness that clouded his vision. Elastane twirled the spear in his hands. These weapons will strike true. They will cut through the agents of Chaos like sunlight through mist.


    He glanced at the spears, their steel tips glinting with a faint, ethereal sheen. ¡°Let¡¯s make more. The warriors will need every blessed blade we can forge.¡±


    Together, they returned to their work in the forge, the holy fire blazing bright and relentless. Though Ryne¡¯s strength wavered, his faith did not, and Ealhstan worked tirelessly with him. The crypts echoed with the sound of hammers striking iron and the faint murmurs of prayers.


    <hr>


    In the granges, the clanging of metal filled the night air, punctuated by cheers and laughter. The elders, Harlan and Agate, moved with their usual agility and strength, their sparring drawing a crowd of warriors and villagers alike. The rhythmic clash of their steel-tipped spears against reinforced shields rang out, a sound that resonated with pride and unity. Around them, warriors practiced with their new weapons, their movements steady and sharp, while the onlookers shouted encouragement. After the spears, Ealhstan reinforced their wooden shields. He added steel plates to wood, and for the elders themselves, full steel shields. It was the most surprised Agate had looked, and she and harlan tested the weight of their new armor.


    Ealhstan leaned against the edge of the forge, watching it all with a faint smile. Warriors approached him throughout the night, their arms laden with offerings of eggs, meat, and freshly baked bread. "For your work," they said, their gratitude evident. He accepted each gift graciously, though he had no need of food. The gesture was symbolic, a sign of respect he could not refuse.


    But as the sparring continued, the scene in front of him began to blur. Ealhstan blinked, gripping the edge of the forge tightly as the cheering crowd dissolved into a different vision. The warriors, clad in leather and chainmail, shifted into figures adorned in gleaming silver armor, their capes flowing behind them in a gentle breeze. The moonlight gave way to brilliant sunlight, yet it did not sear his skin. Instead, it felt warm and comforting, as if welcoming him to a memory.


    The leader of the shining guard stepped forward, their armor polished to a mirror-like sheen. They removed their helmet, revealing a youthful face, resolute and determined. The figure knelt before Ealhstan, their voice clear and unwavering.


    ¡°We are ready to march, Lord Ealhstan.¡±


    Ealhstan¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He looked around, his surroundings transformed into a golden field stretching endlessly beneath the sun. Rows upon rows of warriors stood at attention, their weapons gleaming, their gazes fixed on him with unwavering loyalty. The weight of their expectation pressed down on him like an invisible chain.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He tried to speak, but no words came. His hands rested on the hilt of a sword he did not recall carrying. It was intricately engraved, the mark of Saint Gaelmar glowing faintly along the blade.


    The vision wavered again, the golden field fading back into the cool night of the crypt. The cheers of the crowd returned, the elders still sparring, their laughter echoing in the air. Ealhstan let out a shaky breath, his grip on the forge loosening as reality reasserted itself.


    Had it been a vision? A memory? Or something else entirely? He couldn¡¯t say. But the words lingered in his mind, heavy with meaning.


    We are ready to march.


    Ealhstan''s vision spun, his balance faltering as the world tilted. He barely registered his name being called before he hit the ground with a heavy thud. The cool stone beneath him steadied his senses as he blinked, regaining focus. Ryne was kneeling beside him, his face etched with worry.


    "Are you all right?" Ryne asked, placing a steadying hand on Ealhstan''s shoulder.


    Ealhstan shook his head and sat upright, his mind still swimming with fragments of the vision. "I saw... something," he began slowly. His voice was hoarse as if the words themselves resisted being spoken. "A memory, maybe. Or a dream. It felt... real."


    Ryne¡¯s brow furrowed, his concern deepening. "A memory?" He straightened, calling for the others. Wilbur and Woodrow arrived swiftly, their expressions mirroring Ryne''s concern.


    As Ealhstan recounted what he had seen, the brothers listened in rapt silence. He spoke of the silver-clad warriors, the blazing sunlight, and the leader''s words¡ªLord Ealhstan, we are ready to march.


    When he finished, there was a heavy pause. The brothers exchanged uncertain glances.


    Wilbur spoke first, his voice measured. "A memory, you think?" His sharp eyes studied Ealhstan as if trying to pierce through to some hidden truth.


    "It could be a trick," Ealhstan admitted. "Or some fragment of the past trying to surface."


    The wonder was evident on Ryne¡¯s face. "And you recognized them?" he asked cautiously.


    Ealhstan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. He grunted, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.


    "Lord Ealhstan, you said." Woodrow''s tone was light, but his expression was thoughtful. "If you were a noble in your past life, it would explain a lot. I''ve always said you were too gallant for your own good."


    "Gallant?" Ealhstan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in the ghost of a smirk.


    The comment drew a faint chuckle from Ryne, though his worry lingered. "But why now? Why would you remember this now?"


    Wilbur tapped a finger against his lips. "The weapons you blessed earlier¡ªthe ones marked with Saint Gaelmar''s seal. It might have awakened something in you. A connection to the past, to whoever you were before..." He trailed off, his red eyes narrowing slightly in thought.


    Ealhstan rubbed his temple, the memory still vivid in his mind. "Who I was before doesn''t matter," he said firmly, though his voice wavered ever so slightly. "What matters is here and now."


    "Still," Ryne said gently, "if these memories are real, they might hold meaning. They could guide us. Or warn us."


    Ealhstan grunted in acknowledgment but said nothing more. The brothers¡¯ questions swirled around him, but his thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on the sunlight-drenched field and the warriors who had looked to him with such trust.


    For now, he would focus on the present. But the weight of the vision lingered, a reminder that some shadows of the past never truly fade.


    <hr>


    Woodrow rapped firmly on the weathered wooden door of the thieves'' hut. The hollow thuds echoed in the stil night. He had asked Jerome to play loudly this night. A scuffle would soon arise in this part of the monastery. He already suspected the group operating here; their shadowy dealings were all too familiar. But it was Ryne''s words that held him back¡ªbe more open, Woodrow.


    He sighed, his patience thin as he waited. Behind the door, he could hear muffled whispers. They sounded worried, hurried. The sound of furniture scraping against the floor confirmed they were barricading themselves.


    The door creaked open just enough for a tall, scowling man to fill the frame. He glared down at the monk, taking in Woodrow¡¯s calm demeanor and unassuming robes.


    Woodrow offered a disarming smile and lightly tapped his cheek with two fingers. "Let me in," he said, his voice smooth and firm.


    The guard''s expression softened immediately, his glare fading into a blank stare. Wordlessly, he stepped aside, leaving the door wide open.


    From inside came startled gasps and murmurs of confusion. The other thieves glared at the man who had opened the door, anger flaring in their eyes.


    Woodrow raised his hands in mock surrender as he stepped inside, the polite smile never leaving his face. "It''s not his fault," he said lightly. "I can be very persuasive."


    The tension in the room thickened as the thieves sized him up, realizing too late that the monk was no ordinary visitor. In one swift motion, Woodrow pulled a dagger from beneath his robes, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

 Vol II. Chapter 2 (Part 6)

    One of the men lunged for him, but Woodrow reacted instantly, letting his dagger fly. It struck true, knocking the man''s weapon from his hand. The sound of metal clattering to the floor was drowned out by panicked screams as the rest scrambled for their arms.


    Woodrow moved like fluid shadow. He snatched a pair of daggers from the stunned guard at the door and turned them against the thieves. He pinned their clothing to walls, tables, and crates. The sharp blades sliced through fabric, anchoring them firmly to the nearest surface.


    One by one, their movements were halted as they realized any attempt to break free would tear their clothes to shreds¡ªthe only clothes they had.


    Within moments, the room fell silent save for the ragged breathing of the subdued thieves. Woodrow stood in the center, his smile as calm and serene as ever.


    "Now," he said, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes, "shall we talk about why you''ve been stealing from the monastery?"


    Woodrow¡¯s words hung heavy in the room. When he opened his eyes, they were devoid of any trace of humor, staring down the thieves with a cold, unwavering gaze. ¡°We took you into our little monastery when no one else would, and this is how you repay us?¡± His voice was light, but the weight of his disappointment cut through the room like a blade. ¡°How dare you. We already have so little.¡±


    The tension in the air thickened as one of the thieves, a wiry man with dark eyes, spoke up. ¡°The little you have is a treasure to most.¡± His voice was low, almost challenging.


    Woodrow raised an eyebrow, his tone still measured but carrying an edge. ¡°True,¡± he said, nodding slightly. He arranged his robes and took a seat in one of the chairs as though he were a guest at a fine banquet, perfectly at ease. ¡°But we barely have enough for the people here. And the people who live here come from difficult areas.¡±


    His expression shifted, his smile fading into something more serious. ¡°We have a good plan for Rothfield, something that will benefit everyone. But I can¡¯t allow people like you to ruin our plans.¡±


    The thieves exchanged uncertain glances. Their bravado from earlier began to falter under Woodrow.


    Woodrow let the silence stretch for a moment before adding, his voice softer but no less imposing, ¡°You might be wondering where your leader has gone. Don¡¯t bother looking for him.¡± His green eyes flickered with a quiet, lethal energy. ¡°Unfortunately for him, he wasn¡¯t careful. He would have abandoned you all to fend for yourselves. He told my brother as much.¡±


    The words landed heavily, and the thieves shifted uncomfortably. The realization of their leader¡¯s betrayal stirred anger and confusion. They looked like lost little lambs.


    Perfect, Woodrow thought.


    Woodrow continued, his voice low. ¡°I suggest you reconsider your actions. I don¡¯t want to see any more unnecessary violence. You¡¯ve been given a chance. Don¡¯t waste it.¡±


    The room was still, save for the sound of ragged breathing. The thieves found themselves at the mercy of a monk they thought acted a fool. A fool that was fluid in his fighting stances, sure, but they thought it was all for show.


    The thieves¡¯ shoulders slumped as the weight of their leader¡¯s betrayal sank in, their defiance crumbling in the face of Woodrow¡¯s unwavering demeanor. They were a band of misfits. He had them on edge.


    Woodrow saw the shift in their posture and seized the moment. He stood, his presence commanding attention, and strode over to where his dagger had fallen. He picked it up with casual ease, examining the blade with an air of disinterest before his eyes flicked to the thief he had disarmed. The man flinched as Woodrow approached, the coldness of his touch like ice against his skin.


    Woodrow smirked, bending down and gently kissing the man¡¯s red hand, making the thief shiver. ¡°I¡¯m familiar with the thief¡¯s code. Stick together, protect your own,¡± he said, his voice low and smooth. ¡°But your leader¡­ he spat on that code. And for that, he paid the price.¡±


    The thieves exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of their situation settling in. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I come to you with a proposition,¡± Woodrow continued, his tone shifting from cold to almost conversational. He twirled the dagger between his fingers as he spoke, an effortless display of control. ¡°You see how I fight, yes?¡± He glanced around at the thieves, his gaze sharp and expectant. ¡°Honestly, tell me what you think.¡±


    One of the thieves, a younger man with a nervous twitch in his eye, hesitated for a moment before speaking up. ¡°You¡¯re not like any monk I¡¯ve seen. We didn¡¯t think¡­ We didn¡¯t think you had it in you.¡± He swallowed hard, glancing at the others.


    Woodrow nodded slowly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. ¡°You must understand, I didn¡¯t come here to fight with you.¡± He stood tall, his stance one of authority. ¡°I came to offer you a chance. The monastery can offer you shelter, safety, and a place to belong. But not as petty thieves. You¡¯ll leave that life behind, or I¡¯ll make sure you regret it.¡±


    The thieves looked at one another, considering the offer. It wasn¡¯t easy to give up the life they had known, but the realization that their leader had already left them to fend for themselves was a bitter pill to swallow. Woodrow had presented them with a choice: change or face the consequences.


    Woodrow¡¯s eyes softened just a touch, but there was still steel in his gaze. ¡°What will it be?¡± he asked, his voice low and steady. ¡°A new life, or more bloodshed?¡±


    The thieves exchanged wary glances, each of them wrestling with the offer laid before them. Woodrow¡¯s words were sharp, but there was the promise of opportunity. He leaned in slightly, his green eyes sharp. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find fighting in Rothfield is a bit different than what you¡¯ve known. You really could have a new life here. You don¡¯t have to steal. You simply have to ask. Although, outside of Rothfield, I can let you satisfy your thievery.¡± He paused, letting the weight of that sink in before adding, ¡°In exchange, I expect you to honor your word. No human life is to be taken unless absolutely necessary. And when you do take from the shadowbeasts, you do it for the good of Rothfield.¡±


    Woodrow looked out their window. ¡°I feel that it won¡¯t be long before more roads will open up. Who¡¯s to say that the walled kingdoms and cities wouldn¡¯t pen their borders? Merchants will want to continue trading. Aristocrats and high nobles will want to visit other realms. You can take from them if you wish. And you may take most of what you steal. All I ask if you leave a few resources for Rothfield. Think of it as a charity, rather than tribute.


    The older thief stroked his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Charity, you say? You want us to give up our spoils for that?¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s smile grew even wider. ¡°Just a few coins for charity. This place, it¡¯s a place where we take care of each other. If you¡¯re part of it, you¡¯ll see what I mean.¡±


    The younger thief, whose eyes had been locked on Woodrow as though he were hanging on every word, looked at the others. His voice was low but resolute. ¡°It¡¯s better than what we¡¯ve had. We¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s eyes gleamed with approval. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll train hard. And when the time comes, you¡¯ll be ready. But remember, it¡¯s about a new life. And I¡¯ll make sure you have the resources you need. Ealhstan will help you with that. Turn this into a proper den.¡±


    He turned, gesturing toward the rickety walls of the thieves'' hideout. ¡°This place will be renovated. You¡¯ll have something better than this shack to call home.¡±


    The older thief¡¯s face softened with a hint of gratitude. ¡°We¡¯ve never had much of anything. If you¡¯re serious about this¡­¡±


    Woodrow gave them a curt nod. ¡°Then welcome to the fold. But remember, loyalty is earned, not given. You work hard, and you¡¯ll have everything you need. Break your word, though, and we¡¯ll have a different kind of problem.¡±


    As the thieves stood, murmuring among themselves, Woodrow turned on his heel and made for the door, his mind already working on the next steps. They were his now, to shape. And with their skills, Rothfield would be all the stronger for it.


    As Woodrow stepped out of the thieves'' hideout, his mind raced with plans. The night was still, but he could feel the weight of the decisions he had made already settling in the air. His new recruits were a mixed bag of uncertainty and resolve, but in time, they would be valuable. His smile remained sharp as he walked, already thinking ahead to the days that followed.


    Tomorrow, Ryne would take the petalkfolk sheep out to graze in the meadow, their unique, iridescent wool shimmering under his protective light. Ryne would light the black obelisk with the flame powered by the prayers he had gathered, pushing back the shadows that lingered. The glow would soothe and strengthen the land. But Woodrow knew that light alone wouldn¡¯t be enough. The darkness was a persistent, festering rot that needed to be systematically cut out.


    The band of thieves¡ªnow his men¡ªwould be his hands in this, slowly chipping away at the remaining threats, ensuring Rothfield''s safety that day. They would reduce the numbers of those lurking in the forest, taking down the most dangerous among them.


    As Woodrow passed through the monastery''s gates and headed toward his quarters, he couldn''t help but glance over at Ryne, who was already speaking with the petalkfolk. The monk''s peaceful demeanor, his quiet strength, was a stark contrast to the plan Woodrow had set into motion. But it was a necessary balance. Light and dark, action and prayer, they would complement each other to build a stronger Rothfield. Together, they would ensure its future.


    Woodrow entered his room, and the moment he closed the door behind him, he took a deep breath, letting the stillness of the night settle in his chest. Tomorrow would bring challenges, but he was ready for them.

 Vol II. Chapter 2 (Part 7)

    Ealhstan watched as Woodrow sparred with Claude, leaning against the wall of his forge. Claude¡¯s sword rang as it clashed against Woodrow¡¯s steel. Ryne had mentioned how they once trained with wooden swords, but that felt like a distant memory. In two months, Claude had learned to take down direwolves and corvus.


    Woodrow feinted and sidestepped, but Claude met every strike. He parried and countered, his focus locked on Woodrow¡¯s red hair and movements. Finally, Woodrow stepped back and clapped his hands once.


    ¡°I have nothing more to teach you,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°You¡¯re fast. You¡¯re growing stronger. You can dodge, parry, and strike with ease.¡±


    Claude blushed at the praise, a grin spreading across his face.


    Ealhstan knew it wasn¡¯t true. Woodrow still had tricks up his sleeve, saving his best techniques for when Claude was older. Ealhstan approached them in the grange, drawing their attention.


    In a low, gruff voice meant only for Claude, he said, ¡°Maybe I have something to teach you¡ªif you don¡¯t mind switching teachers.¡± Claude¡¯s eyes widened.


    From the church steps, Ryne watched as Ealhstan showed Claude a new way to hold his sword. Ealhstan explained how to combine different techniques, warning that some monsters attacked in unpredictable ways.


    Ealhstan¡¯s technique forced Claude to rely on his shield more often. Though Ealhstan was holding back and moving slowly, he used his arm like a battering ram, slamming into Claude¡¯s shield repeatedly. Each strike made the ground around Claude tremble and sent dust scattering.


    As he hammered the shield, Ealhstan instructed Claude to time his counters, aiming for the heart or torso. He also emphasized putting full strength into the shield to block.


    ¡°Now, I wonder what you¡¯ll do¡­ when I do this,¡± Ealhstan muttered. Without warning, he grabbed Claude by the waist and launched him into the air. Claude yelped, and Ryne gasped as Claude flew like a tossed pebble. Below, Ealhstan stood calmly, arms crossed, waiting.


    Woodrow sucked in a breath. ¡°Uh¡­ Brother¡­?¡±


    But Ealhstan¡¯s focus remained on Claude. As Claude hurtled downward, he quickly gathered his senses. Locking eyes with Ealhstan, he gritted his teeth, furrowed his brow, and braced himself behind his shield, angling his descent.


    Ealhstan smiled, raising his arms to catch him. ¡°Well done!¡± he barked, then tossed Claude lightly into the air again. ¡°Keep your wits about you. Use your weight to bring bigger enemies down. Use gravity. Use anything that gives you the advantage.¡±


    Ryne exhaled, making a mental note on how to defeat larger creatures. The key was unbalancing them, and he resolved to adjust his kindflame to achieve just that.


    Later, in the crypts, he practiced with Ember, refining a sweeping motion with his flame designed to catch legs on fire if his opponents failed to dodge or move away. The simplicity of the offensive motion made it easy to master. Though his skill with shieldflame was improving, he knew it still lacked the duration needed to withstand prolonged attacks.


    <hr>


    Woodrow led his thieves into the meadows, cloaked and armed. They waited for the darkness to stir. Though the thieves had sharp senses and keen sight, they were still only human, so Woodrow stood in the middle of the clearing as bait, ensuring they knew where to throw their daggers and strike. He carried a torch, his red hair gleaming in the light, making him easy to spot. He directed the group toward the new type of monsters that gathered to corrupt the land¡ªfast, spider-like, slimy creatures. Weak but numerous, they were a perfect match for the thieves'' precision and speed.


    The thieves moved as a swarm, protecting one another¡ªa stark contrast to their usual self-serving ways. They had always looked out for their own survival, cooperating only when necessity demanded it. But Woodrow hoped they might find a sense of community here. Their daggers glinted in the torchlight as he taught them where to aim and how to strike. They slid under the spiders'' scuttling legs, slicing them cleanly so the creatures toppled and rolled away clumsily. As the spiders realized they were being driven back, they retreated, raising their limbs in an almost petulant display of anger.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Back at the granges, Woodrow served them warm soup with hearty chunks of meat and eggs. He watched, amused, as they devoured the meal with bread. "Not used to earning your keep, are you?" he remarked, before leaving them to their fire. With a quiet smile, he headed off to report back to Ryne.


    <hr>


    The children of Kent played with the new settlers, learning to share as they chased each other around. Belle and the sheep bounded about, either chasing the children or letting their soft fur be petted. With Wilbur having treated the latest wave of sickness, the air now carried the sound of little, tinkling laughter, bringing smiles to the faces of mothers and soldiers alike. Jerome, ever the dutiful scout, kept watch over them from the tower Ealhstan had built.


    But there was a problem: food for the growing community. Some nights, under the communal fire, Jerome''s eyes lingered on mothers passing their food to their children. Some shared a single bowl of stew. Meanwhile, Ryne went to Claude¡¯s goat, squeezed the milk, and offered it to the grateful children.


    He needed to collect prayers. So, on a Saintsday evening, he instructed Wilbur to decorate the pews with some of his more common flowers and make incense from the yellowtongues. He wanted a warm atmosphere that night. The villagers filed in as Woodrow played a gentle melody, the space filled with comforting scents and sounds. The sermon he chose was one of warmth and belonging, and he saw the people close their eyes, feeling the weight of his words. He gathered their prayers and offerings¡ªlike wind in a basket¡ªand let it settle in his heart.


    That night, Gaelmar appeared in his dreams, the long-forgotten Saint pointing to a part of the dark forest where wildlife once flourished.


    Woodrow joined Ryne in the woods that night, farther beyond the arched pathway of Rothfield. He was ready to awaken another part of the forest. After the Saintsday mass, Ryne showed them the prayers he had gathered: soft, glowing orbs that hovered in the air like little globes of flame. The voices of the people filled the space, not distinct but a mix of ramblings, intertwining and merging together. Ryne absorbed them all, and as the prayers lifted him up, he began to levitate just a touch.


    He went into the forest to pray to Saint Gaelmar, with Woodrow watching over him, dagger in hand, ready for any monsters that might emerge. Ryne knelt, glowing softly, and pressed his palms into the earth. The land around him stirred. Wildflowers bloomed where his fingers touched, and the trees began to regain their vibrant hues. Half of each tree remained withered and dark, while the other half burst into the green of spring, their leaves bright and fresh. Ryne took a deep breath. It was a small clearing, but it stretched beyond the visible, as if the darkness of the forest was beginning to recede.


    Green vines erupted from the ground, shifting with fluid motion, guiding Ryne and Woodrow through underground tunnels that led back to the welcoming archway of Rothfield. The vines seemed to nod in acknowledgment before they slithered back into the earth. Ryne yawned, weary from the effort. Woodrow placed a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him back toward the crypts where he would rest.


    "You¡¯re doing good here, Woodrow. Thank you," Ryne murmured, his eyes closing. After a moment, he added, more softly, "Thank you."


    Scurrying paws and soft squeaks echoed through the dark forest, now teeming with life in the areas where green had begun to return. Woodrow and Wilbur were tasked with checking these newly revived sections. Wilbur delighted in the sight of squirrels, foxes, and pheasants wandering through the underbrush. Meanwhile, Woodrow carefully examined the tracks, noting the presence of waterfowl¡ªducks, geese, and sandpipers. He made a mental note to remind his thieves'' den not to poach or hunt these creatures unless Ryne specifically instructed them to. They swore they wouldn¡¯t, their promises hanging in the cool air.


    Ryne led Claude to one of the newly greened areas one midday. A curious squirrel, bold and unafraid, scurried up to Claude''s thick hair and settled there. Both boys laughed as the squirrel nestled in, but their amusement quickly faded when they heard a rustling and a wild boar emerged from the bushes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Claude murmured, but the boar was already charging. Without hesitation, Claude stepped forward, positioning himself between the beast and Ryne. One tusk grazed his leg as the boar charged past him. Claude collapsed to the ground as the creature squealed and disappeared back into the forest.


    Ryne knelt beside him, quickly bandaging the wound under the shade of a nearby tree. His fingers gently brushed over Claude¡¯s smooth skin, a softness in his touch. As he worked, Ryne noticed the faint beginning of hair on Claude¡¯s legs and felt a warm blush creep up his neck. Beneath the bandage, he whispered a prayer for healing, a wave of warmth flowing from him to ease the pain.


    Claude shivered contentedly. ¡°Did you apply some ointment? I didn¡¯t even notice.¡± He stood, testing his leg. ¡°Huh. Doesn¡¯t hurt at all. You be careful, all right? Boars can fell kings just like swords can. Though I don¡¯t blame the fellow. He¡¯s scared and protective of his own, just like the rest of us.¡±


    Several nights later, the people of Rothfield enjoyed rabbit in their stew¡ªalong with fish, fresh crops, and plenty of good company. Ryne sat back, eyes closed in quiet contentment, as the newcomers joined the growing communal fire in Kent. New children played at its edge, and several newly built huts welcomed villagers who had forged friendships with Kent''s people, further spreading the warmth of community.

 Vol. II Chapter 2 (Part 8 - END)

    Wilbur worked diligently with the seeds Claude had given Ryne, scrutinizing them through his microscope. His unique eyes allowed him to see beyond the surface, noticing details others couldn¡¯t. He observed the fibers in human skin, how youth kept muscles taut, stretching the skin smoothly, while age caused it to sag and lose strength. He glanced at his own skin¡ªunblemished, unmarred, and smooth like marble. Unlike Ealhstan, Wilbur had no memory of his past life, save for the skills and knowledge he had accumulated. He suspected that, in his former life, he was no stranger to failed experiments, constantly in need of bandages and balms to soothe his skin.


    Wilbur started with the oats, then moved on to the barley and lentils. He crushed them with the pestle and mortar, experimenting with various combinations to rejuvenate the seeds. His unique sight guided him, offering clues about what to mix. Like the spreading sickness, the seeds needed amethyst¡ªa symbol of the air element in alchemy. It needed to be breathed back to life. So, Wilbur asked Ealhstan to crush more amethysts into fine powder. He boiled, burned, and swirled the mixture, filtering it with spring water, running it through long tubes, adjusting the flames. Ryne watched him during the nights.


    After many attempts, Wilbur finally produced several bottles with different shades of liquid. The lilac-colored one, he found, revived the seeds. He dropped a few droplets onto them and watched as they glowed from purple to golden. The withered seeds transformed, rejuvenated with new life. Wilbur handed the bottle and puch of new seeds triumphantly to Ryne, who hugged him and called him a genius.


    ¡°Tell Claude to plant these seeds away from their withered crops. Tell me if it works in their field. And bless them, Ryne.¡±


    Now, Wilbur waited for the results.


    In the meantime, Wilbur tended to his garden in the middle of the cloisters. The common herbs and flowers were flourishing, their vibrant colors a quiet joy amidst the stone. He kept to the outer edges, nurturing the mint and roses, his own shivering maidens, and the everbanes. He had learned to avoid the center, where the soil was still disturbed, but his gaze finally lingered there. The white roses, growing quietly over the grave, stood in stark contrast to the brutality of the earth that had nourished them. At least the thief, in death, had served a purpose.


    Wilbur heard a rustling behind him and turned to see Gabriella standing at a distance, squinting uncertainly. His pale hand waved in acknowledgment, and she relaxed, her posture softening. She approached, offering a small bundle of dry herbs.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid these are the last I can give you,¡± she said, her voice tinged with both concern and relief. ¡°It¡¯s good to see your patients recovering.¡±


    Wilbur took the herbs and slipped them into his pocket, his smile warm despite the lingering weight of his thoughts. He knelt and began gathering fresh herbs from his own garden, letting the rich scent of the plants rise around him. ¡°These came from you,¡± he said, carefully selecting the healthiest specimens. ¡°Look at how they¡¯ve thrived. I couldn¡¯t have treated them without your help. Please, take these and plant them in your garden. They¡¯re yours now.¡±


    Gabriella hesitated, her gaze lingering on the herbs in his hands. She then slowly pulled her arms back, her voice soft but firm. "Thank you, Brother monk, but it will not grow in our soil. I am glad it flourishes here, but... do not give it to me."


    Wilbur didn''t press her further, but he placed the healthiest herbs into her basket with a gentle smile. "Then come and take some from time to time," he insisted before she could protest. "I¡¯ll leave them for you. And here," he added, offering a small vial of glowing medicine, "take this with you as well."


    Gabriella looked at the bottle, her fingers tracing its smooth surface before she carefully placed it into her basket. Then, with a warmth that surprised him, she smiled at him and placed her hand on his cheek. The simple touch was grounding, a reminder of kindness that lingered longer than any remedy.


    <hr>


    Wilbur''s eyes narrowed as he noticed the mint shrub had been stripped bare, the leaves gone, leaving nothing but the bare stems behind. A flash of anger stirred within him, his fingers tightening into fists. This wasn¡¯t the first time something had gone missing.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    He moved quickly, slipping through the shadowed halls of the infirmary, ensuring no one was left inside. As he snuffed out the candles, the flickering flames died with a hiss, leaving the room cloaked in a heavy darkness. He stood still, letting the silence settle around him like a thick cloak, waiting, watching. His senses were heightened¡ªthe faintest rustle of movement in the distance, the creak of a floorboard, all the signs of a trespasser.


    Tonight, his hunger had been sated. There would be no danger of him losing control, but his patience had worn thin. If whoever it was proved stubborn, they would find themselves caught by more than just his wits.


    The quiet night stretched on, filled only with the soft thrum of his heartbeat.


    Wilbur''s eyes narrowed, the faint rustle of footsteps drawing his attention. The shadows near his garden shifted, and he saw them¡ªfive small figures, creeping cautiously along the path. Their movements were hesitant, furtive, as if they expected to be caught at any moment. The dim light from the moon revealed their faces, pale and strained with fear.


    They were children.


    The eldest boy whispered harshly to a younger girl, urging her to pick the herbs that Wilbur had carefully nurtured. His voice was sharp with impatience, though his own hands trembled as they snatched the mint and other plants. The girl, her face pale and pinched with anxiety, reached shakily for the bright green everbanes. Her fingers brushed the delicate leaves, the tips trembling as if the very act of stealing made her heart race.


    Wilbur stepped forward, his presence unseen for the moment, his gaze lingering on the small thieves. His mind raced with questions¡ªwhy steal from him, of all people? Why these particular plants, the ones he had so carefully tended?


    His hand twitched, the weight of his next move pressing on him like a weight.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s voice was smooth, but there was an edge of coldness beneath it as he stood in the center of his garden, his figure emerging from the shadows like a quiet storm. The moonlight caught his pale skin, casting a spectral glow over him. His eyes flicked toward the little girl, whose hands still hovered over the everbanes, trembling, and then to the boy who seemed to have taken charge.


    He stood tall, his chest puffed out. His voice cracked with the weight of his guilt, but he still tried to hold himself steady. ¡°We didn¡¯t mean to,¡± the boy said, his words spilling out hurriedly.


    Wilbur tilted his head, his gaze not leaving the children as they huddled close to each other. The little girl¡¯s lip quivered, and he could see the fear in her eyes as she looked at the plants, then up at him. ¡°Why did you do it?¡± Wilbur repeated, his tone gentle but unwavering.


    He did not answer. Only looked down. Wilbur noted their shabby clothes, torn and burned. These were the ones from the ransacked and abandoned villages. They stole because that was the only thing they were taught. To survive.


    Wilbur smiled softly at the children, his pale face warm. "Come with me," he said, his voice gentle but firm. The children shuffled behind him, their small hands grasping each other for comfort.


    He led them through the dimly lit halls of his infirmary, the flickering light from a flint casting long shadows on the stone walls. Inside, the air was warm, a faint smell of herbs and the lingering scent of old wood. He gestured to one of the cots, inviting them to sit. As they settled, he moved to the cupboard, pulling out a pot of warm soup. The aroma of broth filled the air as he poured it into bowls.


    Wilbur offered the children the soup, watching as they hesitated, their eyes wide with uncertainty. Then, with a patient gesture, he extended his hand. They looked at each other before timidly handing back the mint, the petals, and the herbs they had gathered. Wilbur took them without a word and, from his pockets, retrieved Gabriella¡¯s old shriveled herbs. With a careful touch, he added them to the soup, the brittle leaves crumbling softly.


    He stirred the mixture, then placed a spoonful in front of each child. "Eat," he said quietly, watching as they hesitated no longer.


    Wilbur''s voice remained calm, but there was an unmistakable authority behind it. "You can''t take from my garden anymore. The soil here in Rothfield is special. It¡¯s what allows crops and flowers to thrive. If you take more than you need, there won¡¯t be enough for others¡ªchildren even frailer than you. Do you understand?"


    The children, quiet and wide-eyed, nodded as they sipped their soup. Wilbur¡¯s gaze lingered on one of them, his expression softening. ¡°I use these plants for medicine, for food, for people like your grandfather, and your sick friends. I can¡¯t help them without these.¡±


    The weight of his words hung in the air, and the children fell silent, their spoons pausing mid-air. The leader of the group looked down, his face flushed with shame. ¡°We promise we won¡¯t do it anymore,¡± he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.


    Wilbur gave them a small nod, his features softening. "Good. Now, finish your supper, and go home to your families."

 Vol. II Chapter 3 (Part 1)

    Claude followed the instructions carefully, selecting a patch of land near the edge of the dark forest where the soil was untouched. It was still dead and dry, but trusting Ryne and the brothers only ever led to good. With his worn hoe, he worked the ground, turning it over in rhythmic motions. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, mingled with the coolness of the forest¡¯s shade. He paused to inspect the rejuvenated seeds in his palm, running his thumb over their smooth, plump surfaces. They looked just as they had in better days, full of life and promise. He scattered them across the freshly dug rows, letting them fall onto the waiting earth, then watered them, watching the soil darken and settle.


    He glanced toward his main brittle fields, where dry, brittle stalks still stood like skeletons of a harvest long gone. A sudden gust of wind snapped one of the tallest stalks, scattering it across the barren land. His chest tightened as he surveyed the rest of the farm, vacant animal enclosures, silent and empty. The absence of life weighed heavily on him. He missed the soft bleating of the sheep, the snorts of the pigs, and the mischievous bleats of the goats. Most of all, he missed Belle, thankfully tended by Ryne and his brothers.


    Claude sighed and gave his staff a twirl, the sound of its whoosh breaking the stillness. A few remaining sheep perked up and ambled closer, their soft wool brushing against his legs. He ran a hand over one¡¯s back, drawing a small comfort from their presence as he turned back toward the dark forest, silently willing the seeds to grow.


    <hr>


    Claude blinked in amazement at the vibrant sprouts pushing through the soil. The barley formed slender, upright shoots, their tips tipped with tiny, soft awns that promised future golden grain. The oats grew more robust, with their stems slightly bowed under the weight of their clustered flowers, which swayed gently in the late afternoon breeze. His mother and little sister took turns marveling at the sight, running their fingers over the stalks as they matured. Day by day, the plants grew taller, their vibrant green deepening as the stems thickened and the grains began to form.


    At dusk, Ryne arrived, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He carried a pouch of fine, dark granules, fertilizers that smelled faintly of rich earth and ash. Claude accepted it hesitantly, rubbing the coarse material between his fingers.


    ¡°These must have been expensive to make,¡± he said shyly, glancing up at Ryne.


    Ryne¡¯s expression remained gentle, his tone soothing. ¡°You make up for it by gathering the resources from the mountain chambers.¡± That clearly made Claude feel better. He handed Claude some dull-looking pellets. ¡°I also bought your medicine.¡±


    Claude popped them into his mouth without question, feeling himself truly get stronger when he first started taking the medicine Wilbur made. For one thing, he did not feel so tired at midday, having the energy to help around the house or chop wood for the fireplace. Claude then scattered and poured the liquid the fertilizer carefully around the base of each plant. He worked with care, imagining the golden waves of barley and the silver sheen of ripened oats to come.


    <hr>


    Claude felt a quiet pride as he adjusted his grip on the reinforced shield borrowed from the monastery. It bore deep scratches along its face and he found a strange comfort in its weight. It steadied him, especially in the twisting, oppressive corridors of Mount Lhottem. Some nights, he joined the group tasked with exploring the mountain¡¯s labyrinthine chambers. The air inside was damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of decay, and the echoes of their footsteps seemed to chase them like restless spirits.


    He felt himself growing stronger and faster with each excursion. Ealhstan¡¯s new moves were still unfamiliar to him. They were a series of sweeping arcs and powerful lunges. So Claude often reverted to the quick, precise parries and strikes he had learned from Woodrow. Those moves had always felt natural, etched into his muscles. Slowly, however, he began to find his footing, standing firm even when shadow beasts lunged at him with their razor-like claws.


    On some nights, Ryne joined them, his presence as reassuring as a warm hearth. Everything seemed to flow more easily when Ryne was there. Claude¡¯s sword humed in anticipation, lighting alive whenever Ryne was near and in battle. He couldn¡¯t help but watch for the moment when the blade would ignite with that brilliant blue light, cutting through the darkness like a beacon.


    But it made Claude conflicted. Each time Ryne stepped into the fray, Claude¡¯s heart clenched. Ryne was not weak¡ªClaude knew that well¡ªbut he lacked the physical skill to wield a sword effectively. Even if he did, Claude wasn¡¯t sure Ryne could hold it long enough to endure a prolonged fight. Fire seemed to always come when Ryne was around, because maybe it knew how special his friend was. Sometimes, when Claude was just about to raise his shield, a fiery orb caught one of the creature¡¯s attacks and push him back. And he would see Ryne behind him, spent and about to fall over.


    It was a strange and delicate balance, wanting to shield Ryne from harm while relying on the wonder that only Ryne could bring.


    And yet, whenever Ryne was nearby, Claude felt an undeniable surge of strength and a sense of safety he couldn¡¯t quite explain. It was as if Ryne¡¯s presence itself warded off the darkness. Flames, wild and unrelenting, would spring forth as if summoned by sheer will, striking down shadow beasts with precision and fury.


    On this particular journey, they found themselves back-to-back in a cavernous chamber where the air felt charged with malice. The dim light of their lanterns flickered, casting shifting shadows along the jagged walls. A greater direwolf, its black fur glistening like oil, lunged at Claude, its teeth bared and eyes glowing with hunger.


    Claude¡¯s sword burned hot in his grip, the blade erupting in a golden-orange glow just as he struck. The wolf disintegrated into ash, its haunting growl swallowed by the hiss of fire. Behind him, a sweep of brilliant flames surged outward, engulfing the hind legs of two other wolves. The creatures yelped in agony before crumbling into smoldering remains, the acrid scent of burnt fur and ash filling the chamber.


    And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The chamber fell silent, the oppressive darkness lifting slightly. Claude lowered his sword, its light fading back into cold steel. He glanced over his shoulder at Ryne, who was catching his breath but steady. Claude noticed the faintest traces of smoke lingered around his fingers. Ryne felt hot himself as Claude steadied him.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Together, they set about gathering their spoils from the adventure. Embedded in the chamber walls, the firelight glinted off veins of precious gems¡ªfire opals shimmering with an inner blaze, denzemonds with their sharp, icy gleam, and deep violet amethysts that seemed to hum with energy. Claude carefully pried them loose, his calloused hands deftly working alongside Ryne¡¯s steadier ones.


    <hr>


    The wheat stood tall, golden, and swaying gently in the breeze, ready for harvest. Lentils and beans ripened in the nearby fields, their pods plump and heavy. Claude couldn¡¯t resist the pull of the moment. Before reaching for the scythe, he went inside his cottage.


    He called Annette. His sister undoubtedly heard the excitement in his voice. As she stepped outside, he crept behind her, his rough hands gently covering her eyes. ¡°No peeking,¡± he whispered, his grin evident in his tone. Annette giggled, allowing him to lead her, trusting his guiding steps through the soft earth of the farm.


    When they reached the edge of the wheat field, he stopped and uncovered her eyes. The sight before her left her breathless.


    ¡°Claude,¡± she murmured, her voice filled with wonder.


    He couldn¡¯t help but laugh, light and carefree. Without another word, they ran into the field, their laughter mingling with the rustling of the grains. Claude trailed his hands through the stalks and felt their smooth, pliable texture. He closed his eyes, feeling the grains slip through his fingers like silk. This¡ªthis was what it was meant to feel like. Soft, strong, enduring.


    Caught in the joy of the moment, he turned to Annette, scooping her up in his arms. She squealed in surprise. He held her high, letting her hands brush the tops of the wheat stalks. ¡°Feel it,¡± he said softly. ¡°It¡¯s all alive again.¡±


    Annette stretched her arms wide, fingertips grazing the golden heads of the wheat. Her laughter softened, and she looked like the carefree child she hadn¡¯t been in so long. Claude spun her gently, their movements parting the wheat in swirling patterns. The joy of the moment etched into the earth as much as it was into their hearts.


    Claude waited for Ryne at dusk. As soon as his pale friend emerged from the dark forest, he grabbed his arm and almost yanked him to the golden wheat. Laughing, he pushed Ryne gently through the stalks and tickled his ears with some grain.


    Ryne laughed, his voice warm and carefree, as he playfully shoved Claude, dodging the wheat Claude tried to swat at him. Their playful tussle ended with Ryne holding Claude down until they both tumbled onto the soft ground, breathless and laughing under the golden canopy of wheat.


    Claude yawned and stretched, letting the moment linger. Ryne¡¯s fair hair spilled across Claude¡¯s arm, glinting in the late afternoon sun. The scent of ripe grain and earth surrounded them, grounding the moment in the vibrant life of the fields.


    ¡°We used to do this all the time when we were kids,¡± Claude began, his voice softening. ¡°My brothers and I would hide in the stalks and try to catch each other. Sometimes Da would join us. He thought he was sneaky, but we always knew where he¡¯d hide. He could never stop snickering.¡±


    Ryne turned his head, his smile broadening.


    Claude chuckled, the memory fresh as if it had just happened. ¡°We¡¯d all jump on him, and we¡¯d tumble like a heap of lambs. Then Ma would come out, hands on her hips, scolding us all through supper.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s smile stayed as they shared that good memory, the lightness of it warming the air between them. After a moment, they helped each other to their feet, brushing the stray bits of grain from their clothes. Claude led Ryne to the toolshed, pulling out a sturdy scythe.


    Together, they began the harvest. The rhythmic swish of the scythe cutting through the wheat mixed with the hum of cicadas. Ryne worked alongside Claude, carefully collecting some seeds from the harvested grain. He knelt by the new soil, rich and dark from Wilbur¡¯s liverfert, his special fertilizers, and let the seeds spill into his palm.


    Pressing his hand lightly to the earth, Ryne smiled. ¡°The soil is still alive,¡± he murmured.


    Claude nodded, his chest swelling with hope. The land that had once seemed lost was thriving again, teeming with promise and life.


    Claude stood at the edge of the main fields, his eyes fixed on the dry, brittle stalks swaying weakly in the breeze. The contrast between them and the full, golden grains from the new fields was stark. He bit his lip.


    ¡°Harvest some of those as well,¡± Ryne said, gesturing toward the brittle grains. ¡°Mix them with these new, healthy ones for tribute. Start with a quarter of the good grains at first, then half, then full. Keep doing that as you plant more of the good seed in your main fields.¡±


    Claude nodded slowly, the plan sinking in. ¡°That way, it won¡¯t raise suspicion with Lord Bahram. He¡¯ll think it¡¯s a gradual recovery.¡± He paused, glancing down at the plump grains in his hands. ¡°But what about these good grains? What should I do with them now?¡±


    Ryne smiled, his expression warm and practical. ¡°Store them. Eat them. You¡¯ve earned that much.¡±


    Claude studied the grains for a long moment, then split the handful in two, offering half to Ryne. The gesture was simple. Ryne looked at the grains in his palm, then stepped back, shaking his head lightly.


    ¡°It¡¯s all yours,¡± Ryne said, his voice gentle but firm.


    ¡°You told me I can do whatever I want with it. I want to share it with you,¡± Claude said, his voice soft but insistent. He grabbed Ryne¡¯s arm and led him toward his cottage. Inside, Lydia was by the cooking pot, waiting for the water to boil.


    Claude handed her the good grains. ¡°We¡¯ll have a bowl for Ryne,¡± he said.


    Lydia smiled warmly, then leaned in to hug Ryne quickly and tenderly. If Ryne wasn¡¯t so pale, he might have blushed, but instead, he simply returned the embrace. They sat down together at the table, savoring the hearty meal made from the full, healthy grains.


    Afterward, they spent the evening chasing little Annette through the fields, laughing as the golden light of dusk faded around them. Claude could hear Ryne¡¯s voice calling out to Annette as she hid, his sharp sight never fading, even in the deepening darkness.


    As the evening wore on, Lydia called for Annette, signaling bedtime. Claude lingered by the edge of the dark forest, the cool air brushing against his skin. He gave Ryne a hug before he left. ¡°Thank you for helping us. Take the seeds for Wilbur.¡±


    Ryne nodded.


    Claude watched as Ryne disappeared into the shadows, heading toward the monastery with the seeds. He stood there a moment longer, his heart full. Then, turning back toward the warmth of his cottage, he felt a quiet sense of peace settle over him.

 Vol. II Chapter 3 (Part 2)

    Claude carefully counted the pouches of grains, securing them tightly in his belt. He hoped it would be enough to satisfy Lord Baxter Bahram. That he might return two, maybe three sheep to their depleted farm. As he prepared to leave, Lydia draped an old scarf around his shoulders. It was his brother¡¯s, its fabric worn soft but still carrying the faint scent of hay and lavender from better days.


    The chill of the morning air greeted Claude as he stepped into Rothfield proper. The town felt different, its mood heavy. Windows were latched shut, their panes dimmed by a thin layer of grime. Conversations had faded to murmurs that barely rose above the sound of shuffling feet.


    He passed the small church adorned with the mark of Saint Edmund, the living Saint-King. The sight of it was unsettling, its weathered stone walls seeming to hold the weight of unheard prayers. Among the gathered townspeople, Claude recognized familiar faces, though their expressions were guarded. Some clutched their own meager offerings, hands gripping bundles of grain or small trinkets as if letting go might invite ruin. Others avoided his gaze entirely, their attention fixed on the ground or the long wooden table ahead.


    The bailiff stood at the center of the table, his stern eyes scanning the line of tributes. Claude joined the queue, keeping his focus on the sack in his hands. He felt the weight of the grains shift with every step. Around him, a few townsfolk edged farther away, maintaining a cautious distance.


    Claude bowed his head, his grip tightening on the rough burlap. Whatever their fears, he understood them. For now, all he could do was move forward, one step at a time, and hope his offering was enough.


    Lord Bahram stood at the head of the procession, his towering presence casting a shadow over the gathered townsfolk in front of the line. His son, Vincent, leaned lazily against a post nearby, sharing an expression of boredom. Claude couldn¡¯t shake the unnatural chill emanating from Bahram.


    The only time the lord¡¯s thin lips curled into a smile was when a goose was seized from a weeping couple. The woman¡¯s cries echoed through the square as her husband pulled her away, leaving the bird flapping helplessly in the bailiff¡¯s grip. The scene tightened a knot in Claude¡¯s stomach, but he swallowed his unease, keeping his focus forward.


    When his turn came, Claude stepped up to the long wooden table. The bailiff stood impassively, his thick hands resting on the edge, while Bahram and Vincent watched with disinterest. Claude placed his sack of tribute on the table, careful not to meet their eyes. He began to step back, relieved to retreat into the anonymity of the crowd.


    ¡°Hold,¡± Bahram¡¯s voice cut through the murmurs like the snap of a whip.


    Claude froze as a chill coiled through his chest. Slowly, he turned back to face the lord, whose sharp gaze now fixed on the sack of grain as though it were prey. Bahram¡¯s hand moved deliberately, drawing a slender knife from his belt. He approached the table with measured steps, the murmurs behind Claude swelling into a wave of unease.


    With a precise motion, Bahram sliced open the sack. Grains spilled across the rough wooden surface, a cascade of bright, plump kernels mixed with the duller ones from Claude¡¯s struggling fields. The contrast was stark.


    The crowd stirred, their whispers rising like leaves rustling in the wind. Claude¡¯s hands clenched at his sides, his heart pounding in his ears. Bahram¡¯s gaze lingered on the scattered grains, his expression inscrutable.


    Claude stood rooted in place.


    Even Father Clint, the priest of Saint Edmund¡¯s church, emerged from its arched doorway, drawn by the growing commotion. His stark white robes swayed slightly as he moved, somehow avoiding the dirt and grime of the ground. The murmuring crowd parted to let him pass, their gazes flicking nervously between the priest and Lord Bahram.


    Baxter Bahram¡¯s displeasure was palpable. Though his expression barely shifted, the sharp edge in his posture and the cold intensity in his eyes spoke volumes. Claude dared not lift his head, but he could feel the weight of the lord¡¯s gaze pressing down on him. His breathing grew shallow as he stood exposed under their scrutiny.


    ¡°What are you playing at, boy?¡± Bahram¡¯s voice rolled out like distant thunder, low and steady but carrying an unmistakable threat.


    Claude¡¯s mouth went dry. The stares from the crowd burned into him like hot irons. When Bahram snapped his fingers, the sound echoed unnaturally in the tense air, compelling Claude to step forward despite the shaking in his knees.


    He hated this¡ªhated the way his body betrayed him under the noble¡¯s commanding presence. Monsters, shadow beasts, direwolves, those he could face every night without flinching. But this was different. The might of a noble was something far more crushing, far more inescapable.


    Father Clint stopped beside Bahram, his presence no less chilling. His cold, unfeeling gaze swept over Claude as if appraising a servant unworthy of attention. Without a word, the priest approached the table. He pinched a few grains from the spilled tribute between his long fingers, inspecting them with an almost disdainful curiosity. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he scattered them to the ground as though discarding dirt.


    The gesture sent a ripple of unease through the crowd, and Claude¡¯s stomach twisted.


    Father Clint stepped back to stand beside Bahram, their combined presence towering and oppressive. Even Vincent, usually smug and indifferent, shifted uncomfortably, edging slightly away from his father and the priest.


    Under their combined stares, Claude felt himself shrinking, like a bug caught, waiting for the inevitable moment when it would be crushed.


    ¡°This is highly unnatural,¡± Father Clint murmured, his voice frail yet cutting, carried clearly by the stillness of the wind.


    Claude¡¯s jaw tightened. He forced himself to keep his voice steady as he replied, ¡°Why does it matter? Doesn¡¯t this please you? To see healthy grains on your land?¡± He caught himself a moment too late, hastily adding, ¡°Milord.¡±


    Bahram¡¯s gaze darkened, his steps slow as he closed the distance between them. When his hand lashed out, the slap echoed like a gunshot in the silent square. Claude stumbled slightly, the sharp sting blossoming into a dull throb as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk back to me,¡± Bahram said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned away, wiping his hand on a pristine royal cloth with disdain.


    Claude straightened, his face hot with pain and shame. He¡¯d forgotten himself¡ªforgotten his place. The freedom he felt in Rothfield monastery, with Ryne and the others, had lifted his spirit so high he¡¯d dared to speak without thinking. But Ryne was not here, and his monastery rules were not the ones that governed this place. This was Bahram¡¯s domain, where nobility reigned absolute, and peasants knew their place.


    The crowd shifted uneasily, but no one met Claude¡¯s eyes. He glanced toward Vincent and was startled to see the lord¡¯s son staring back at him. For once, Vincent wasn¡¯t wearing his usual smug smile. Instead, his expression was unreadable, something like tension flickering behind his dark eyes.


    Bahram¡¯s voice, barely more than a whisper, carried a venomous edge as he muttered, ¡°I just can¡¯t seem to get rid of you lot, can I?¡±


    The words struck deep. Claude¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his head low, his breath shallow. He swallowed the retort rising in his throat, knowing all too well that any further defiance could end far worse than a public humiliation.


    The crowd remained silent, their faces a mix of fear and resignation, as Bahram and his entourage turned their attention to the next tribute. Claude wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes darting to Vincent once more before he stepped away, back into the crowd, his spirit heavy.


    Bahram approached the priest, his voice lowering to a near whisper as they exchanged words. Claude wasn¡¯t sure why he noticed. Perhaps it was months of training his ears to catch the faintest sounds of an approaching threat, or maybe Ryne¡¯s influence, urging him to pay closer attention to details others might miss. Whatever the reason, a few words drifted his way, cutting through the dull roar of pain and humiliation still buzzing in his skull.


    It was something about his farm. Words like lease or deed slipped between their low tones.


    Claude¡¯s fists clenched in his pockets, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay still. A hot, twisting rage clawed its way up his chest, but he forced himself to shove it down, burying it deep beneath the wounded, submissive posture he knew he had to maintain. He couldn¡¯t afford to look angry¡ªnot here, not now. Anger would only draw more attention, more punishment, and bring danger to his family.


    But it simmered inside him, a restless fire that refused to be extinguished. He kept his head low, his lip still throbbing from Bahram¡¯s strike. The man¡¯s arrogance, his casual cruelty, burned in Claude¡¯s mind. His body knew what it wanted to do: lash out, strike Bahram down where he stood. He was a capable fighter; it would be easy.


    But he knew better. Monsters turned to ash when defeated. Nobles didn¡¯t. Bahram wouldn¡¯t crumble under a single blow, and even if Claude somehow succeeded, his family would pay the price. The soldiers, the system, the weight of the noble¡¯s power, would all come crashing down on him and everyone he cared about.


    So, he swallowed his fury, letting it fester quietly as his eyes darted once more to Bahram and Father Clint. He couldn¡¯t make out the rest of their conversation, but the chill in his gut told him it wasn¡¯t good.


    The priest¡¯s voice slithered through the air, dripping with smug superiority. ¡°I suppose it makes sense that the holy Saint Edmund blessed your lordship¡¯s farm first, since it would nourish you.¡± His eyes shifted toward the crowd, scanning over the wary faces of Rothfield¡¯s townsfolk, before adding, ¡°All of you have a responsibility to care for your lord. Without him, Rothfield would fall, like so many other kingdoms and cities. It is this natural order that delights the Saints.¡±


    Claude¡¯s teeth ground together, fighting the retort that bubbled up from his chest. He couldn''t keep it in. ¡°And what about the lord¡¯s people? What happens to them while the good noble lord feasts?¡±


    A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The air thickened, the people pulling back, as if Claude had just started a fire. Some averted their eyes, others whispered between themselves.


    Bahram¡¯s face twisted with disdain, and without missing a beat, he lunged toward Claude. He yelled, ¡°You insolent vermin!¡±


    His massive form cut through the air, fists raised and fury crackling in his eyes. As he charged, his hip slammed against the table, knocking it over and sending the remaining grains scattering across the ground like spilled treasure.


    Claude¡¯s pulse spiked. So, this is what Ealhstan warned me about. The kind of man who could flatten you with a single move.


    Claude¡¯s mind flashed to what Ealhstan had taught him: stand firm, know when to strike, don¡¯t back down. But this wasn¡¯t like facing shadowbeasts, creatures that could be dismissed with holy flame, vanishing when their source was extinguished. This was real. This was a man with power, with influence, and with enough strength to crush him in an instant.


    Bahram¡¯s hand shot out, reaching for Claude¡¯s collar. It was closing in, the pressure rising, and Claude¡¯s breath hitched as the moment stretched, preparing for the collision he knew was coming. His body tensed, ready to move, to fight back, but the weight of the situation anchored him in place.


    "Milord!" A woman¡¯s voice rang out, cutting through the rising tension like a blade. Claude turned, his chest still heaving, to see Gabriella raising her hand, her face pale. ¡°Mercy, please. The boy didn¡¯t mean it. Take our tribute and be on your way, sir. Don¡¯t pay him any mind.¡±


    Lord Bahram paused mid-stride, his towering frame still radiating menace. The priest, however, turned his cold, appraising gaze on Gabriella, his thin lips curling with disdain. ¡°Aren¡¯t you the one whose sons miraculously recovered? The one who was begging around for medicine?¡±


    Gabriella flinched under his scrutiny but managed to steady herself. ¡°Yes, milord,¡± she stammered. ¡°Saint Edmund heard our prayers and healed all three of my sons.¡±


    The priest¡¯s expression hardened further, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°You stink of lies.¡± He flicked his bony fingers at the bailiff, who immediately began rearranging the toppled tables and scattered grain. The priest¡¯s attention snapped back to Gabriella, his tone sharp and unyielding. ¡°You¡¯ve not been seen in the church since your sons fell ill, and people whisper of you sneaking about at night. Do you deny it?¡±


    Gabriella¡¯s eyes darted to Claude, a silent plea in her gaze. ¡°I was only getting help from Claude,¡± she said, her voice trembling but firm enough to carry.


    Claude picked up on the thread of her story immediately, nodding before the priest could pounce. ¡°We help each other when we can,¡± he said, his tone as neutral as he could manage. ¡°Sometimes, she brings us leftovers from her home.¡±


    The priest¡¯s pale, cold eyes narrowed. ¡°And yet, your family seems healthier than the rest of the town. Your grains shine brighter, fuller.¡± His gaze flicked between Claude and Gabriella suspiciously.


    ¡°We¡¯ve tried to share what we can with our neighbors,¡± Gabriella began, her voice cracking with desperation.


    The priest silenced her with an icy glare. ¡°Enough.¡± His words were final, his voice heavy with the authority of his station. ¡°Anyone caught sneaking about past curfew will be tried as a witch or a spy. Consider yourselves warned.¡±


    Then, as if he had merely been waiting to strike, the priest turned back to Claude. His ashen face tilted forward slightly, the sharpness of his features accentuated by the dim light. ¡°There¡¯s a stench wafting from the dark forest,¡± he said, his voice low but carrying. ¡°It reeks of rot, of things no incense can purge. I pray that it doesn¡¯t creep into Rothfield.¡±


    The priest sniffed once, sharply, then turned on his heel. His robes billowed slightly as he retreated, his thin frame giving Claude a wide berth. The crowd remained still, tension clinging to the air as the priest disappeared back into the shadows of the church, his presence leaving behind a chill that seeped into the bones.

 Vol. II Chapter 3 (Part 3)

    Gabriella helped Claude to his feet, her firm grip steadying him as she guided him away from the dispersing crowd. The echoes of murmured disapproval and sidelong glances weighed heavily on him. It was as if the priest¡¯s condemning words had turned him into a living embodiment of foul air. Wary neighbors averted their eyes.


    "Let me see," Gabriella said softly, her voice the same gentle anchor it had always been. She led him to the fountain and crouched in front of him. Claude turned his dirtied face toward her, and she wiped at the grime and dried blood with her apron. Her touch reminded him of when she used to care for him when he was the same age as Annette. At least Gabriella was still Gabriella.


    She examined his arms for further injuries. When she found nothing, she stood up. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°You have to be careful, Claude.¡±


    He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Before either could say more, a slurred voice broke the fragile quiet.


    ¡°Oi, woman!¡± Gabriella¡¯s husband stumbled out of the pub, his words thick with ale and his expression sour. He glared at her, unsteady on his feet. ¡°What¡¯re you doing out here? Get back in the house!¡±


    Gabriella stiffened, her hand faltering as she turned to face her husband. Claude stepped back, his jaw tightening as he sized up the man. They locked eyes for a tense moment. The drunkard grunted as he turned and staggered back into the house, slamming the door behind him.


    Gabriella sighed, her shoulders slumping as she straightened. ¡°Go home, Claude,¡± she murmured, her tone weary.


    Claude nodded, his heart heavy. As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on a small patch of greenery in Gabriella¡¯s garden. He recognized Wilbur¡¯s herbs nestled among the other plants, their delicate leaves thriving despite the grimness of their surroundings.


    He allowed himself a faint smile at the sight, but it quickly faded. Kicking a stray stone from his path, he trudged toward home, his thoughts a tangle of frustration and regret. So much for hoping he would return with his sheep.


    <hr>


    Claude did not know what compelled him, but as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in muted hues of orange and purple, he found himself lingering near Gabriella¡¯s home after checking on her boys. His eyes wandered toward the distant glow of the church, its tall windows illuminated like watchful eyes in the dimming light. The sight stirred something in him¡ªmemories of where his brother, Nhim, used to hide and listen to the kinder, older priest.


    Unable to resist, Claude made his way toward the church. He crouched low as he approached, careful not to be seen, and peeked through one of the windows. The air outside felt colder as he observed the scene within.


    Father Clint''s church was nothing like Ryne¡¯s. Where Ryne¡¯s chapel had been ancient but welcoming, warmed by the spirit of its caretaker, this place felt sterile and unfeeling despite its grandeur. The polished floors and clean stone walls seemed to mock the struggles of those who sought solace here.


    Inside, Father Clint stood at the altar, a commanding figure against the backdrop of flickering candles. The light failed to soften his harsh features; if anything, it accentuated the cold lines of his face, making him seem more like a carved statue than a man. Here, within his domain, the priest seemed younger, his voice strong and unyielding as it echoed through the vast chamber.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The congregation sat with bowed heads, their faces lined with worry and exhaustion. They listened intently, though the priest¡¯s words were in the old language of the Saints, a tongue none of them understood. The hymns of Saint Edmund were sharp and rigid, devoid of the warmth that Saint Gaelmar¡¯s songs brought to Ryne¡¯s chapel. These hymns were meant to sharpen thoughts, to call for clarity, but to Claude, they felt like cold steel pressing against the soul.


    What good were hymns when they alienated the very people they were meant to uplift?


    Claude¡¯s hands curled into fists as he watched Father Clint extend his hand in a gesture of authority. His movements commanded reverence and fear. The priest seemed to bask in the power he held over the weary townsfolk.


    A low growl escaped Claude¡¯s throat as anger surged within him. This was the man who had his kind-hearted brother, Nhim, away. The thought made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to burst through the doors and confront the priest right then and there.


    Claude hesitated at the edge of the church garden, torn between slinking away unnoticed and indulging in a small act of defiance by plucking the withered flowers from the soil. He leaned closer, his fingers brushing the brittle stems, when Father Clint¡¯s voice cut through the murmured hymns inside.


    ¡°¡­And be wary of those who think they know better, who conjure fake miracles. Do not be deceived. It is not Saint Edmund. It is not holy.¡±


    Claude froze, his spiteful impulse forgotten. He pressed his ear against the cold windowpane, his breath fogging the glass as he strained to catch every word.


    Inside, Father Clint paced the aisle, his spotless white robes flowing behind him like the shroud of a ghost. His voice was sharp and commanding.


    ¡°I had a vision from the Saint himself,¡± the priest continued, his tone heavy. ¡°He warned me of pale and long-fingered people who live in shadows. They burn in the sun. They cannot stand the holy light of the Saints and so they try to fool the faithful with their magics in the dark. They prey on those who are weak of spirit. They lie with warm smiles, offering safety, shelter, and soup, only to trap you forever in their wicked ways.¡±


    Claude¡¯s stomach tightened as Father Clint¡¯s words seemed to pierce through the walls and into his very soul.


    ¡°They are a mockery of what is just,¡± Father Clint declared, his eyes sweeping across the congregation. ¡°And they dare to pretend they are better than the Saints themselves. My friends, this is not merely a dream, but a warning. Saint Edmund has called to me, and I now call to you. Anyone found consorting with these dark forces shall be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.¡±


    The priest¡¯s voice rang with finality, each word like the toll of a bell, and Claude stumbled back from the window. He dropped to the ground, his legs sprawling awkwardly in front of him as his chest heaved. A chill crept into his bones, and his hands trembled as if Father Clint¡¯s words had seeped into the very air around him.


    The fear he felt wasn¡¯t for himself. No, he knew who the priest spoke of. The pale, long-fingered people. The warm smiles. The shelter in the dark. He thought of Ealhstan, Wilbur, and Woodrow. Ryne.


    He forced himself to his feet and ran, his legs carrying him back home as fast as they could. The houses and shadowed alleyways of Rothfield blurred past him, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. He didn¡¯t stop until he reached the edge of the dark forest, the ancient trees looming like sentinels in the night.


    Claude stared into the depths of the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. His fear wasn¡¯t of Ryne and the brothers, of course. It was for them. For what might come for them if Father Clint¡¯s warning¡­


    He clenched his fists, his breath steadying as resolve began to take hold. Whatever was coming for Rothfield, he prayed that Brother Ealhstan¡¯s superhuman strength would be enough to stand against it. But as he turned toward his home, Claude couldn¡¯t shake the weight of dread that pressed down on his chest like a stone sinking deeper into dark waters.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 1)

    Another wave of sickness swept into Rothfield as the eerie mist descended.


    Ryne felt it before anyone else. He had been meditating in the belltower, the high winds stirring the edges of his robe, when the sensation hit him; a faint, unnatural vibration in the air that prickled his skin and whispered of decay. He opened his eyes, his expression grave.


    Without hesitation, he called for Brother Ealhstan, his voice echoing through the monastery halls.


    ¡°This one will be strong,¡± Ryne said, ¡°I¡¯m going to have to cease giving light to the meadow and lake for this to recover.¡± It was a shame. The children were looking forward to letting their sheep graze in the fields and Claude wanted to catch eels. But it will have to wait.


    Together, he and Ealhstan climbed the winding steps of the belltower. Once at the top, Ryne placed his hands on the great bell, its surface cold beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes and began to channel a prayer of banishment, his words low and steady, carrying the warmth of Gaelmar¡¯s spirit into the very core of the bell.


    The night was silent but for the ominous rustling of the mist below. Then Ealhstan struck the bell.


    The sound sent a wave of light and warmth that surged outward, pushing back the encroaching fog. The air around the monastery grew warmer as Ryne¡¯s power flowed into the bell and through its clamor, rippling out over Rothfield. Wherever the sound reached, the mist recoiled, hissing as if scalded. The people of Rothfield, huddled in their homes, felt the warmth wash over them. They will continue to be at peace.


    ¡°I hear you,¡± Claude had once told Ryne on a peaceful day in the meadows. ¡°Whenever you strike that great bell of yours, I know we¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    Ryne had smiled then, but tonight his face remained somber as he leaned heavily against Ealhstan on their descent from the belltower. His steps were unsteady, his strength drained from the effort.


    Ealhstan guided him down the final steps, concerned. ¡°Do you still have enough strength to bless our arms?¡± he asked, his voice low but steady.


    Ryne nodded, though his exhaustion was evident in the faint tremor of his hands. ¡°A few,¡± he replied, his voice soft.


    They entered Ealhstan¡¯s warm forge. The blacksmith¡¯s tools glinted in the firelight, and the unfinished weapons on the anvil seemed to shimmer. Ealhstan carefully guided Ryne to a bench, ensuring he was seated before retrieving a steel-tipped wooden spear.


    As Ryne reached out to bless the weapon, his hands trembling slightly, Ealhstan placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll hold the line,¡± the blacksmith said.


    Ealhstan''s forge burned bright late into the night, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone walls of the monastery. Sparks flew as he hammered steel into shape, molding it into sharp, deadly weapons. He sighed deeply, watching the flames dance over the steel. Blessed weapons were powerful, but they lacked durability. It was a frustrating tradeoff when facing unrelenting darkness.


    Across the forge, Ryne sat cross-legged, his hands clasped tightly together as he murmured prayers to Gaelmar. The faint glow of kindflame flickered around him. With each whispered prayer, Ryne kissed the steel-tipped weapons Ealhstan presented, infusing them with a protective blessing. But the exertion was taking its toll.


    Ryne¡¯s movements slowed, his breaths growing heavier. Just as he reached for another weapon, Ember darted forward, pulling at his sleeve.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Ealstan said firmly. ¡°You¡¯ll burn yourself out.¡±


    Ealhstan cared for Ember. She channeled her own flame to support Ryne when his was weak. Though her fire lacked the potency of Ryne¡¯s divine blessings, her fire added power when he was sputtering out,


    ¡°Thank you, Ember,¡± Ealhstan said as he handed her a cool cup of water.


    Ember placed herself protectively between Ryne and the weapons he was so eager to bless. While Ryne relied on prayers and Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame¡ªgained through devotion and sacrifice¡ªEmber¡¯s fire was innate. It flowed from her, unbidden but limited. She could hurl fireballs with ease but the grand feats Ryne performed were beyond her reach.


    Ealhstan led him outside and told him to back to the crypts. Outside the forge, peace had settled over the monastery. In the courtyard, Woodrow entertained the new children with juggling.


    One by one, the children began to approach Ealhstan as well, their initial fear replaced by curiosity and tentative smiles. The giant grinned and allowed th ebravest of them to climb hid legs.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Careful now,¡± he said.


    For one night, at least, they could rest knowing that their light held strong against the encroaching shadows.


    <hr>


    The night air was heavy with a faint chill as Woodrow carried the bundled, cloth-wrapped form through the quiet halls of the monastery. The scent of decay clung to the fabric, sharp and unpleasant, but Woodrow bore it without flinching. His destination was Wilbur¡¯s infirmary. Ealhstan joined him.


    Wilbur was already waiting, his sleeves rolled up and his hands meticulously clean. He motioned Woodrow to place the bundle on the stone slab in the center of the room. Wilbur explained his experiments to Ealhstan.


    He straightened, his gaze steady. ¡°We unearth the bodies of those recently buried. Their organs are harvested for study. By understanding how this sickness ravages the body, I can prepare treatments¡ªor preventions¡ªfor future waves. The rest is¡­ repurposed.¡±


    ¡°Repurposed?¡± Ealhstan could not bear to look at the body.


    Wilbur gestured toward the infirmary¡¯s back corner, where a pile of neatly arranged vials and jars stood. ¡°Organs become fertilizers. The crops grow stronger and faster because of it. Our fields thrive, and so do the people. Better to use what remains of the dead than let it rot uselessly beneath the soil.¡±


    Woodrow said nothing, his sharp features unreadable.


    Later that evening, Ealhstan visited the fields, walking among rows of thriving crops under the silver glow of moonlight. He stopped, his hand brushing against the heavy heads of wheat swaying in the gentle breeze. The fields stretched far and wide, thanks to Wilbur¡¯s experiments and Ryne¡¯s prayers.


    Ealhstan grunted, his jaw set as he returned to his chopping block. He split logs with precision, each strike of his axe echoing through the night. The wood would fuel his forge, and the shields he crafted would protect soldiers as they braved the treacherous mountains to gather resources.


    The weight of what Wilbur had revealed sat heavy in Ealhstan¡¯s mind. It was a bitter truth, one that gnawed at the edges of his conscience. But when he thought of the hungry mouths now fed and the soldiers returning with fewer wounds, he couldn¡¯t argue with the results.


    Wilbur¡¯s pragmatism, however dark, ensured their survival.


    <hr>


    The mist crept into the town of Rothfield like a silent predator, curling through the narrow streets and slipping beneath the cracks of doors. It lingered, heavy and damp, carrying with it an unnatural chill that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones.


    By night, it wrapped itself around the homes, and its presence invaded the dreams of the townsfolk. Mothers whispered soothing words to their frightened children, but even their lullabies were weighed down. When dawn broke, it brought no respite.


    The men of the town began to wander the streets with a hollow listlessness. Shadows darkened their eyes, and their tempers frayed. Arguments sparked over the smallest provocations, their nerves rubbed raw by nights of restless sleep.


    Gabriella watched from her window, her brow furrowed with concern. She saw the soldiers stationed at the edges of the town, hands tremblind and shoulders drooping. They even dropped their wooden spears.


    By the third day, the change in the town was undeniable. Men stumbled into one another, their movements sluggish and their minds clouded. Gabriella caught fragments of conversations, the words disjointed and often nonsensical. She noticed shopkeepers staring blankly at their wares, their expressions dazed, and children crying out in the streets for parents too distracted to soothe them.


    In the quiet moments, Gabriella observed the mist itself, its pale tendrils curling and writhing like a living thing. It seemed to be feeding on their exhaustion, growing thicker and denser as the days passed.


    Her thoughts turned to Rothfield monastery. She thought of Claude, of Ryne, and of the strange brothers who lived there. She uttered a prayer to the Four Saints, her heart heavy with dread.


    Each day, the town sank deeper into the mist¡¯s grasp, and Gabriella couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something worse was on the horizon.


    The pub was dark and silent. Gabriella passed it cautiously, keeping her head low and her steps swift. Earlier, she had narrowly avoided the chaos of a brawl spilling into the streets. Men who once clinked mugs together and laughed through shared hardships had turned on each other, their frustrations erupting into violence. Brooms and makeshift clubs flew through the air, and curses echoed down the alleys.


    Her husband had not joined the melee. Instead, he poured his rage into the dry, barren fields of Lord Bahram¡¯s estate, chopping wood with wild swings and hammering nails into rickety fences. He returned home every evening with his face flushed and his temper barely restrained, cursing the lack of ale, the ache of his stomach, and the weight of his empty pride.


    Gabriella tried to shield her children from it all, ushering them to their small room and singing soft lullabies to drown out their father¡¯s bitterness. She kissed their foreheads and whispered promises she wasn¡¯t sure she could keep.


    Beggars and orphans lined the alleys, their hollow eyes and skeletal frames haunting Gabriella as she passed. They reached out with trembling hands, their voices hoarse with pleas for shelter or a crumb of bread. Gabriella¡¯s heart ached, but she dared not stop. Even if she had food to give, a single bowl of soup could spark a riot.


    She shuddered at the thought of the bodies being carted away, the wagons piled high with the nameless dead. Their final resting place was a patch of unmarked soil beyond the town¡¯s boundaries, far from the sacred blessings of Saint Edmund¡¯s priests. The church¡¯s doors remained tightly shut to the poor souls who banged on them, their desperate cries met with cold silence. No warm candlelight would ever welcome them.


    Gabriella hated it. She hated the helplessness that knotted her stomach, the numbness she felt as she forced herself to walk past those in need. She hated the cruel irony of a church that preached mercy but offered none. And most of all, she hated the fear that had settled into her bones, the suffocating knowledge that they were all teetering on the edge of something far worse.


    Her only solace was the memory of Ryne and the monastery, the faint hope that somewhere beyond Lord Bahram¡¯s oppressive rule, there was still kindness and light. But even that felt like a distant dream.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 2)

    Claude walked through Rothfield, a sack of bread on his shoulder. The people stared at him with cold, angry eyes. He could hear their whispers, their harsh words about him.


    They didn¡¯t like him. He looked healthy and strong, and that made them angry. They were hungry, tired, and sick, while he looked like he had plenty. When he offered bread to a beggar, the man wouldn¡¯t take it. When he gave stew to a child, others tried to grab it.


    He stopped in front of the bakery he used to visit. The smell of fresh bread was gone, and the shop felt empty and sad.


    The baker came out when he saw Claude. His face was red, and he shouted, ¡°Get out of here! Don¡¯t bring your cursed food near me! You think you¡¯re better than us?¡± He waved a wet rag in the air like it was a weapon.


    Claude held out a loaf of bread. ¡°I¡¯m only trying to help.¡±


    The baker slapped the bread from his hand. It fell into the dirt. ¡°We don¡¯t want your pity!¡± he yelled. ¡°Leave us alone!¡±


    Claude bent down, picked up the bread, and brushed it off. He looked at the baker, not angry, just sad.


    ¡°Go!¡± the baker shouted again before slamming the door to his shop.


    Claude turned away, looking at the faces of the people watching him. No one smiled. No one said thank you. He sighed and walked toward the edge of town, the bread still in his hands.


    Even though they hated him, Claude couldn¡¯t hate them back. He understood their pain. As he left Rothfield, he hoped that one day, they would find peace.


    The mist was thick, cold, and suffocating that night. Gabriella could feel it pressing against her windows like it was alive. She shivered, wrapping her shawl tightly around herself. Something about the night felt wrong¡ªso very wrong.


    She checked on her children, who were bundled in blankets. She added another log to the fire, knowing her husband would grumble about wasting wood. Firewood was scarce, but she didn¡¯t care. The house was too cold. She whispered a soft prayer over her boys before returning to the main room.


    Gabriella sat down, but sleep would not come. The mist outside gnawed at her nerves. She couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Claude¡ªhow he had walked into town, facing angry stares, offering food to those who hated him. The thought gave her courage. She didn¡¯t want to be afraid anymore.


    Even if her husband would yell at her, she had to do something.


    Gabriella pulled on her wimple and scarf, steeling herself as she opened the door. The mist was like a wall, heavy and white, swallowing the night. She stepped outside, holding her hands in front of her, but it was no use. She couldn¡¯t see more than a few steps ahead.


    She fetched a lantern and lit it. The warm glow barely pierced the fog, but it was enough to guide her feet. She knew the roads of Rothfield by heart¡ªhow they twisted and turned, the places where the stones were uneven. She moved carefully, sticking to the shadows and keeping her lantern low to avoid the watchmen patrolling with their torches.


    As she neared the town square, her lantern flickered over two shapes huddled by a barrel. Gabriella stopped, her heart aching.


    It was a small orphan boy, no older than six, clinging to an old man with hollow eyes. They were shivering, their thin clothes doing nothing against the biting cold.


    Gabriella knelt beside them, her voice soft but urgent. ¡°Come with me. I¡¯ll take you somewhere safe.¡±


    The boy looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, while the old man hesitated. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a piece of bread, offering it to them. ¡°Please. I know someone who can help.¡±


    The old man nodded slowly, and Gabriella led them through the mist, her lantern swaying gently in her hand.


    The mist seemed alive, shifting and whispering around her as she moved. But Gabriella ignored it. Step by step, she made her way toward the monastery, hoping she could reach Wilbur¡¯s doors before the night swallowed them whole.


    Gabriella¡¯s scarf fluttered around the old man¡¯s shoulders as she secured it. ¡°Go past the town border and into Claude¡¯s farm. You know where that is?¡± she asked, her voice firm but kind.


    Both of them nodded, their wide eyes glistening with a mixture of fear and hope.


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll find the rest of your friends,¡± she said, helping the old man to his feet. ¡°Hurry now, and stay quiet. The forest path will guide you.¡±


    The boy lingered for a moment, looking up at the elder man, who gave him a small nod. Then the boy turned to Gabriella, his voice faint but certain. ¡°I know where the others are,¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll call them.¡±


    Gabriella stared at the boy and nodded. The boy was more familiar to the streets than she was. ¡°Stay away from torchlight,¡± she urged.


    The boy slipped into a nearby alleyway, disappearing into the mist. Moments later, she heard a soft, familiar whistle; a signal she hadn¡¯t noticed before but now understood as their call to gather. Soon, the faint sound of tiny footsteps echoed through the fog, some heading toward the safety of Claude¡¯s farm.


    Gabriella watched, her breath hitching with relief. But before she could take another step, she collided with something solid: a shadow in the mist.


    She gasped, stumbling back and falling to the ground, her heart pounding as cold fear surged through her veins. The figure loomed above her, and she froze, squeezing her eyes shut as she instinctively raised her hands to shield her face.


    A hand reached out, firm but steady, and she flinched.


    ¡°Gabriella,¡± a voice called softly, familiar and concerned.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Gabriella dared to open her eyes and saw Claude kneeling beside her, his face etched with worry.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be out here,¡± he said softly, helping her to her feet.


    She blinked, surprised, before retorting, ¡°Neither should you!¡± She allowed him to steady her as she brushed the dirt from her apron.


    Claude shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ¡°Oscar told me a woman with a Venice garden sent word to gather everyone at my farm. Strange, isn¡¯t it, that I had the same thought tonight?¡±


    Her cheeks flushed. ¡°That is¡ªif you don¡¯t mind. I want to bring them to Rothfield, where it¡¯s safe.¡±


    Claude¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Ma thought the same thing. You should come inside the cottage, warm yourself before you catch cold.¡±


    Gabriella felt a flicker of warmth at his words but froze when a faint, strange sound echoed just out of earshot. It was subtle yet unsettling, prickling the air like a whisper carried on the mist.


    Claude raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. ¡°That sound,¡± he murmured, his brow furrowed. ¡°It¡¯s familiar.¡±


    The two stood still, the mist wrapping around them like a heavy shroud. Gabriella strained her ears, her pulse quickening. The noise was low, almost like the distant hum of a dirge, punctuated by an occasional, unnatural scraping sound.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she whispered, clutching Claude¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he replied, his voice barely audible. ¡°But it¡¯s closer than I¡¯d like.¡±


    Claude strained his ears, the scraping sound like claws dragging across the ground. His heart quickened as he peered into the mist. Shapes seemed to shift, and he thought he saw something moving on all fours, accompanied by low growls. But as the mist curled and thinned, the shapes disappeared.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s real or just the mist playing tricks,¡± Claude muttered, his voice tense. ¡°But we¡¯ve got to hurry.¡±


    Gabriella nodded, her grip on her scarf tightening as they moved swiftly. They ducked around corners, crouching low to avoid the watchmen¡¯s torchlight. Together, they gathered more beggars and loiterers from the streets, urging them to hold onto one another as they followed.


    When they reached the barrels where Claude had seen Oscar earlier, they spotted the boy nearly caught by a watchman. Claude quickly pulled him into the shadows, pressing a finger to his lips. ¡°Stay close,¡± he whispered.


    Oscar clung to Claude¡¯s sleeve, trembling.


    ¡°Is this everyone?¡± Claude asked, gesturing to the huddled group they had collected.


    ¡°Everyone I know,¡± Oscar squeaked, glancing nervously into the mist.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± Claude said, his voice firm.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Gabriella interjected, her eyes lighting up with an idea. ¡°I have herbs in the garden. If I gather them now, maybe Wilbur can make more soup to feed everyone.¡±


    Claude hesitated, looking between her and the group. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time,¡± he warned. ¡°But if you¡¯re quick, we¡¯ll wait by the edge of your garden.¡±


    Gabriella nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t be long. Keep them safe.¡±


    Claude watched her disappear into the mist toward her small garden, his hand tightening on Oscar¡¯s sleeve. The faint scraping sound came again, more distant this time, but it set his nerves on edge. Whatever was out there, he wasn¡¯t sure they could outrun it for long.


    Claude and the gathered group waited by the edge of Gabriella¡¯s garden, shrouded in the mist. Gabriella worked quickly, gathering feverfluke flowers, herbs, and mint, stuffing them into her apron pocket. She moved with urgency, her fingers trembling not from the cold, but from a growing sense of dread.


    As she bent to pluck another handful of mint, the faint creak of the main door opening froze her in place.


    She turned her head slowly and saw the shadow of her husband framed by the doorway. His broad shoulders were raised, and his clenched fists rested at his sides.


    ¡°Get back inside,¡± he growled, his voice low and menacing.


    Gabriella¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, but she stood her ground, clutching the herbs tightly in her hands. ¡°Please,¡± she said, her voice shaking but resolute. ¡°They need help.¡±


    Her husband took a step forward, his boots crunching against the frostbitten ground. ¡°Blast you, woman. I said get inside.¡±


    He leapt off the porch, his stride heavy and threatening, closing the distance between them.


    Gabriella¡¯s voice rose, firm and defiant. ¡°I shall not!¡± she cried. ¡°And you better not harm these children, or I will scream loud enough for the whole town to hear! You will wait right there while I take them somewhere they¡¯ll be safe and cared for.¡±


    Her husband stopped, stunned by the fire in her voice.


    Gabriella didn¡¯t know where the courage came from¡ªyears of fear and silence now bubbling into defiance. Or perhaps it was the warmth of the herbs in her hands, their faint fragrance filling her lungs and steadying her resolve.


    She stepped forward, meeting her husband¡¯s glare with one of her own. ¡°You will not stop me,¡± she said quietly, her words sharp as a blade. ¡°Not tonight.¡±


    Behind her, Claude emerged from the mist, standing tall and silent, a reassuring presence. Her husband¡¯s eyes flicked to him, but he said nothing, his fists loosening ever so slightly.


    Gabriella turned, her heart pounding, and walked toward Claude and the children. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said, her voice steady now. Together, they disappeared into the mist, leaving the shadow of her husband behind.


    Gabriella''s husband froze mid-step. She turned sharply to Claude, her eyes wide with panic, searching his face for a solution. Claude nodded at her, his expression calm but firm, and she understood without a word.


    They both turned away, guiding the children onward.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going, woman?!¡± her husband bellowed, his voice cutting through the mist like a blade.


    Gabriella faltered, her chest tightening with fear. She glanced at the children, little Oscar clutching her sleeve, and forced her feet to move. But the sound of heavy footsteps pounding behind her sent a jolt of terror through her body.


    She spun around, her arms instinctively shielding Oscar as she closed her eyes. Her mind braced for the strike, for the humiliation she knew so well. Her hands flew to her wimple, gripping it tightly, anticipating the cruel tug her husband always used to shame her.


    But the blow never came.


    Instead, she heard the unmistakable sound of a scuffle¡ªa grunt, a thud, and then silence.


    Opening her eyes hesitantly, she saw her husband sprawled on the cold ground, groaning as he clutched his side. Above him stood Claude, his chest heaving and his fist clenched. He didn¡¯t say a word, but the message in his posture was clear: he would not let Gabriella or the children be harmed.


    Gabriella exhaled shakily and rushed to Claude, her hands fluttering as she checked him for injuries. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± she asked breathlessly, her fingers searching his face and arms for bruises.


    Claude gently took her hands and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said softly, his tone steady. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    He placed a guiding hand on her arm, leading her and the children toward the path that would take them to his farm. The mist, though still thick, seemed lighter as they approached the fence. The old man from earlier was there, waiting as promised, his hunched figure illuminated faintly by a lantern.


    They passed through the dark forest on their way to the monastery, the quiet only broken by the sound of their careful footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. Gabriella glanced at Claude, her heart still racing.


    ¡°When did you get so tall?¡± she asked, her voice breaking the silence.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 3)

    Wilbur and Ryne, sleeves rolled up and faces flushed from the heat of the fire, stood beside the giant brass cooking pot, stirring a fragrant stew that filled the monastery with warmth. They chuckled softly as children crowded around them, their wide eyes and eager faces lit by the flickering firelight.


    The sound of footsteps broke through the evening¡¯s calm. Both monks looked up to see two figures emerging from the mist, flanked by several small shadows trailing behind them. At first, Wilbur thought they were weary travelers seeking refuge. But as the figures drew closer, recognition sparked in his sharp eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s Claude and Gabriella,¡± Ryne said, his tone shifting from curiosity to concern.


    Without hesitation, the monks rushed forward. Gabriella, her scarf askew and apron smudged with dirt, looked exhausted. Claude¡¯s steady arm was around her.


    The children hesitated at the threshold of the monastery, their thin bodies shivering from the cold and their faces marked with fear. They were not accustomed to kindness, especially from the clergy, whose presence in the town was often stern and distant.


    When the children¡¯s wary eyes fell on Ryne, some of them instinctively shrank back, their gazes fixed on the strange, swirling marks on his face that seemed to shift under the firelight. But one child, Oscar, stepped forward.


    The small boy squinted at Ryne, his expression thoughtful. Then recognition lit his face, and he broke into a hesitant smile. ¡°You¡¯re the one who scared away the big wolf,¡± Oscar said, his voice a quiet squeak.


    Ryne knelt, his warm smile softening the angular planes of his face. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said gently. ¡°And I¡¯m here to keep you safe now too.¡±


    Slowly, the boy crept closer, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp Ryne¡¯s. The other children watched, curious, and one by one, they inched closer to the communal fire.


    Wilbur placed a steady hand on Claude¡¯s shoulder, his sharp gaze softening as he took in the man¡¯s tired expression. ¡°You¡¯ve been through quite a night,¡± he said quietly.


    Claude said, ¡°There are more out there who need help.¡±


    Wilbur¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at the children gathering around the fire. ¡°Then we¡¯ll prepare for them,¡± he said firmly. He glanced at Ryne, who gave him a nod.


    Gabriella stepped forward, holding out the herbs she¡¯d gathered. ¡°These might help with the soup,¡± she said, her voice shaky but resolute.


    Wilbur took the herbs with a grateful nod.


    Ryne smiled warmly at Oscar, then opened his arms to the other children, coaxing the little ones to take hesitant steps forward.


    Ealhstan lingered at the edge of the woods, his imposing figure partially obscured by the trees. These new ones would undoubtedly be afraid of him. Best he hide in the shadows. He watched Agate, Harlan, Woodrow, and Wilbur worked steadily to guide the children inside the church.


    Gabriella and Wilbur took to preparing a bath in the infirmary. Once the children were inside, Ealhstan discreetly heated the water using tools from his forge.


    Meanwhile, Claude joined Ryne in the monastery¡¯s kitchens. Together, they rummaged through the stored barrels for turnips, gathered eggs from the hens, and milked the goats. Their combined efforts produced a hearty stew that filled the church with the smell of warmth and comfort.


    The children, after being scrubbed clean by Gabriella and Wilbur using lye and warm water, were dressed in freshly laundered clothes provided by the women and children of Kent. Their old, ragged garments were left to soak in soapy basins. Exhaustion overtook the children quickly, and they curled up in the infirmary cots, the warmth of the blankets lulling them into a dreamless sleep.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Wilbur stayed behind as the others left to rest, taking a bead of blood from each child¡¯s fingertip when no one was looking. He pressed the samples to his tongue, his unnaturally sharp senses deciphering their health.


    He shook his head solemnly. ¡°Cold, hungry, and severely deficient in calcium and iron,¡± he muttered to himself. He glanced at Ryne as he entered the room. ¡°We¡¯ll need to keep the goats ready for milking tomorrow and find more eggs.¡±


    Ryne nodded. Wilbur turned his gaze toward the corner of the infirmary, where Gabriella and Claude returned to sit in hushed conversation. Gabriella looked pale, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion. Wilbur stepped away to prepare a calming draught.


    He handed the cup to Gabriella, his voice soft. ¡°Here, drink this. It¡¯ll help.¡±


    She took the cup gratefully, her fingers brushing his for a moment before she sipped. The warmth spread through her, easing the tightness in her chest.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured, her voice steadying.


    Wilbur nodded and turned his attention back to the children, his mind already racing with plans for their continued care.


    Woodrow entered and caught them just at the moment when they were talking about her husband.


    ¡°You can¡¯t go back there alone,¡± Claud einsisted, holding her arm. ¡°Call the bailiff. Call your friends. Take your children and come live with us. Saints know Annette needs friends her age.¡±


    Woodrow noticed the woman had a look of defeat on her face. She patted Claude¡¯s face gently. ¡°Sweet boy, you know they will never take a woman¡¯s side. It is fine. He won¡¯t hurt me badly.¡±


    Ryne looked alarmed and was about to speak when Woodrow grabbed his shoulder. He looked at Gabriella. ¡°He won¡¯t hurt you at all. You have my word.¡±


    Gabriella blinked in surprise, as though hearing those words for the first time. But the fatigue from the long night, the stress of her journey, was taking its toll, and she blinked her tired eyes. She didn¡¯t have the strength to argue or resist. Her thoughts drifted as she took another sip of the calming draught, the warm liquid easing the tension in her body.


    Woodrow stood, his figure towering over the room like a silent protector. He glanced over at Ryne, asking for permission to act.


    Ryne, still deep in thought, nodded without hesitation. ¡°Have you fed?¡± He asked quietly, his eyes never leaving Woodrow¡¯s face.


    Woodrow shook his head, the hunger in his eyes almost imperceptible beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. ¡°No, but I can charm his memories enough. Convince him he stumbled, that it was the mist that made him fall. I can make him think nothing happened.¡± But Ryne noticed Woodrow was unsure.


    Ryne closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of the decision. The risk was worth it to protect Gabriella and the children. Woodrow felt a shift in the air, like a string loosening around his chest, and he knew Ryne had agreed.


    <hr>


    Woodrow felt the strain on his arms as if he was manacled, for he was bound to Ryne in Rothfield monastery. But he had enough strength to push through the invisible chains around him to enter Rothfield town. Shame he couldn¡¯t see more of the place now that he was here, a new place outside of the monastery. He saw the brute laying face down on the dirt. He turned him around and was glad that Claude landed a neat blow to the side of the head, not enough to cause long-term damage, He whistled appreciatively.


    Woodrow slapped the grumbling man awake.


    ¡°..Wah¨C?¡± The man groaned.


    Woodrow crouched down. As soon as his eyes opened, Woodrow charmed him and convinced him he had stumbled. His green eyes glowed and he felt his power drift away from him and into his words. He picked the brute up unceremoniously, and added, channeling the last bit of his power, ¡°You will hesitate before you hit your wife again. If it were up to me, you would lose your arm, you swine.¡±


    The man, now groaning as he tried to rise, shook his head and staggered to his feet. Woodrow¡¯s words hung in the air like a curse. The threat of losing an arm was not an empty one, and the man¡¯s shuddering breath seemed to prove that he would think twice before raising his fists again.


    Still, Woodrow didn¡¯t stay to witness the aftermath. His hunger gnawed at him, a persistent ache that twisted in his chest. As the bloodlust stirred within, his teeth elongated, sharp and craving. It was a temptation he had to resist, though, as his purpose now was to protect those in Rothfield, not to sate his own hunger.


    Woodrow darted back toward Rothfield, moving through the streets like a shadow, eager to get away from the man he had just charmed. The cold night air rushed past him.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 4)

    Claude stood at the edge of the town square, the cold morning light cutting through the mist that clung to everything. He kept his head down.


    The market was slowly waking up around him, the murmurs of morning gossip weaving through the air. People shuffled towards the town square. Claude¡¯s fingers tightened around the small pouch of grains he had brought.


    As the square began to fill with more people, Claude¡¯s shoulders hunched slightly, trying to shrink into himself, to avoid drawing attention. He could hear the snide comments starting to stir in the crowd. But today, he had resolved not to respond. He had promised himself to keep his calm, to hold on to the peace he had found in his new life with Ryne and the others.


    ¡°Just a little longer,¡± he muttered under his breath, watching as people began to gather around the central stage for the tributes. He thought of Ryne beside him at the meadow with Belle leaping about. He thought of the cool quiet lake.


    Claude gave his tribute, bowing to Lord Bahram. But as he turned to leave, something strange shifted in the air. Before he could take another step, the bailiff¡¯s rough grip seized his arm, yanking him back around with a force that left him gasping in surprise.


    A sharp yelp escaped Claude¡¯s throat as he faced the cold, calculating gaze of Lord Bahram. The noble¡¯s eyes narrowed, and Claude watched as he unfurled a scroll of paper. The weight of its contents hung in the air as he read aloud, his voice dripping with disdain.


    ¡°You are charged with magic and secrecy. Your neighbor saw you in the thick mist, whistling for the shadows to come. You have brought ruin to this land and made a pact with the Chaos to sustain you and your family while your neighbors struggle. You will be tried tomorrow.¡±


    The words struck Claude like a thunderclap, each syllable sinking into his skin, branding him. His heart raced, panic seizing his chest as his thoughts spun wildly. It didn¡¯t make sense. He had done nothing wrong¡ªnothing to deserve this.


    Lord Bahram¡¯s gaze remained cold as he calmly addressed the bailiff. ¡°Send him to the dungeons.¡±


    The command was final, and in an instant, Claude felt himself being dragged away. His body moved instinctively, trying to break free, to run, to make sense of it all. But his panic only worsened as the bailiff¡¯s club swung toward him, striking him hard against the side. The blow knocked the breath from him, sending a sharp pain coursing through his ribs.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Claude stumbled, gasping for air, his vision blurring as the weight of the club¡¯s force left him reeling. His legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed under the weight of his own confusion and fear. He tried to claw his way back to some sense of control, to find some explanation for the madness that had descended upon him, but his body betrayed him, leaving him helpless in the bailiff¡¯s grip.


    The crowd around him remained eerily silent, some eyes wide in shock, others simply watching with detached curiosity. It was as though they were all waiting for the verdict to be carried out. But Claude, his heart pounding in his chest, could only think of one thing: the dungeon. He was going there. And he didn¡¯t know if he would ever come out again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t struggle!¡± Gabriella¡¯s voice cut through the tension, but her plea barely reached Claude¡¯s ears as he was roughly shoved forward. He looked over his shoulder to see her, desperation in her eyes, but before he could call back to her, her husband¡¯s hand seized her arm. With a forceful shove, he pushed her toward the door, slamming it shut behind her. The sound of the lock turning echoed in the silent street.


    Claude''s heart pounded as he tried to gather his bearings. His gaze flicked back to the priest, whose smug expression only fueled the fire of confusion and anger within him.


    The priest stood there, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with satisfaction. "We tried to give what we have," Claude whispered, almost to himself. The words fell from his lips, bitter and hollow, as if his last ounce of hope was being drained from him in the cold air.


    His eyes turned toward his neighbors. Faces that once might have shown a flicker of kindness or understanding now turned away, their expressions hard and unforgiving. A sharp hiss rang out from one of them. ¡°We want nothing from you.¡±


    The words stung more than any physical blow. The bailiff¡¯s grip tightened on Claude¡¯s arm, pulling him roughly toward the cart waiting at the edge of the square. The wheels creaked as he was shoved onto it, the sharp sting of the wood against his skin reminding him of the reality closing in around him. The crowd, some of them neighbors, some strangers, watched in silence, murmuring amongst themselves but keeping their distance. The street felt colder now, the mist clinging to everything.


    Claude was going to the prison¡ªa dark, cold cell near the lord¡¯s keep, where iron bars would hold him like a forgotten animal. His heart pounded louder with each step, but there was no escape now. He could feel the oppressive weight of the judgment that had been passed upon him, and all he could do was stare at the faces of the people he had once known, watching him as if he were a thing to be discarded.


    The cart jolted as it began to move, and Claude sank back, staring at the sky as the prison loomed ever closer. His thoughts were a blur, of betrayal, of confusion, of fear.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 5)

    Ryne woke with a start, Claude¡¯s voice still ringing in his ears. He sat up, his breath sharp in the stillness of the crypts. The air was damp and cool, carrying the thick scent of earth. Overhead, the roots of the great oak tree twisted through the ceiling, their rough surfaces intertwined with pale, budding stems.


    Wilbur had admired them once, calling them lovely, even though they looked ghostly. Near his own sarcophagus, Wilbur and Woodrow lay motionless, their arms folded neatly across their chests, expressions calm as stone carvings.


    Ryne stood, his heart hammering against his ribs. His gaze fell to the lone candle perched atop a skull at the crypt¡¯s center. Its thin flame reached upward, quivering, as if pulled by an invisible current. The sight unsettled him.


    He hurried to the flame, his hand reaching instinctively toward its quivering light. Heat radiated against his palm as the fire flared, curling and twisting unnaturally. Within moments, the flickering glow shifted, pulling him into a vision like that night when the first wave of lesser direwolves had descended on Rothfield town. He saw it clearly as if it happened yesterday: snarling beasts with glowing eyes, their shadows stretching long and menacing under the moonlight. The visions stopped because attacks hadn¡¯t returned since that harrowing night.


    Now¡­ Claude¡¯s worried voice echoed faintly in the darkness of Ryne¡¯s thoughts, urgent and trembling. Ryne inhaled sharply, steadying himself as he brought Claude¡¯s image to the forefront of his mind.


    ¡°Show me,¡± he murmured to the flame, his voice firm. The fire flickered violently in response, its light shifting and expanding, revealing the truth he wanted.


    The flame flared and spilled outward, its light unfurling to reveal a fleeting image: a young boy in chains, his thin frame slumped over a bed of coarse hay. Shadows danced in the corners, their shapes menacing and unclear. Ryne squinted, willing the vision to expand, to sharpen its focus, but his strength faltered.


    Then he felt it¡ªanother presence. A force, unseen but undeniable, pressed against him, clawing at the edges of the vision as though to snuff it out. They were like unseen hands working to close the window he struggled to hold open.


    Gritting his teeth, Ryne pushed harder, trying to anchor himself to the flame, but the fire sputtered violently. A sharp burst of heat forced him backward, the vision shattering into darkness.


    He hit the ground with a jolt, gasping as the weight of the unseen force dissipated. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. He bolted up the stairs but halfway up, he froze.


    Where would he even begin to search for Claude? The enormity of the task loomed over him. Then he took a steadying breath, fists clenched at his sides.


    Ryne glanced back at his brothers, still motionless in their crypts, their features serene in the dim, flickering light. His impatience gnawed at him, but he forced himself to sit on the cold stone steps and wait. Each second stretched, his thoughts churning with worry for Claude.


    Finally, Wilbur stirred first, followed by Woodrow. The moment their eyes opened, Ryne was on his feet, his voice urgent as he loomed over them.


    ¡°Claude is in trouble. I don¡¯t know where he is, but he¡¯s locked up somewhere in Rothfield. I need your help to find him.¡±


    The brothers exchanged a glance. They rose swiftly. and the three ascended the stairs together, their footsteps echoing in the narrow passage.


    Emerging into the crisp night air, they found Ealhstan at his forge in the field, the red glow of his fire illuminating his face. Sparks flew as his hammer struck metal, but he paused as they approached, his brow furrowing at their faces.


    Ryne addressed him quickly, his voice firm. ¡°Stay here and protect the people. Tell Agate and Harlan to care for them while we¡¯re gone.¡±


    Ealhstan nodded solemnly, gripping the hammer in his hand like a weapon. Without another word, Ryne turned to his brothers, and nodded, passing through the dark forest, following the well-trodden path to Calude¡¯s farm.


    The forest had noticed their presence. It shifted stones and trees to form a smoother path as if the land itself sought to guide them. Ryne kept a small flame alight in his hand, the mist retreating with each flicker. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    They stopped abruptly when two figures emerged from the mist ahead. Ryne narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the shapes. Slowly, the forms became clear¡ªLydia, clutching little Annette tightly, both shrouded in thick cloaks with hoods drawn low.


    ¡°Lydia?¡± Ryne called, stepping forward. The flame in his hand extinguished with a snap of his fingers.


    Her head whipped up at the sound of his voice, her expression stricken. Tears streaked her face, her hair disheveled as if she had run the entire way. Annette clung to her side, her wide eyes fixed on Ryne.


    ¡°Oh, Ryne¡­¡± Lydia choked out, her voice trembling. She stumbled toward him, nearly collapsing in her haste. Ryne reached out instinctively, but it was Wilbur who steadied her with a firm, gentle grip.


    ¡°One of Gabriella¡¯s boys came knocking on my door,¡± Lydia managed, her words tumbling out between gasping breaths. Her eyes were wide, wet with desperation. ¡°They¡¯ve taken my Claude. Accused him of consorting with darkness.¡± Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, fighting back a sob. ¡°And Gabriella¡­¡± Her words trailed off as fresh tears welled.


    A sharp anger flared in Ryne¡¯s chest, his fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth, but Wilbur spoke first, his voice low and calming. ¡°I¡¯ll take Lydia and Annette back to the monastery. They need rest and safety.¡± He crouched slightly, his tone softening as he addressed the little girl. ¡°Come, little one.¡±


    Annette gazed up at Wilbur, her small hand tightening around Lydia¡¯s cloak. Recognition flickered in her eyes¡ªshe knew him from the stories Ryne and Claude had told her. Slowly, she let go of Lydia and placed her tiny hand in Wilbur¡¯s.


    Ryne watched as Wilbur led them back into the mist. He knew Lydia would soon be given a calming draught, and Annette would be fed and comforted at the monastery. They would be safe there.


    Ryne¡¯s jaw tightened as he turned back toward the path. There was no time to waste. Claude needed him.


    They passed Claude¡¯s cottage, its familiar warmth replaced by an eerie stillness. The shutters were closed tight, and no light flickered within. It was as if the house itself had retreated into silence. Ryne didn¡¯t slow, vaulting over the wooden fence that bordered the farm and heading down the narrow path connecting the fields to the town.


    Woodrow followed, his feet crunching against the dirt, his senses on edge. The closer they got to the town, the stronger the weight in the air became. It was a palpable pressure that seemed to press down on their chests and shoulders, making each step feel harder than the last.


    Woodrow winced, instinctively hunching against the unseen force. He bared his teeth, his sharp canines glinting briefly in the dim light. ¡°What is this?¡± he growled, his voice a low rumble.


    Ryne slowed, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the path ahead. His hands twitched at his sides, ready to summon flame if necessary. Without another word, they pressed forward, their movements cautious.


    Ryne recognized thought the fource was faintly familiar. Whatever it was, it was suffocating them; Woodrow more than him. Gritting his teeth, he summoned a small flame, and the sensation eased, though it lingered at the edges.


    Woodrow glanced at the flickering light. "What is this?"


    Ryne did not answer. The two moved through the town''s shadows, the flame low in Ryne¡¯s hand. He tried to use it as a guide, as before, but it sputtered and spun erratically, confused. The force around them was interfering, twisting its direction.


    ¡°It¡¯s struggling, but it¡¯s pointing somewhere,¡± Ryne said, following the faint pull deeper into Rothfield.


    Woodrow frowned. ¡°You are certain?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all we have,¡± Ryne replied, gripping the flame tightly. Together, they pushed forward, the dark streets growing heavier with each step.


    They skirted the town square, where villagers were constructing a wooden post surrounded by hay and a large cauldron. Ryne didn¡¯t stop to look, but Woodrow slowed, his eyes narrowing at the grim scene before hurrying to catch up.


    Through shadowed alleyways, they finally spotted a building with two guards stationed outside. Ryne moved to sneak closer, pressing against the outer wall, but Woodrow grabbed his arm.


    ¡°There are no windows low enough for you to climb inside,¡± he whispered, his tone firm.


    Ryne clenched his jaw, glancing at the guarded entrance. ¡°Then we¡¯ll have to find another way.¡±


    Woodrow lifted his hood, revealing his bright red hair, and stepped out into the empty streets. Ryne stayed hidden, moving quietly through the shadows, while Woodrow approached the guards. The mist swirled around him, his steps sure. The guards shivered as they noticed the growing shadow in the fog. Only the green glow of Woodrow¡¯s eyes cut through the darkness, the only hint of color in the mist.


    ¡°Stop!¡± the guards shouted, raising their spears. One jingled the keys at his belt.


    ¡°Come now,¡± Woodrow¡¯s voice oozed smoothly through the cool air, thick with his charm. Ryne could almost feel it wafting through the space. He waited, patient. The guards hesitated as Woodrow moved closer. ¡°Drop your spears,¡± he said, inches from the soldier with the keys.


    Suddenly, one guard swung his spear, striking Woodrow in the head. Ryne¡¯s instinct urged him to leap to his brother¡¯s aid, but he held back, unwilling to blow their cover. Woodrow blinked, swaying as he hit the ground.


    ¡°I think not!¡± the guard sneered. ¡°Who are you? You¡¯re not from around here.¡±

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 6)

    Woodrow blinked, momentarily confused, then shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s on me for being careless.¡±


    In one fluid motion, he stomped down on the guard who struck him. The man barely hit the ground before Woodrow¡¯s fist collided with his head, knocking him unconscious.


    Both guards crumpled to the dirt. Ryne joined Woodrow¡¯s side, sharing a glance of quiet confusion.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t good. I used my full power on them. I fed,¡± Woodrow muttered, eyeing the men. He noticed something odd hanging around their necks. When he touched it, he swore, his fingers smoking.


    Ryne tentatively reached out, but the charm didn¡¯t burn him. He recognized it immediately from the many illustrations Knox had made him study.


    ¡°It¡¯s the mark of Saint Edmund,¡± he said, holding it up before letting it rest back on the guard¡¯s neck.


    ¡°The Saint-King? The one on the throne in the middle of the realm? He exists?¡± Woodrow asked, looking up at the blank sky and the oppressive mist. ¡°Then¡­ why isn¡¯t he doing anything? Shouldn¡¯t Gaelmar¡­?¡±


    Ryne shrugged, just as lost. He shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss it later. You go ahead. I¡¯ll stay and charm them into thinking a random bandit stole from their food stores.¡±


    Ryne rushed through the cramped, musty prison. The air was thick with the stench of mildew, and the dim space was divided by steel bars on one side, with smaller wooden cages on the other. He recognized the cages. Sheep and goats bleated weakley, their hooves scattering the hay on the ground. They were Claude''s. Bahram had stolen from him again.


    A soft, strained breath broke the silence from the farthest corner. Ryne moved quickly, grabbing a wax candle from a nearby table and lighting it with a flicker of his flame.


    In the glow, he saw her. Gabriella, trembling, curled up in the corner.


    ¡°Gabriella,¡± Ryne whispered. Her head turned upm squinting against the flame. She whispered his name and her fingers closed around the bars.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Lydia told me what happened,¡± Ryne said urgently. He found the key to Gabriella¡¯s cell and unlocked it with a click. As the door swung open, she collapsed into his arms. He quickly checked her for signs of harm but found none.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t hit me,¡± Gabriella whispered shakily. She must mean her husband, Ryne thought. ¡°He was going to, but something stopped him. He called the priest, thought I¡¯d cast a spell on him. They brought me here without question.¡± Her eyes widened with fear. ¡°Ryne, my children... Claude... they took him deeper into the lord¡¯s keep. He¡¯s about to be tried... in the square.¡±


    The image of the haystack and wooden post flashed in Ryne¡¯s mind. It had been too long since the last witchhunt he witnessed, and he had dared to hope that Rothfield¡¯s peace would last. He sprang to his feet and helped Gabriella stand.


    ¡°Woodrow¡¯s outside,¡± he said quickly. ¡°Go to him. Tell him to gather your sons and get back to the monastery.¡± He called out for Woodrow, then added, ¡°Take the animals, too.¡±


    Gabriella clung to Woodrow as he lifted her. ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked, her voice full of worry.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to find my friend,¡± Ryne replied firmly, turning toward the door.


    A quiet, burning anger surged through Ryne, and he didn¡¯t even realize that he no longer needed fire to push away the mist; it simply parted as he passed. As he neared the village square, the rhythmic tap of a staff on wood rang out, calling for order. He slipped behind the shadows of a nearby house, heart pounding, nearly rushing into the street when he spotted it.


    A small cart sat near the wooden post, and on top of it knelt Claude. Lord Bahram stood nearby, grinning alongside the priest, their faces gleaming with malicious pleasure as the crowd gathered.


    ¡°Bring out the prisoner,¡± Lord Bahram commanded.


    The bailiff seized Claude by the scruff of his neck, and Ryne¡¯s teeth ground together in fury. ¡°Bring him close to the cauldron,¡± the priest murmured, his voice barely audible over the crowd''s murmurs.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Ryne¡¯s eyes shot open. He hadn¡¯t noticed the cauldron until now; the thick, bubbling smoke rising from it was unmistakable, and the sound of it simmering filled the air. Claude recoiled slightly as he braced for what was to come. He squeezed his eyes shut, fearful, bared his teeth in pain, and made a strained sound, the dread clear in his posture. The priest, standing by with a wicked smile, watched with growing satisfaction.


    ¡°You know the penalty,¡± the priest announced to the gathered crowd. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if offering a prayer to the heavens. ¡°If this farmer is truly innocent, Saint Edmund will spare him from pain and heal his burns.¡± He opened his eyes and gave a subtle nod to the bailiff, signaling for the next step.


    Ryne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the bailiff drag Claude closer to the cauldron. The crowd gathered, some sneering, others horrified but too afraid to speak out. A hot surge of hatred filled Ryne''s chest, more intense than anything he¡¯d ever felt before. The heat surged through his veins, his hands practically crackling with energy, sparks jumping from his knuckles. He barely recognized the sensation before he let out a roar, his anger fueling the flames that shot up from the cauldron.


    The fire under the cauldron leaped into the air, twisting into wild shapes before transforming into a flock of sparrows, darting through the air. The sudden explosion of heat sent Lord Bahram, the priest, and the onlookers scrambling backward in shock. The bailiff stumbled and dropped Claude, who fell to the ground, instinctively shielding himself from the fiery outburst. The crowd fell silent, caught between fear and awe at the strange and powerful force Ryne had unleashed.


    What is he scared for? He knows my flame will not harm him, Ryne thought. Silly boy.


    Ryne¡¯s finger stayed pointed as the sparrows descended, their fiery wings flickering as they swooped down. Claude stood still, eyes closed in preparation for the pain he expected. But the flame didn¡¯t scorch him. Instead, the sparrowflames cut through the ropes binding him, the heat dissipating as they flitted around him like an ethereal dance. One of the birds gently landed on Claude¡¯s shoulder, its fire fading as it nestled in his warmth, offering no harm.


    The sparrowflames swirled around Claude, gathering on his head until they formed a curious pattern. The onlookers squinted, then gasped as they realized the unmistakable mark of Saint Gaelmar, a fiery sigil that glowed in the air above him. Father Clitn¡¯s face twisted with disbelief, his arrogance replaced by something darker. Lord Bahram, too, stood frozen, staring at the mark as if he had just witnessed the impossible.


    Claude, for the first time, took in his surroundings. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the source of the flames. His gaze finally settled on Ryne, who stood in the shadows, a quiet smile curling on his lips. With a sharp motion of his thumb, Ryne commanded the sparrowflame to shift. The fiery birds gathered together, growing in size until they became a single giant sparrow.


    With a sudden swoop, the sparrow-flame flew down toward the priest and the lord. The two men barely had time to react before the flame sent them crashing into the haystack. The crowd scattered, some stumbling back in fear, while others watched in shock.


    The haystack caught fire, and the flames quickly began to spread. Lord Bahram''s clothes were set ablaze, and he flailed, shouting for help. His voice cracked with panic as the heat intensified.


    ¡°Get me water, you fools!¡± he screamed.


    In the thickening smoke, Ryne ran to the open street where people bumped into each other. He grabbed Claude¡¯s arm, pulling him away from the chaos. They locked eyes for a brief moment before Ryne dragged him into the shadows. They moved quickly, slipping past his cottage and onto the winding path that led to Rothfield monastery. Ryne¡¯s legs felt heavy, each step harder than the last.


    As they ventured deeper into the dark forest, the weight of the moment caught up with Ryne. His vision blurred, the world tilting around him. He stumbled and fell to the ground. For a moment, he thought he was rolling or riding on horseback, the sensation strange and dizzying. But when he opened his eyes again, it was Claude¡¯s face he saw hovering above him, sweat dripping down his brow to his chin.


    ¡°Claude,¡± Ryne whispered, barely able to push the words out.


    Claude¡¯s worried eyes met his, his breath coming in short, labored gasps. "We¡¯re almost there!¡± he panted, his grip tightening on Ryne¡¯s arm as he tried to lift him.


    Ryne nodded weakly, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. But despite the pain in his body, Ryne felt a fleeting sense of peace.


    Claude¡¯s feet pounded the earth as they finally reached the monastery. The familiar crackling of fire and the distant murmur of voices filled the air. The oppressive weight of the night began to lift, but Ryne¡¯s body still felt heavy, and so cold.


    "Ryne?" A voice called, sharp and concerned. Ryne opened his eyes. Wilbur was kneeling next to him, his dark eyes scanning his face and clothes. His gaze lingered on the scorch marks and the blotches of smoke staining Ryne¡¯s skin.


    "Water," Ryne rasped, his throat dry, desperate for relief. His vision swirled, and his limbs felt weak.


    Before Wilbur could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the air. Ryne caught sight of a giant, a redhead, and two women sprinting toward them. The image blurred as his world tilted once more, his body giving in to exhaustion.


    The last thing he remembered was the warmth of Claude¡¯s hand on his arm, a cool rush of water, and the flicker of concern in the faces around him. And then... nothing.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 7)

    Woodrow appointed Jerome as his scout. The wiry youth had grown confident, and Ryne saw it in his steady eyes. Wilbur confirmed it after tasting his blood, giving a curt nod. On the cot near Wilbur¡¯s office, Ryne watched Jerome eat. Motes of light shimmered under his skin¡ªa sign of enhanced speed and agility.


    "If Ryne were stronger, I¡¯d go myself," Woodrow muttered, arms crossed as he stared out the window.


    Wilbur and Woodrow talked. Ryne closed his eyes, listening as their voices faded.


    The brothers doted on Ryne. Wilbur cooked his meals, checked his pulse, and fussed over his every need, but he never collected Ryne¡¯s blood. It would burn him. Wilbur tried to mask his frustration, but Ryne caught him one night, tugging at his dark brown hair under the flicker of candlelight.


    Ryne had poured all his energy into summoning the sparrowflame, leaving him too weak to stand. His days blurred together in a haze of light sleep and exhaustion, waking only to drift back into slumber. Wilbur had to force him upright to eat, spooning broth into his mouth when his strength faltered.


    During the day, Gabriella, sometimes with Lydia, took turns caring for him. One afternoon, as Gabriella adjusted the blanket over his frail frame, she murmured, ¡°He¡¯s so small.¡±


    Ryne felt the cool press of a washcloth on his face and mumbled faintly as Lydia soothed him. When he blinked, he saw her embrace Gabriella. The two friends hugged tightly, exchanging soft whispers and reminiscing about their youth and the losses they had endured.


    He smiled weakly at the sight, their voices fading into the haze of his thoughts.


    And then, there was Claude. Those moments lingered most vividly¡ªhow warm Claude¡¯s hands felt on his, how his voice carried Ryne¡¯s name with gentle care. Did Claude know? Did he care? Ryne couldn¡¯t tell, but he clung to the comfort of hearing him share updates about the monastery, grounding him in the present.


    ¡°The miasma is stirring again, but don¡¯t worry,¡± Claude said softly. ¡°Good thing you all had the bright idea to store some food. Woodrow, Wilbur, and Ealhstan are doing their best to keep everyone¡¯s spirits up. Wilbur¡¯s either in his lab or out in the fields cooking. Woodrow and Ealhstan are out battling shadow creatures. I stand watch with Agate and Harlan during the day.¡±


    Claude¡¯s voice lowered, closer to Ryne¡¯s ear. A warm arm draped across Ryne¡¯s chest, and gentle fingers brushed his cheek. ¡°Be strong, friend.¡±


    Ryne blinked up at him, and his breath hitched when he saw the glimmer of water in Claude¡¯s eyes. He couldn¡¯t tell if Claude was thinking about the flaming sparrows or something else. All he saw was his own reflection in those tear-brimmed eyes.


    Slowly, Ryne recovered. In his sleep, he heard the voices of the people of Rothfield, faint at first, but growing stronger each night. Their prayers coursed through him like a steady current.


    One night, he woke to the sound of music drifting from the church. With effort, he stood and made his way to the nave. It was bathed in candlelight, the flickering glow casting soft shadows as the townspeople sang a hymn to Saint Gaelmar. Their voices rose in gentle harmony, filling the air like a warm, soothing breeze.


    Ryne closed his eyes and let the melody wash over him. The weight he had carried seemed to lift, replaced by a lightness he hadn¡¯t felt in days. He sighed, a faint smile gracing his lips, as he felt the flicker of his flame returning, little by little.


    By the fifth night, Ryne could stand, much to the delight of his friends. They cheered as he walked about the monastery, though Wilbur and Lydia warned him not to overexert himself. Claude, the human elders, and the children who adored him eagerly sought to bring him outside. One evening, Claude guided him to Wilbur¡¯s garden, where the cool night breeze brushed gently against his skin.


    Ryne wasn¡¯t accustomed to being cared for, but Claude seemed determined. After settling him on a stone bench Ealhstan had crafted, Claude returned to the communal fire and brought back a bowl of warm soup.


    ¡°Wilbur¡¯s tending to the sick animals. The ones you rescued from Bahram,¡± Claude said as he sat beside Ryne. His voice carried a soft admiration as he gestured toward the garden. A statue was taking shape in the center, rising from the unfinished base of what would eventually be a fountain. Draped in robes and carved with meticulous detail, the figure was unmistakably Saint Gaelmar.


    Ryne stared at it, a faint smile curling his lips. ¡°Ealhstan¡¯s work?¡±


    Claude nodded. ¡°He¡¯s pouring his heart into it. Says it¡¯s to remind everyone of the strength we draw from one another.¡±


    Ryne rested his head against the bench¡¯s cool stone, the warm soup in his hands. For the first time in days, he felt truly at peace. The moon was bright. Claude was looking at him. When Ryne turned, CLaude did not turn away, only blinked.


    Ryne closed his eyes as he savored the stew, grateful that he finally had the strength to feed himself again. The warmth of the broth spread through him, grounding him. Beside him, Claude spoke softly, his lips close to Ryne¡¯s ear. ¡°Thank you for getting me away from there.¡±


    Ryne waited for more, but Claude said nothing else. He simply replied, ¡°Of course.¡±


    Claude¡¯s knee brushed against his, steady and warm. The quiet strength radiating from him made Ryne lean his shoulder against Claude¡¯s. They sat like that, in silent companionship, the cool night air mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire from the granges nearby.


    After a while, Claude began to speak again. He told Ryne stories from the past day, describing how Belle had refused to stop leaping on everyone when her sisters returned. ¡°Though,¡± he added with a chuckle, ¡°the granges are a lot noisier now, with all their bleating.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Ryne smiled at the image, the corners of his exhaustion smoothing in the comfort of Claude¡¯s presence. The simplicity of the stories, the night breeze, and Claude¡¯s warmth, felt like a healing balm, mending what the past days had torn apart.


    Ryne led him to the curious flowers in the garden. He guided Claude¡¯s fingers over the yellowtongues and shivering maiden, told him of their properties. Their fingers met as they prodded the white roses.


    In the daylight, Ryne watched as Claude raised his staff high, leading the sheep out of their enclosure. Cluade was beaming, glad to do his usual chores once more. The sheep followed him, drawn by an invisible thread, their movements calm, contentedly bleating.


    Claude paused to stroke Belle¡¯s fur, his expression softening as he noticed its remarkable sheen and smoothness compared to the others. His fingers lingered for a moment before he turned his attention to the children nearby. With a stick in hand, he crouched down and began drawing in the sand at their request. The children clapped and laughed, eagerly shouting suggestions, which Claude patiently obliged.


    Ryne¡¯s heart swelled as he took in the scene; the joy on the children¡¯s faces, the gentleness of Claude¡¯s hand guiding theirs as they practiced letters, and the easy warmth that seemed to follow him wherever he went.


    At some point, Claude caught Ryne watching him. Their eyes met, and Claude grinned, a smile so radiant that it made Ryne¡¯s chest tighten. Embarrassed, Ryne quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks flush, but the image of Claude¡¯s smile lingered, warming him long after the moment had passed.


    <hr>


    Ryne listened intently as Jerome gave his full report one night, his strength half-returned. The infirmary was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as his brothers gathered around.


    ¡°The lords of Rothfield are frustrated,¡± Jerome began, his tone measured. ¡°The town¡¯s loyalties are splitting. I¡¯ve heard whispers of Gaelmar and the flame that didn¡¯t harm Claude. It¡¯s stirred confusion and debate.¡±


    Woodrow leaned back, his eyes gleaming with mischief. ¡°The priest¡¯s words have bitten him back,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°Their little primitive trials failed to condemn Claude, and instead, your display has them thinking he¡¯s chosen by another Saint. Imagine it! Poor Father Clint must be stewing in envy and confusion.¡±


    Wilbur raised a brow but remained silent, his hands folded thoughtfully.


    Woodrow continued, his grin widening. ¡°The people must believe Gaelmar is more alive than their so-called ¡®Living Saint-King.¡¯ Oh, how it must gnaw at the priest¡¯s pride.¡±


    He licked his lips, savoring the imagined bitterness of Father Clint¡¯s frustration. Ryne said nothing but could feel the weight of what had been set in motion. Whatever spectacle he had created, it had shifted the balance in the town of Rothfield.


    Ryne felt the faint stirrings of the flame within him, still recovering.


    ¡°He¡¯s been making metal charms to ward off the dark,¡± Jerome continued, ¡°but the mist is pushing deeper into Rothfield. No direwolves yet, but the darkness is spreading. Lord Bahram¡¯s frustrated. He can¡¯t get his soldiers to search Claude¡¯s farm. He¡¯s threatening to send them to prison, but we both know that¡¯s an empty threat. He needs his soldiers for patrols and supply runs. I saw a large group head to Mount Lhottem to harvest iron and copper. Two men were badly injured by shadowbeasts in the mountains.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s brow furrowed as he considered the information. The tension of the situation thickened with every detail.


    "So, if I were to send Claude and the rest back to his cottage, you think they¡¯d be safe?" Ryne asked.


    Jerome nodded. ¡°The common folk view the farm as sacred ground. Some haven¡¯t even dared to return to the church, avoiding the priest¡¯s venomous words.¡±


    <hr>


    Claude brought Ryne to the part of the dark forest that was green. Claude¡¯s gaze drifted out over the green expanse, his expression distant. His hands rested in his lap, fingers tracing the grass absently as he spoke.


    ¡°I felt so hurt when they caged me,¡± Claude murmured, his voice quiet but laced with raw emotion. ¡°They were good people once. They¡¯ve forgotten we were friends before all this mess.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s hand instinctively reached out, brushing lightly over Claude¡¯s arm. The warmth of the contact grounded him. He couldn¡¯t help but feel angry that they let fear dictate their actions.


    ¡°I hope they remember soon,¡± Ryne said, his voice soft but firm, trying to offer a sliver of hope. But deep inside, there was a churn of anger. How could they have allowed it? How could they let the lords cage an innocent man like that?


    He exhaled slowly, releasing the anger into the cool air. No, it wasn¡¯t just the townspeople¡¯s fault. They were scared¡ªsmall, powerless against the might of the lords. Ryne had felt that same helplessness many years ago, back when he was still learning in the monasteries under Knox and Blake, when the weight of the world felt too heavy for anyone to push back against.


    He squeezed Claude¡¯s arm gently, trying to steady himself. ¡°Fear can make people forget what¡¯s important,¡± Ryne said quietly. ¡°But maybe we can remind them.¡±


    Claude gave him a small, almost wistful smile, one that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. But it was enough. For a moment, they simply sat there, the quiet of the forest and the distant fluttering of wings the only sound between them.


    Ryne ran his fingers lightly over his chest, the familiar twinge of unease settling in his gut. Blake had been quiet these past few nights, unnervingly so. It was as if the dark force within him had gone still, and that silence felt wrong. He¡¯d lived with Blake¡¯s restless stirring for so long that the absence of it made him anxious. Yet, whenever Claude was near, the calmness within him persisted. Ryne didn¡¯t need the kindflame to ward off Blake¡¯s influence when Claude was around. His presence alone was enough to soothe the turmoil inside.


    Ryne sighed, allowing his body to relax, curling up beside Claude¡¯s legs. The warmth of his friend¡¯s presence anchored him in a way that nothing else could. Claude¡¯s boot tapped lightly against him, a playful gesture that brought a small smile to Ryne¡¯s face.


    ¡°Do you miss home?¡± Ryne asked, his voice quiet as he gazed up at Claude.


    Claude¡¯s gaze shifted thoughtfully before he answered, his voice soft. ¡°Ma says we might be intruding, even though your brothers keep insisting that we are always welcome, and to make this place our home if we wished.¡± He paused, looking down at Ryne with a small, sincere smile. ¡°I¡¯m not in a rush to get back to our grey fields. Though Wilbur had asked the elders to water the growing crops while we¡¯re here.¡±


    Ryne smiled in return, feeling a warmth spread through him, not just from the sun above but from the gentle connection between them. ¡°You¡¯re always welcome here, truly,¡± Ryne said quietly, his heart full of the offer. ¡°We¡¯re not in a rush, either.¡±


    Claude chuckled softly, the sound light and carefree. It was a comfort to Ryne, a reminder that, despite everything, they still had each other. The world outside might be crumbling, but in these moments, here in the peace of the forest with his friend, things felt just a little bit whole again.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 8)

    Ryne''s breath hitched as Gaelmar¡¯s deep voice filled his dreams, comforting and commanding.


    ¡°The sparrowflame,¡± Gaelmar¡¯s voice resonated. ¡°I was well beyond a man when I mastered that. It is fortunate your friend carried you back to my grounds quickly. And the people know to fuel your flame with my name.¡±


    Ryne could feel the warmth of Gaelmar¡¯s words, a presence like an ember in his chest, but his impatience pushed him forward. ¡°Has my full strength returned?¡± He longed to be useful again, to feel the spark of the fire within him, burning with purpose.


    ¡°Almost,¡± Gaelmar answered, his tone both reassuring and weighty. His hand, not unlike Ryne¡¯s, pressed gently to Ryne¡¯s heart, the touch warm yet solemn. ¡°Your friend makes you strong.¡±


    Ryne felt a sense of peace in those words, but there was something more in Gaelmar''s silence as the saint drew his hand back. The air around them grew heavy. Gaelmar''s brow furrowed in thought, his gaze distant.


    ¡°Edmund¡­¡± Gaelmar murmured, almost to himself, but Ryne could feel the tension in his voice. ¡°I do not feel him. Like I do not feel the rest of my fallen comrades. And his mark feels wrong. Twisted somehow, though it is the same as I remembered it before¡­ I do not know what to make of this.¡±


    The weight of those words pressed against Ryne¡¯s chest, and he felt a shiver run through him. Edmund¡¯s mark¡­ the memory of it was sharp, and Gaelmar¡¯s uncertainty only deepened the mystery surrounding his former comrade.


    ¡°I do not know what it means,¡± Gaelmar said, finally.


    <hr>


    Claude and Ryne sat in the quiet of the church, the morning light spilling through the high windows and casting soft beams across the stone floor. Claude was carefully working on restoring the cracked altar tiles, his focus absolute, while Ryne observed from the benches quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not weak,¡± Ryne said, breaking the silence, his tone firm.


    Claude glanced over at him, his expression patient. ¡°Of course not. But you¡¯ve been ill, Ryne. It would be unwise to strain yourself too soon and risk losing the strength you¡¯ve just regained.¡±


    Ryne couldn¡¯t help but smile at his friend¡¯s concern. ¡°You sound just like Wilbur there.¡±


    Claude chuckled lightly, his hands steady as he worked. ¡°Well, in your absence, he was the one who taught me the rest of my letters. He reminded me of you.¡±


    That made Ryne¡¯s heart warm. He was glad that in his absence, Claude had found a way to keep learning, to keep growing. ¡°Gaelmar would be pleased,¡± Ryne said softly.


    Claude paused for a moment, meeting Ryne¡¯s gaze. ¡°Good. It¡¯s thanks to him for saving me back there in the town square.¡±


    The weak rays of the sun slanted through the windows, bathing Claude in a soft grey light, highlighting the muscles of his back and arms as he continued his work. Ryne watched him, a thought tugging at the edge of his mind. Soon, Claude would become a strong soldier if he wished, defending the monastery and the people around them.


    But then, Ryne pushed the thought aside. Not yet. There was still time. They had years ahead of them before they would have to face such things. For now, he was content to simply watch and be with his friend.


    <hr>


    Ryne felt the heat of the forge, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tried to bend the metal band with his own hands.


    "I can do it for you," Ealhstan said, his large hands open, ready to take the thick metal from Ryne.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    But Ryne shook his head, his eyes focused on the glowing metal. "It has to be me," he said, determination in his voice.


    Ealhstan gave a nod of approval, stepping back to let Ryne work. The heat from the forge was intense, but Ryne gritted his teeth and pressed on, feeling the weight of the task. His slender arms, usually not accustomed to this kind of labor, felt clumsy as he twisted the metal, hammering it into the shape of Gaelmar¡¯s mark. Each strike of the smaller hammer echoed in the workshop.


    After a few moments, the metal was shaped and cooled in the water with a hiss. Ryne took a deep breath, finally placing the mark on the altar, murmuring a quiet prayer. He kissed the cool metal, sealing his blessing upon it.


    Later that day, he led Claude to the church beneath Gaelmar¡¯s statue. The soft light illuminated the space, and Ryne could feel the presence of Gaelmar all around them. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the metal mark, now perfectly shaped and cool to the touch.


    Claude¡¯s eyes widened as Ryne approached. He took the mark in his hands, lips parted in surprise. ¡°I thought our finest soldier here in the monastery deserved his own trinket,¡± Ryne said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere.


    Claude¡¯s face softened as Ryne stepped closer, the weight of the gesture settling between them. Ryne carefully draped the mark around Claude¡¯s neck, the cool metal resting gently against his skin. Claude touched it softly, the warmth of Ryne¡¯s hands still lingering on the metal.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wear it forever,¡± Claude whispered, his voice thick with emotion. As he said those words, a strong pang struck his chest, a feeling that made his heart swell in a way he couldn¡¯t quite name.


    Ryne stepped back, his eyes meeting Claude¡¯s, and for a moment, the world outside the church seemed to fade away. There was nothing but the two of them, standing together beneath Gaelmar¡¯s statue, bound by the mark and the promise it represented.


    <hr>


    Daylight. Claude, Jerome, and a small group of capable warriors set off to Mount Lhottem to gather the minerals needed for Wilbur¡¯s alchemical work. Ryne watched them go as his friends and people trekked through the rocky terrain. He had sent Ember along with them, her fire to protect the people in the dangerous, shadowed paths.


    When they returned, tired but triumphant, the heavy sacks of minerals were brought straight to Wilbur¡¯s workshop. Ealhstan pounded and grinded the minerals into fine powders, his muscular arms working with practiced precision.


    In the midst of it all, Wilbur¡¯s voice rang out, steady and confident. ¡°I had to dilute the medicines again while you were out, of course. To ration them,¡± he said with a knowing smile. ¡°Good thing I had a few medicines stored in my lab for emergencies, if any of them fell gravely ill.¡±


    The lab was alive with activity. The table trembled beneath Wilbur¡¯s hands as he mixed and stirred his concoctions, the bubbling liquids changing colors, gray shifting to brilliant blues and yellows. The scent of the alchemy filled the room, rich and tangy, almost too sharp for the senses.


    The results were soon clear as the sheep were brought in. With each careful dose, they grew plumper and sleeker, their coats shining in the light, just like Belle. The goats and hens followed, their milk soft and creamy, their eggs now thick and large. Wilbur watched, his mind already planning what the next batch of minerals would create.


    The vision from Gaelmar pierced Ryne¡¯s dreams. The shadows were stirring, gathering strength for an impending assault. The town was still divided in its loyalties, torn between the people who had turned to the flame and those who clung to old beliefs. It was the perfect moment for Chaos to strike, Gaelmar warned, with his voice as steady as the winds of the mountains.


    Ryne¡¯s heart pounded as the vision unfolded before him. Greater direwolves, massive and black, prowled the outskirts of Rothfield. Above them, corvus, dark and menacing, flapped and screeched, their cawing filling the air. His pulse quickened as he saw the threat drawing closer. He had to act quickly.


    He surged from the bed where he had been resting, his body strong once more, the flame inside him burning bright. Without hesitation, he rushed to the tower, where the bell loomed above the town. He struck it with force, the resounding clang echoing through the granges, pulling the people¡¯s attention toward the sky.


    Ryne¡¯s voice rang out above the commotion. ¡°Brothers! Elders!¡± He called, summoning the ones who could stand against the coming darkness. As they gathered inside the church, Ryne¡¯s gaze locked with Ealhstan and Wilbur¡¯s, both of them bracing for what was to come.


    ¡°I must go with you,¡± Ryne said, his voice firm, despite the protests from his brothers. ¡°I¡¯m strong again. You need me out there. You need me to be close so you can fight. We cannot afford to waste any time.¡±


    Ealhstan opened his mouth to argue, but Ryne cut him off, sensing what he was about to say.


    ¡°No,¡± Ryne countered, his eyes unwavering. ¡°Harlan and Agate can¡¯t do it alone. We need every hand we can get.¡± He looked at them, the weight of Gaelmar¡¯s warning pressing heavily on his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. We can¡¯t afford to hold back. If I can help, I will.¡±


    The church was filled with the hum of nervous energy. A battle was approaching, and they needed to be ready.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 9)

    Ryne dismissed the others and knelt in solitude within the church, the quiet broken only by the faint crackling of candles nearby. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth coursing through him. Gaelmar¡¯s presence was strong again, steady and unwavering. As he meditated, a faint noise behind him broke his focus. Ryne turned to see Claude standing in the doorway, sword and shield in hand. His face was set, his eyes determined. Claude stepped closer to him. Ryne smiled faintly, placing a steady hand on Claude¡¯s arm. They exchanged no words; there was no need. Together, they moved swiftly into the night.


    The dark forest loomed ahead, mist curling and thickening like a living thing, suffocating the light of the moon. Shadows prowled at the edges, their growls growing louder. Ryne took all his dark brothers with him. Woodrow, Wilbur, and Ealhstan flanked him while Agate and Jerome followed Claude. Ember ran close to Ryne¡¯s ankles. He noticed thy were letting him lead. As they emerged from the trees, the scene before them was chaos. The mist had reached the town, blanketing the streets as panicked villagers scrambled to lock themselves in their homes. Corvus swooped low, their screeches sharp and grating as they clawed at roofs and shutters. In the distance, the guttural snarls of direwolves sent shivers down Ryne¡¯s spine.


    Ryne thrust his palm upward, summoning a sudden short burst of sparrowflame into the sky. The golden fire shot up, blazing bright against the gloom, drawing the attention of the corvus. The light disoriented them, forcing them to scatter, and a few were burned away in the heat of the flame.


    Ember, sensing the urgency, channeled her flame into Ryne¡¯s, their energies merging. With a swift motion, Ryne cast flameshield over Agate, who was engaged in a fierce battle with one of the greater direwolves. The monstrous creature lunged at her, its teeth snapping, but the shieldflame burned its muzzle, giving her the opening she needed. Agate thrust her spear forward, piercing the greater direwolf¡¯s neck in a single, decisive strike.


    The tide was beginning to turn, but the mist continued to descend, thicker and colder than before. Ryne could feel the shadows pressing in. He glanced at Claude, whose grip on his sword tightened as his eyes scanned the battlefield.


    ¡°Stay close,¡± Ryne said.


    Ealhstan roared like a force of nature, his massive hands gripping boulders and barrels as though they were mere pebbles. With a tremendous heave, he hurled them into the pack of direwolves charging through the mist. The heavy projectiles crashed into the beasts, breaking their momentum and scattering them like pins in a game. One injured wolf staggered, trying to retreat, but Ealhstan was quicker. He seized it by its matted fur and, with a grunt of effort, flung it back into the oncoming pack. The greater direwolves tumbled into a disorganized heap, snarling and snapping at one another in confusion.


    At the same time, Wilbur lobbed glass bottles into the air, each one bursting into fiery explosions upon impact. The shimmering blue and orange flames illuminated the mist, forcing the wolves to retreat, halting their advance. Wilbur¡¯s sharp eyes scanned for the next opportunity to strike.


    As the battle pressed on, Wilbur joined Ryne and Claude, the three of them making their way to the village square. The scene was chaos. Soldiers and villagers fought desperately to protect their homes, their shouts and cries echoing through the night. Lord Bahram stood at the forefront, his warhammer a blur of silver as he drove back the encroaching shadows with a strength that belied his years. The people of the monastery stared; Ryne and Claude looked at each toher, stunned that he saw this noble lord actually defending his domain.


    ¡°You cannot have it, cur! Rothfield is mine!¡± Baxter Bahram roared. His hammer struck one wolf, then the next, turning them to ash.


    Above the melee, the corvus swooped and screamed, their dark wings blotting out the faint light of the moon. One of the massive birds dove into the fray, snatching a soldier in its talons and lifting him high into the air. The man¡¯s cries for help pierced through the clamor of battle.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Claude didn¡¯t hesitate. He sprinted toward the scene, eyes locking onto the spear the soldier had dropped. Grabbing it in one fluid motion, he planted his feet and hurled the weapon skyward with all his strength. The spear flew true, striking the corvus square in the chest. The creature let out a bone-chilling screech before disintegrating into ash, its grip on the soldier releasing. The man plummeted to the ground, landing hard but alive.


    Claude rushed to his side, kneeling as he helped the soldier sit up. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± he said firmly, his voice steady despite the chaos. ¡°Stay low and regroup with the others.¡±


    Nearby, Ryne¡¯s sparrowflame flickered in his hand, its light pushing back the growling wolves, the screeching crows. But a part of the square was still swarming with enemies. Ryne rallied Agate, Jerome, and Claude, and reinvigorated, held their weapons high to drive back more shadow beasts. Yet, even as they gained ground, Ryne couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the true threat had yet to reveal itself, waiting in the heart of the mist.


    A low groan drew Ryne and Claude¡¯s attention. Scattered across the ruined square were wounded soldiers, some clutching their sides, others barely moving. Ryne knelt beside the nearest one, a young man with a gash across his leg, and motioned for Claude to help.


    ¡°We need to get them to safety,¡± Ryne said.


    Claude nodded, lifting the injured soldier and following Ryne toward the edges of the square, where the doors of a patrol hut remained open as a makeshift shelter. Wilbur was already there, crouched beside another fallen man. His sharp gaze assessed the soldier¡¯s injuries. Without a word, he uncorked a glowing potion from his satchel, its contents shimmering with an otherworldly light.


    ¡°Hold still,¡± Wilbur instructed, tilting the bottle so the liquid trickled over the man¡¯s wounds. The soldier winced as the potion hissed against his skin. He closed his eyes as the gashes sealed shut, leaving only faint scars. He blinked in disbelief as strength returned to his limbs, and he stumbled to his feet.


    ¡°I¡ªthank you,¡± the soldier stammered, his voice shaky.


    Wilbur barely acknowledged the gratitude, already turning to scan the battlefield. ¡°Get inside,¡± he ordered brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument. He tossed his satchel over one shoulder and hurried back into the fray, his movements precise and purposeful as he sought out more wounded men.


    Ryne and Claude carried more injured to safety. The square was littered with rubble and bodies, but together they navigated the chaos, saving who they could. Each time Wilbur approached with his potions, the scene repeated¡ªwounds closed, life returned, and stunned soldiers found their feet once more.


    Between them, hope began to flicker in the eyes of the defenders. The sight of their comrades rising again gave them strength. Ryne couldn¡¯t help but feel a swell of pride for his dark brother. But Wilbur¡¯s expression remained grim. As he wiped the blood from his hands and moved toward the next soldier, his sharp senses caught something on the wind¡ªa distant howl, deeper and more menacing than before. His jaw tightened. The direwolves had regrouped. The worst was yet to come.


    Ryne¡¯s eyes locked with Baxter Bahram¡¯s across the chaotic square. The lord stood like an immovable mountain, his broad shoulders heaving and his warhammer resting heavily by his side. He looked every bit a bear disturbed from his den, yet it wasn¡¯t his imposing presence that caught Ryne off guard¡ªit was the fact that he was there, fighting alongside his people.


    Lord Bahram¡¯s gaze swept over Ryne and his brothers, his expression flickering between astonishment and scrutiny as he took in their unfamiliar appearances. His eyes lingered on Ryne¡¯s black robes, and Wilbur, who was pouring potions with swift efficiency. But when his attention shifted to Claude, he growled.


    Claude was a blur of motion, his sword and shield striking down the shadows. Each swing of his blade seemed to inspire the common soldiers around him, who rallied to his side. The tide of battle shifted as the numbers of the shadows began to dwindle under Claude¡¯s attacks.


    The soldiers nearest to Claude began to cheer, their voices rising above the clamor of the battlefield. They chanted his name, their enthusiasm spreading. Even some townspeople, emboldened by the sounds of victory, opened their windows and leaned out to add their voices to the growing chant.


    Ryne glanced at Claude, whose face remained focused, though a faint flush colored his cheeks at the unexpected attention. He fought on, undeterred by the praise, his movements as steady as ever. Like a fine warrior.


    Lord Bahram¡¯s gaze flicked from the cheering soldiers to the townspeople. Some joined in the chant, while others simply stared, their faces marked with confusion as they looked to their lord.

 Vol. II Chapter 4 - The Mist (Part 10 - END)

    Ryne¡¯s chest tightened. The people¡¯s loyalties were shifting before his eyes, drawn to Claude¡¯s bravery and the spectacle that happened a few days ago. Lord Bahram was seething. Was he angered by the cheers for a farmer-turned-hero? Or was he quietly acknowledging that the young man before him had earned the people¡¯s respect?


    Whatever the case, Ryne knew the victory was not yet secure. Shadows still loomed at the edges of the square, and the battle was far from over. He took a step closer to Claude, his sparrowflame reigniting in his hands, ready to support his dear friend.


    Then Lord Bahram''s face twisted with rage, his jaw set and his eyes burning with indignation. It was clear he couldn¡¯t stomach the sight of a commoner being hailed as a hero. With a deafening roar, he lifted his warhammer and charged, the ground trembling beneath his heavy steps.


    Ryne¡¯s heart leaped into his throat. For a fleeting, wild moment, he thought Bahram would swing the hammer directly at Claude.


    Claude, frozen in place, still had his sword lodged in the belly of a corvus as it disintegrated into ash. He glanced at Bahram, confusion and disbelief written on his face. Was Bahram aiming for him, or for the shadows still circling nearby?


    Ryne reacted instinctively, throwing out his hand and screaming, a burst of sparrowflame igniting in his palm. But before he could intervene, a towering figure stepped between Bahram and Claude.


    Ealhstan.


    The sound of metal rang out as Bahram¡¯s hammer struck Ealhstan¡¯s braced arm. The force of the blow rippled through the air, but Ealhstan didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, he snarled, his lip curling to reveal his sharp fangs.


    Bahram¡¯s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the inhuman strength before him, but his hands still gripped the hammer. Ealhstan¡¯s strength was immeasurable, and with a sharp jerk, he lifted Bahram clean off the ground, the lord dangling helplessly as though he were nothing more than a child¡¯s doll.


    With an effortless motion, Ealhstan flung Bahram across the square. The lord tumbled through the air, landing heavily on the cobblestones with a grunt of pain. Before Bahram could rise, Ealhstan turned his attention to the pack of lesser direwolves closing in.


    He swung the hammer that had once been Bahram¡¯s, smashing it down onto a direwolf¡¯s back. The creature crumbled into ash. Ealhstan didn¡¯t stop. He swept the hammer in a wide arc, striking three more wolves in one swing. Shadows scattered and fled under his relentless assault, their forms disintegrating as they were struck.


    The square fell silent for a moment, the soldiers and townspeople staring in awe. Ealhstan stood tall amidst the chaos, the hammer resting heavily in his hand.


    Ryne rushed to Claude¡¯s side, grabbing his arm. ¡°Are you alright?¡± he asked, his voice breathless.


    Claude nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Ealhstan, facing the remnants of the shadows, unyielding and unstoppable.


    A deep, earth-shaking howl tore through the battlefield, reverberating like thunder and sending tremors through the ground beneath their feet. The townsfolk and warriors alike stumbled, fear rippling through their ranks as a massive shadow emerged from the mist.


    An alpha direwolf, nearly as massive as Ember¡¯s corrupted form, loomed over them. Its glowing red eyes pierced the darkness, and its fangs gleamed like jagged steel. Its growl rumbled like a storm, freezing everyone in its presence.


    Ember stood in front of Ryne and Claude. She barked fiercely, avoiding Ryne as he reached for her, her flames bursting from her jaws in defiance. She hurled a fiery burst at the beast, momentarily stunning it. The flames lit up the square, revealing its matted fur and the bloodied marks of battle etched into its hide. The beast recoiled, snarling with rage, and then lashed out with a powerful kick that sent Ember flying across the square.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°No!¡± Ryne shouted, already sprinting toward Ember¡¯s crumpled form. But the alpha¡¯s attention shifted. Its glowing eyes locked onto Ryne¡ªand then to the weakened figure of Claude beside him.


    Ryne froze. The direwolf took one menacing step closer, its massive claws scraping against the cobblestones.


    Claude groaned, struggling to rise, his sword slipping from his grasp. ¡°Stay back, Ryne,¡± he rasped. But Ryne ignored him, racing to Claude¡¯s side. He knelt down and clasped Claude¡¯s trembling hand, his other hand gripping the hilt of the fallen sword. A surge of determination coursed through him, and the blade ignited with a brilliant blue light.


    ¡°Together,¡± Ryne whispered, his voice steady despite the chaos.


    Claude nodded weakly, and with a shared cry, they drove the glowing sword straight into the alpha direwolf¡¯s chest. The blade cut through its thick hide, embedding deep into its heart. The beast howled in agony, its voice splitting the air and echoing into the darkened skies. Shadows swirled around it as its massive form disintegrated, vanishing into the darkness once more.


    For a moment, the square was eerily quiet, save for the labored breaths of those still standing. It was almost over.


    Woodrow, Agate, and Jerome were driving the last of the shadows away. Jerome let loose arrow after arrow, his strikes sharp and true. Ryne glanced at him, noting how far the young man had come. There was a time when Jerome had been unsure of his place, but now he was a crucial player in the battlefield.


    Turning back to Claude, Ryne knelt beside him. Claude¡¯s chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, his shield scratched and bloodied. Claw and talon marks marred his skin.


    ¡°Rest now. Close your eyes.¡± Ryne said softly, placing a hand over Claude¡¯s chest. His friend shut his eyes and winced, thinking that Ryne would apply the potion Wilbur used. Ryne¡¯s palm glowed faintly as he channeled his healing kindflame, mending the torn flesh and sealing the worst of the wounds. He stopped just short of erasing the scars, his power almost depleted.


    Claude¡¯s eyes fluttered open briefly, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°You always have my back,¡± he murmured before his eyes closed again, succumbing to the pull of rest. He mumbled, ¡°Don¡¯t know what the others are crying about. The potion didn¡¯t hurt at all. Kind of tickled, actually.¡±


    Ryne exhaled slowly, brushing the sweat from his brow. The battle was done. He looked around at the remnants of the town, battered but still standing, and allowed himself a small, fleeting moment of relief.


    Ryne needed to sustain his powers to help if there were any grave injuries. But when he looked around, he saw most of the people, including Lord Bahram and Father Clinton, who had appeared out of nowhere, staring in their direction.


    He turned¡ªand realized.


    Claude still held the flaming sword. Though its fire was weakening, the blade still burned in the air.


    Ryne¡¯s breath caught. The sacred weapon of Saint Oswald. The mightiest of the Saints. He had not realized it before.


    A hush fell over the square. Whispers spread, rippling through soldiers and townspeople alike. Their eyes flickered between Claude and the faintly burning sword in his grasp.


    Then, Ryne heard it.


    A low, nasty snarl.


    His eyes snapped to Father Clinton. The priest¡¯s expression twisted in fury, his gaze locked onto him with unmasked hatred.


    He stared right back at him.


    It was clear that the priest was not used to a challenge.


    Ryne walked slowly forward. Father Clinton tensed, his fists curling at his sides. Instinctively, he shielded himself from Ryne¡¯s approach but did not move away.


    The space between them vanished. Ryne stood close enough now to see every line of tension in the priest¡¯s face. He stared directly into Clinton¡¯s gray eyes.


    And then, when he spoke, the voice that left him was not entirely his own.


    ¡°You have eyes darker than wolves,¡± Ryne said, his words searing his throat, deeper than his usual tone. ¡°And I feel Saint Edmund is not in your heart.¡±


    Silence stretched between them. Clinton¡¯s hot anger turned into cold wariness. Father Clinton did not respond. He merely stared at the pale young monk, his expression unreadable, as Ryne turned away and gathered the farmer boy, the giant, the redhead, and the lanky healer¡ªleading them back into the shadows.


    As they vanished into the night, the priest¡¯s fingers clenched around the mark of Saint Edmund hanging from his chest. They were so cold. Except for the little monk with the dark marks on his face. The common folk did not see what they were, of course. They didn¡¯t see that Clinton saw their sharp fangs hidden under their lips. They didn¡¯t smell the stink of darkness in their blood. Clinton did not understand. He wanted to purge. He wanted to escape. He want back to the church, blood running cold.

 Vol. II Chapter 5 - Summons (Part 1)

    Ryne remained in the crypt for a full day and night, emerging only at dusk for the prayer of banishment to Blake. He had felt the entity stir during the battle, its excitement thrumming beneath his skin, only to fade once the fighting ceased. But something had shifted: Blake¡¯s voice had not returned. Ryne could hold him at bay now. Maybe even silence him for good.


    Claude and Woodrow waited for him at the nave, their gazes fixed on the statue of Saint Gaelma.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Ryne said, tilting his head, puzzled by their expectant expressions.


    Claude grinned, seized Ryne¡¯s arm, and pulled him toward the cloisters. Woodrow covered his eyes with his hands, whistling a lighthearted tune. Ryne chuckled, already guessing where this was leading. When they stopped, Woodrow lifted his hands away.


    Ryne blinked. Then he stared.


    In the garden¡¯s center stood a statue¡ªat first, he assumed it was Saint Gaelma. But as his eyes traced the features, recognition dawned. It wasn¡¯t the saint. It was him.


    Ealhstan stepped from the shadows, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand behind his back. ¡°Do you like it?¡± he asked. ¡°Your friend over there helped.¡±


    Ryne turned sharply to Claude, who winked. With a breathless laugh, Ryne smacked Claude¡¯s arm in astonishment before pulling him into a tight embrace. He whispered, ¡°You are wonderful.¡±


    Then he sprang toward Ealhstan, leaping up to him, and the giant laughed, his deep voice echoing through the garden. Wilbur stood behind them, watching with an amused smile.


    ¡°Why me?¡± Ryne asked at last.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Ealhstan said simply.


    ¡°You¡¯re the caretaker of Rothfield,¡± Wilbur added, tapping his knee. ¡°Let the people know.¡±


    <hr>


    While Ryne assisted Wilbur in the lab, Claude lingered by the statue, running his hands over the chiseled features. He turned to Ealhstan. ¡°Thank you for letting me help. And for teaching me.¡±


    ¡°You work well with wood, don¡¯t you?¡± Ealhstan said, studying him. ¡°I¡¯d like to see what you can do.¡±


    So that night, Claude carved. He followed Ealhstan¡¯s steady movements, mirroring each cut with careful precision. When the giant offered quiet encouragement, Claude found himself smiling¡ªthis man who could crush shadowbeasts to ash and shatter stone with a single blow was now guiding his hands over something delicate.


    When the work was done, Ealhstan beamed at him.


    Claude turned back to the statue. The garden was empty now. The monastery¡¯s halls stretched in silent reverence, though in the granges, he could hear Ealhstan¡¯s booming laughter mingling with the soft trill of Woodrow¡¯s flute.


    He climbed onto the statue¡¯s base, reaching out. His fingers brushed over the stone¡¯s chin, lingering against the cool, carved face.


    <hr>


    Wilbur sighed. ¡°That battle drained my supplies. Every last explosive, every bottle.¡±


    Ryne thought of the glowing healing potions, the explosives Wilbur had hurled through the night. Around them, the lab was cluttered with empty vials, their glass scrubbed clean in the river.


    ¡°Tomorrow, we¡¯ll gather more in the mountains,¡± Ryne said.


    Wilbur tapped his fingers against the wooden worktable. ¡°No need to rush. Let the people rest.¡± He cast Ryne a sidelong glance. ¡°Spend some time with Claude.¡±


    An orphan coughed from one of the cots. Wilbur turned, propping the boy up and pressing a bowl of soup to his lips. Small fingers clutched at his sleeve, refusing to let go.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    <hr>


    Claude and Ryne stood in the meadow, watching the sheep graze. Wilbur¡¯s supplements ofr the animals had worked. Belle¡¯s fleece was thicker, the others¡¯ coats shinier, their steps lighter, more vigorous.


    ¡°They look happier than I¡¯ve ever seen them,¡± Claude murmured.


    He ran ahead, lifted his staff high, pointing toward the wildflowers scattered across the field. The sheep trotted after him, and he laughed, breathless, as they flocked around his ankles. Ryne remained where he stood, watching. The morning light caught the edges of Claude¡¯s pants, the wind tangling his hair as he spun, arms outstretched like a boy at play.


    Ryne exhaled slowly. His gaze lingered.


    <hr>


    At first, only a few from the nearby town dared to step onto the sacred grounds of Saint Gaelmar, hesitant, gazes wary. Ryne blinked in surprise.


    Claude met them halfway in the granges, his stance steady, though his eyes softened as he took in their hollow cheeks and the way their hands hovered over their ribs. They were starving. He slowly reached out to a woman at the front, his fingers brushing against hers before he guided her forward. One by one, the others followed, their eyes darting between the monastery¡¯s thriving fields, its people, and the stone halls beyond.


    That night, Ryne and his brothers stepped into the firelight, presenting themselves to the newcomers. The townspeople stiffened, huddling close, their fear thick. Then Claude moved near Ryne and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ryne felt the warmth of it bled through the fabric.


    Annette, Gabriella, and Lydia joined them at the altar. Seeing their own former neighbors healthy, well-fed, safe ebbed the tension in the villagers. Their shoulders loosened.


    Ryne and Claude helped them settle, working side by side. Over a crackling fire, they stirred a thick stew in the great brass pot, the scent of simmering herbs and roasted roots filling the air. They layered makeshift beds with hay and soft sheep¡¯s wool, pressing down the blankets to smooth out the ridges. Their hands brushed¡ªonce, twice¡ªlingering just a breath too long before Claude met Ryne¡¯s gaze and smiled.


    As they passed tools to one another, reinforcing the animal enclosure, their fingers grazed again. Ryne felt the roughness of Claude¡¯s calloused palms, the brief press of warmth before they each turned back to their tasks.


    The sheep had multiplied. Claude and Ryne watched their newest offspring, noting the sheen of their fleece: glossier, thicker, as if touched by something more than nature. A distinct marking adorned their faces, not like the Saints, but something else.


    Claude¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°They kind of look like the marks on your face.¡± Then Claude brought his face close to Ryne¡¯s and the little monk stiffened, catching his breath. Claude stepped back and said. ¡°Huh. Your face has a pattern.¡±


    Ryne touched his cheek as Claude went back, whistling.


    <hr>


    Woodrow walked alongside Jerome, the damp earth soft beneath their boots as they patrolled the woods. The trees loomed tall, their branches swaying in the wind, casting restless shadows. Woodrow clapped Jerome on the shoulder.


    "A fine archer you¡¯ve become," he said, his voice warm.


    Jerome grinned, fingers tapping against the bowstring. "I had a good teacher."


    A sharp crunch of gravel broke the quiet. Both men stilled. Jerome''s bow was in his hands in an instant, arrow notched, while Woodrow melted into the darkness, his dagger slipping free from its sheath. A lone figure peered through the trees, half-hidden by mist.


    Woodrow raised a pale hand, signaling Jerome to hold back. He moved forward, silent as the wind, his charm ready on his tongue, but the moment he neared, something unseen struck him, an invisible force pressing against his chest like a wall of iron. He recoiled, fangs baring, his breath catching in a hiss.


    Climbing swiftly into the trees, he studied the intruder from above. The man¡¯s tunic bore the mark of Saint Edmund, the silver glint of the charm resting against his throat. A pulse of recognition ran through Woodrow, followed by a flicker of irritation. Then, from the mist, more figures emerged, walking steadily toward Rothfield.


    Spies.


    Woodrow let out a sharp whistle, low and quick. His thieves slithered from the shadows, answering his call.


    "Steal that one''s cross," he murmured, voice barely above a breath. "Throw it far. Take their coins if you wish."


    The thieves struck like wraiths. Hands darted, daggers flashed, not to wound, only to sever chains and lighten pockets. Their charms hit the dirt with a dull thud before being kicked into the underbrush.


    As the thieves vanished back into the gloom, Woodrow descended. He moved from man to man, silent as a cat, his fangs pressing to their throats for a single, deliberate taste. A shiver of life¡ªwarm, rich¡ªrushed through him. They barely made a sound, the trance settling over them like a heavy fog.


    "Go back to your priest," Woodrow murmured, licking the last trace of crimson from his lips. "Tell him you lost your way."


    Without their sacred protection, they were his. Eyes dull, movements sluggish, they turned wordlessly and retreated toward the town.


    At Saint Edmund¡¯s church, Father Clint stiffened as they stumbled through the doors. His nostrils flared. The stench of darkness clung to them, thick and unmistakable.


    He did not yell. He did not demand answers.


    Instead, he sent them away and reached for his incense, lighting it with a steady hand. The smoke curled into the air, a silent prayer against the corruption that had touched his flock.

 Vol. II Chapter 5 - Summons (Part 2 - END)

    Wilbur ventured alone into the mountain, his satchel growing heavier with each freshly unearthed gemstone and ore. The others were deep in another chamber, too occupied to spare any men, leaving him to his own devices. He made his way toward the familiar lava pool, the air thick with sulfur, heat pressing against his skin like a smothering hand. Fire opals glistened within the molten rock, their fiery glow mesmerizing.


    Just as he bent down to extract one, a sudden splash erupted from the pool. A scaly salamander, black as charred iron and smoldering like hot coals, twisted its serpentine body and flung molten lava in his direction.


    Pain ripped through Wilbur as searing liquid struck his arm. He let out a sharp cry but gritted his teeth as his skin rapidly knitted itself back together, the agony fading just as quickly as it had come. His eyes flickered crimson with frustration.


    Reaching into his belt, he pulled free one of his freshly made explosives, striking it against stone before flinging it toward the beast. The blast sent echoes through the cavern. The salamander screeched, its ember-like eyes narrowing before it slithered back into the molten depths.


    Wilbur exhaled, but his relief was short-lived. A low growl rumbled behind him.


    Near the entrance, a pack of direwolves crept forward, their silver eyes gleaming in the dim light, muscles coiled, ready to pounce.


    Wilbur didn''t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled another bottle, the glass shattering on impact. A thick, acrid smoke billowed out, confusing the beasts just long enough for him to slip past their snapping jaws. He ran, boots pounding against the mountain path, until he reached the monastery¡¯s safety.


    Back in his lab, he unloaded his satchels, hands moving on instinct as he retrieved a large glass vial from the cabinet. The rich, dark liquid inside shimmered under the candlelight. He uncorked it, bringing it to his lips¡ª


    A presence in the doorway made him freeze.


    Wilbur turned swiftly, setting the vial down with deliberate calm, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.


    Claude leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes. "I didn''t know you drank beer."


    Wilbur let out a breath, but Claude¡¯s smile faded as he took in his disheveled appearance.


    "Your clothes are torn. Your hair¡¯s a mess. There¡¯s dirt on your hands and cheeks." His brow furrowed. "You went to the mountains. Alone."


    Wilbur sighed, straightening. "Don''t tell Ryne."


    Claude shook his head. "I won¡¯t." He stepped forward, gripping the hilt of his sword. "But you could have looked for me." His voice was steady, firm. "Next time, don¡¯t hesitate to call for help, Brother."


    Wilbur studied him for a moment, the once-scrawny farm boy now growing into a strong young man. In time, Claude would likely tower over him. He and Ryne would make sure of it.


    Wilbur¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile. "Aye, lad."


    <hr>


    Claude found the message pinned to his farm¡¯s door when they visited their land. The parchment bore the seal of Lord Bahram. A summons.


    Ryne frowned as he read it, his fingers itching to crumple it up and throw it into the wind. But Claude had already taken the letter, his eyes scanning the words. Beyond the gate, Ryne caught movement¡ªa shadow shifting just out of sight. His jaw tensed.


    ¡°Come out. We know you¡¯re there.¡±


    A messenger stepped forward hesitantly, his gaze flickering between them. But the moment his eyes landed on Claude, his expression shifted from wary to startled. A commoner who could read. He would undoubtedly report this back to Father Clinton.


    Ryne smirked. Good.


    Claude, however, had gone rigid. Ryne stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. His friend didn¡¯t move. Ryne leaned in, reading the letter over Claude¡¯s arm. The summons called him to the Bahram training grounds, offering him an official pardon and the right to return to his farm. A reward, it claimed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap,¡± Ryne said flatly.


    Claude didn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± His grip tightened on the hilt of his father¡¯s sword. ¡°You heard what my neighbors said. People from the town say things have gotten worse. They need every able-bodied man who can fight. And well¡­¡± He exhaled, gaze drifting across the land. ¡°We have to take care of this farm, Ryne. It¡¯s ours. It¡¯s what my Da left us.¡±


    But Ryne saw something deeper in his eyes. This wasn¡¯t just about the farm.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Lord Bahram¡¯s offer promised more than just land. This meant status, coin in his pockets, a place in the ranks of soldiers. It meant adventure.


    Claude had always longed for that.


    Ryne grasped his friend¡¯s shaking hands, steadying them. Then, with a small nod, he said, ¡°You¡¯ve wanted this for a long time. We must prepare, then.¡±


    Claude was silent. Then, he forced a tight smile.


    Ryne pulled him into an embrace, shielding him against the cold wind, though he knew this was a storm neither of them could stop.


    <hr>


    That night, in the crypt beneath the monastery, Ryne unfolded the letter before his brothers.


    Woodrow and Ealhstan exchanged a knowing look.


    Bahram¡¯s summons was no gesture of goodwill.


    Ealhstan exhaled sharply. ¡°He wants the boy to become a soldier in hopes he¡¯ll fall in battle. Or break his spirit¡ªwhichever comes first.¡±


    Woodrow¡¯s arms were crossed, already calculating. ¡°He wants to make an example out of him.¡±


    Ryne clenched his fists.


    ¡°I can¡¯t protect him in the daylight,¡± Woodrow continued. ¡°And they¡¯ll likely send him far.¡±


    Which meant someone else would have to watch over him.


    The brothers turned to Ryne.


    Of course he would go.


    He looked at Wilbur, who simply nodded, already standing to prepare healing potions.


    Ryne would follow Claude without his knowledge, shadowing him through the trees by day, guarding him by night.


    No matter what Bahram had planned, Claude would not face it alone.


    <hr>


    Lydia¡¯s grip was iron-tight, her fingers trembling as they pressed into Claude¡¯s back. She did not want to let go.


    Claude exhaled, steady but gentle, before carefully prying himself from her embrace. He kissed her cheek, then his sister¡¯s, murmuring soft reassurances. When he turned, his eyes sought Ryne¡¯s, finding him waiting at the church steps.


    They didn¡¯t speak at first.


    Claude pulled him in.


    Ryne¡¯s arms locked around him instinctively, and for a moment, he could pretend there was no war, no summons, no looming shadow of Lord Bahram, no Chaos. Just the warmth of Claude against him, steady and alive. He smelled of wheat fields, of the soil he swore to protect.


    ¡°I will come back,¡± Claude murmured, voice low, meant only for him.


    Ryne swallowed, fingers tightening at the small of his back before forcing himself to let go. The air between them felt colder without him in it.


    Claude turned to the brothers standing behind Ryne, nodding to them with quiet gratitude. ¡°You taught me to survive. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Ryne wanted to believe him. He wanted to burn away the shadows gathering at their heels, to shove Bahram and Father Clint into the abyss where they belonged. Claude¡¯s fire burned too brightly to be swallowed by the dark.


    When Ryne stepped back, he noticed something. Claude had grown taller. He smiled, tilting his head. ¡°I know you will.¡±


    Ealhstan stepped forward, a newly forged steel shield resting against his palm, its polish catching the morning light. ¡°I have things you can use.¡± He handed over a pair of steel-tipped spears, their weight solid and sure in Claude¡¯s grasp.


    Wilbur followed, pressing small vials into Claude¡¯s hands. Healing potions, their glass cool to the touch, and three bottles of explosives. ¡°For bigger foes,¡± Wilbur said simply.


    Claude met each of their gazes, nodding his thanks.


    Ryne reached for Claude¡¯s shield, his fingertips brushing the fresh iron before he lowered his head. Without a word, he pressed his lips to its surface, a quiet benediction, a whisper of Gaelmar¡¯s spirit.


    No one noticed.


    But when Claude lifted the shield onto his back, he noticed it gleamed just a little brighter.


    <hr>


    The murmurs began the moment Claude stepped into the barracks. Soldiers eyed his shield, its surface gleaming with something they couldn¡¯t quite name. Some whispered of stealing it, their gazes hungry, calculating.


    But those who had fought beside him in the last battle spoke first. Don¡¯t touch it, they warned. You don¡¯t know what he is.


    The others reconsidered.


    Claude, unaware or simply unbothered, moved through them. He exchanged nods with the men he had saved, clasped forearms with those he had bled beside. Friendship was forged in the fire of battle, and already, he had allies.


    From the tower above, Lord Bahram watched. His lip curled in disdain.


    A shadow moved behind him.


    ¡°Are you certain about this?¡± Bahram asked, his voice low.


    Father Clint did not answer immediately. He swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the deep red catch the torchlight. ¡°I want to see how far Gaelmar¡¯s influence reaches,¡± he said at last, taking a slow sip. ¡°I want to know if he dares rival the Living Saint-King. Besides, this will be one less problem for you. Once the boy dies in battle, the people will come back to you.¡±


    In the dim corridor, Vincent listened.


    The words unsettled him.


    His father had always been ruthless, but this cruelty, this calculated malice, felt foreign. And the priest¡­ the priest was always too close, whispering into his father¡¯s ear, shaping his thoughts like a blacksmith shapes molten steel.


    Vincent clenched his fists.


    This wasn¡¯t the way of nobles. This wasn¡¯t the father he had admired.


    His mind drifted, unbidden, to an image: of the little pale monk with pale grey-yellow hair in the battlefield holding Claude. That looked noble. This¡­ this was not.

 Vol. II Chapter 6 - Shungite, Aquamarine, and Sea-Lions

    The miasma slithered through the valleys like a serpent, staining the air and tainting the water all around the realm. In his dream, Ryne could see it for what it was: sluggish and dark. But the rest of the people did not. To them, it was clear.


    Even Rothfield monastery was not spared. The sheep that drank from the spring grew weak, their bleating thinning. When one collapsed in the meadow, its breath shallow, Wilbur knelt beside it, fingers pressing against its fevered hide. He retreated to his lab, flipped through his journals, eyes scanning pages filled with alchemical notes. He showed it to the rest of the dark brothers, finger pointing to one crucial page.


    Shungite, Ryne read with his eyes. Aquamarine.


    ¡°We need them to cleanse the water,¡± Wilbur muttered. ¡°They¡¯re usually found in deep lakes and rivers.¡±


    Ryne ventured deep into the dark forest where the river splits towards the monastery and the meadows. He submerged his palm in the cool river and felt his connection to the land. Like roots under the ground, Ryne was shown a vision, slithering through soil and rocks, until he heard a roaring waterfall and then the splashing of water. He saw the gemstones they needed in the lake of Mount Lhottem.


    Ryne tensed, his thoughts veering toward Rothfield. And Claude. If the sickness reached them¡­ no one would have the strength to fight the shadowbeasts. There was no time to hesitate.


    Ryne gathered Wilbur, Woodrow, and Ealhstan, and set out toward the river¡¯s source. The climb was grueling, the air thinning as they neared one of the mist-cloaked summits closest to ground level. The lake should have been a mirror of the sky, but instead, it was dark gray. Ryne approached the lake slowly.


    Then came the roars. Deep, guttural, and strange. From the waters, the creatures emerged. Ryne had only known their descriptions in old tomes, but no ink or parchment could capture the sheer menace of them. Sea-lions. Their massive forms heaved onto the rocks, forelegs padded like a lion¡¯s, but their lower halves tapered into slick, muscular tails. Their mouths were wide open, holding sickly-looking orbs in their jaws, pulsed with a blue-green glow. With a snap of their fangs, they spat torrents of water, strong enough to carve deep grooves into stone.


    Wilbur cursed under his breath. Ealhstan raised his weapon. Ryne¡¯s grip was held back by Woodrow.


    All of them marveled as the creatures moved, and Wilbur remarked that it looked oddly familiar. Ryne felt that familiarity deep in his bones too. One sea-lion ran toward them and released a strong jet stream of water. Woodrow dragged Ryne beside him but was too slow for Ealhstan; he fell down as the strong current hit his legs.


    They acted; Wilbur tossing explosives, Woodrow slicing with his daggers. Ryne chanted a prayer that summoned a sweeping sacred flame towards the shadowbeasts, but the sea-lions wielded their water elements as a natural shield against Ryne¡¯s sacred flame. They opened their mouth and combined their water to form a wall that halved the damage from his kindflame.


    Ryne unleashed a stronger burst of fire in desperation. It struck two sea-lions, causing them to roar and recoil before vanishing into the polluted waters, dousing Ryne¡¯s sacred flame before they turned into ash. Woodrow and Ealhstan moved to his side, alert for more, but the burned creatures soon returned with a crushing water-jet attack, focusing their assault on Woodrow and Ealhstan, blasting them away from Ryne, as one lunged and dragged him into the lake.


    The cold shock nearly stole his remaining breath. He fought desperately¡ªpunching, kicking¡ªwhile the slippery sea-lion used its powerful tail to pull him deeper. Ryne concentrated, channeling his sacred flame into his hands and pressing the heat onto the creature¡¯s mane. It roared and released him.


    Ryne tried to swim upward, but he was far below the surface and could hear more monsters closing in. He saw his hands flail in front of him, the cold darkness closing in to strangle him. He could hear Blake laugh.


    Woodrow and Ealhstan plunged into the water; Ealhstan¡¯s spear flashed as he aimed at the encroaching beast, while Woodrow¡¯s daggers slashed at its paws. The brothers reached for Ryne, and Woodrow grabbed him first, hauling him to the surface. Ealhstan swung powerfully to hold the attackers at bay, while Ryne cast a shieldflame around his giant brother underwater, ensuring their escape.


    Later, the brothers collapsed on the bank, drenched and gasping for air. Woodrow and Ryne stood, agitated, looking at the surface of the mountain¡¯s deep, vast lake. Woodrow was about to dive back again when a giant hand broke the surface of the water. They hurried towards him, pulling him back to the ground. No more monsters emerged.


    Ealhstan coughed as he retrieved a dark, glistening orb and the scattered scales left from the sea-lions reduced to ash by Ryne¡¯s flame. Woodrow found the same items lying about, from where they defeated two of the sea-lions.


    Moments later, Wilbur came running back, having missed the chaos. He stooped to examine the mysterious relics before hurrying back to his lab for further study.


    ¡°These came from the monsters themselves,¡± Woodrow observed.


    Ealhstan turned the curious scales and orb in his hand. ¡°Curious. The direwolves and corvus don¡¯t leave parts of them behind.¡±


    But Ryne only had thoughts for one thing: they failed getting the shungite and aquamarine. This was a waste of time.


    <hr>


    Ryne and Woodrow sat in the monastery, a map of the mountain lake spread between them, candlelight flickering over their tense expressions. They discussed how the sea-lions recoiled from Ryne¡¯s flame, only to retreat into the depths where his fire couldn¡¯t reach. It wasn¡¯t enough. Though Ryne¡¯s sacred kindflame can still form in the water, he had to double the energy spent to hold it together, especially in that corrupted lake. They needed a way to drive the creatures out of the lake entirely before the monsters blasted them back with crushing jets of water or dragged them into the abyss.


    Ealhstan stood with arms crossed, his broad frame looming over the table, while Agate and Harlan listened intently. ¡°We¡¯ll push them back,¡± Woodrow said, tracing the lake¡¯s edge with a dagger tip. ¡°Ealhstan and I will fight them directly. Agate and Harlan can cut off their escape. But they¡¯re faster than us in the water.¡±


    No one spoke for a moment. Ryne clenched his fists. The weight of their struggle pressed down on him, still thinking about the desperate need for the gemstones buried within the lake¡¯s depths. Without them, the sickness spreading through Rothfield would only worsen. Even now, people in the monastery had grown pale, their lips tinged blue, their breath coming in short, labored gasps. Even Agate as she stood there with Harlan.


    Ryne¡¯s stomach twisted at the sight of her slumped against the wall, trying to mask her struggle. Harlan¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I¡¯m going with you,¡± he said. ¡°If those gemstones can save her, I won¡¯t stay behind.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Ryne swallowed the lump in his throat. If it came to it, he would summon a fire large enough to light the entire mountain. He had no other choice.


    Before they could make their move, a door slammed open. Wilbur strode in, eyes wild, a large bottle of glowing green-gold liquid clutched in his hands. ¡°I found the cure,¡± he declared, breathless.


    They stared at him.


    <hr>


    Ryne and Woodrow sat in the monastery, a map of the mountain lake spread between them, candlelight flickering over their tense expressions. They had seen firsthand how the sea-lions recoiled from Ryne¡¯s flame, only to retreat into the depths where his fire couldn¡¯t reach. It wasn¡¯t enough. They needed a way to drive the creatures out of the lake entirely¡ªbefore the monsters blasted them back with crushing jets of water or dragged them into the abyss.


    Ealhstan stood with arms crossed, his broad frame looming over the table, while Agate and Harlan listened intently. ¡°We¡¯ll push them back,¡± Woodrow said, tracing the lake¡¯s edge with a dagger tip. ¡°Ealhstan and I will fight them directly. Agate and Harlan can cut off their escape. But we all know the risk. They¡¯re faster than us in the water.¡±


    No one spoke for a moment. Ryne clenched his fists. The weight of their struggle pressed down on him¡ªnot just the battle ahead, but the desperate need for the gemstones buried within the lake¡¯s depths. Without them, the sickness spreading through Rothfield would only worsen. Even now, people in the monastery had grown pale, their lips tinged blue, their breath coming in short, labored gasps. Even Agate.


    Ryne¡¯s stomach twisted at the sight of her slumped against the wall, trying to mask her struggle. Harlan¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I¡¯m going with you,¡± he said. ¡°If those gemstones can save her, I won¡¯t stay behind.¡±


    Ryne swallowed the lump in his throat, determination flaring. If it came to it, he would summon a fire large enough to light the entire mountain. He had no other choice.


    Before they could make their move, a door slammed open. Wilbur strode in, eyes wild, a large bottle of glowing green-gold liquid clutched in his hands. ¡°I found the cure,¡± he declared, breathless.


    For a moment, all they could do was stare.


    <hr>


    Earlier, in his lab, Wilbur turned the sea-lion scales in his gloved hands, his alchemical eyes flared with recognition. The scales, dark and smooth, were made of the material they¡¯d sought to gather: shungite. He let out a breath and reached for the shiny orb. He furrowed his brows and placed it near the torch lit by Ryne¡¯s flame. It started to drip, and realized it had a coating of some sticky substance. Wilbur slowly scraped away the thick, mucus-like film coating, revealing the cloudy, corrupted aquamarine inside.


    Now Ryne stood beside him, arms stretched out, watching as Wilbur carefully melted away the filth with a controlled lick of Gaelmar¡¯s sacred flame. As the impurities burned away, the aquamarine shimmered back to life, their once-tainted hues returning to a clear, oceanic blue.


    Wilbur turned to Ryne, placing the shungite and aquamarine on the table. His eyes were thoughtful. "Your fire isn¡¯t meant for these types of monsters this time," he said. "I think it¡¯s best you cast your flame to purify the shungite scales and aquamarine orbs instead. Let Woodrow, Ealhstan, and the soldiers handle the beasts."


    Ryne hesitated, but Wilbur¡¯s certainty left no room for argument. Woodrow appeared behind them, murmuring his agreement. They left Wilbur to make the new potions that would temporarily purify the waters of Rothfield. When he was done, he handed the glowing green-blue liquid to Ryne.


    He held his eyes. ¡°Go to your friend.¡±


    That night, under a sliver of moonlight, Ryne slipped into the barracks where the soldiers slept, their breaths heavy with exhaustion. A few patrol guards stood watch, but he moved like a shadow, stepping between pools of darkness.


    The barrels of ale stood in neat rows against the stone wall. Ryne uncorked a vial of the purified potion and carefully poured it into each barrel. A faint warmth spread through the wood as the alchemy took hold.


    He stepped back, heart pounding, watching the potion mix unseen with the soldiers¡¯ drink. By morning, they would wake stronger. He only hoped it would be enough.


    At dawn, Ryne lingered in the shadows of the training grounds, watching as Claude lifted his sword against Lord Bahram¡¯s relentless drills. His special sight flickered to life, tracing the threads of health and strain in Claude¡¯s body. The sickness had faded; his breathing steadied, his skin no longer tinged with pale blue. So were the other soldiers that drank from the purified ale.


    But now, there were new wounds.


    Claude¡¯s hands blistered against the rough hilt of his sword, his muscles straining from the endless repetitions. Each strike grew steadier. The commander barked orders, his presence a constant weight over the trainees, but Claude never wavered. Ryne even saw some of the soldiers and the commander himself smile at his friend¡¯s movements.


    Ryne never stepped into the light, never let Claude see him. It wasn¡¯t his place to interfere. But every night, when exhaustion dragged Claude into sleep, Ryne returned. The barracks were dim, lined with rows of sleeping soldiers, some a little bit older or the same age as Claude, all battered by the same brutal training. Claude lay curled on his cot, his breathing deep and slow.


    Ryne knelt beside him, tracing the fresh bruises along his arms. Bruised knuckles, slashed skin, the faint tremors of overworked limbs. He hovered his fingers over the worst of it, whispering a quiet prayer, letting warmth seep into battered flesh.


    Claude stirred, brow creasing as if sensing someone.


    Before he could wake, Ryne was gone, vanishing like a breath in the cold.


    <hr>


    Ealhstan rode hard through the blighted countryside, fighting, smashing the shadowbeasts of the Unending Chaos. Villages burned in the distance, their flames licking at the sky as screams and wails twisted through the night. The creatures fought with unnatural fury, their howls distorted, warping into something ancient and wrong.


    Then, another sound.


    A strange howl, not like the others. Deep, resonant, vibrating through the mountains like a warning. It sent a chill through Ealhstan. The howl did something to the direwolves. The beasts were changing, growing stronger. The lesser direwolves grew, their fur bristling as the dark energy coursed through them. But¡­ so was Ealhstan. Not at the same level, but he knew the darkness in him resonated with the dark howling. The battles had become harder, each clash leaving him more winded, but Ealhstan still turned them to ash. He cut down another abomination with a single swing, but doubt gnawed at him. How long could they hold back the tide? Once back at the familiar granges, he asked Harlan and his soldiers to collect plenty of iron for him.


    When he finally returned to Rothfield, exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Ryne was waiting at the monastery gates. Their eyes met¡ªno words were needed. Ryne knew. Something was coming.


    Without delay, the dark brothers gathered to plan their next move. But first, they returned to Lhottem Lake. The sea-lions had to be culled. They could not rely on Wilbur¡¯s purifying potions to both cure people and cleanse the waters. No, they must go to the source and lessen the corruption. Unlike the prowling shadow wolves that multiplied with each nightfall, these creatures had limits. They did not spawn endlessly. That night in his forge, Ealhstan worked well into the almost-dawn, melting all the iron Harlan and his men had gathered to form one big blade that would not break easily. He also made something special for Harlan as a reward.


    Ealhstan, Woodrow, and Harlan led the charge. Ealhstan had gifted Harlan his latest creation¡ªan iron-woven net. He ambushed the creatures, climbing over Ealhstan¡¯s mighty shoulder, jumping and capturing them with the net that Ryne blessed. It snapped tight around the sea-lions, holding them in place long enough for Ealhstan¡¯s blade to strike true. One by one, they fell, their bodies dissolving into the corrupted waters.


    They returned to the monastery, weary but victorious. Wilbur and Ryne quickly begun the purification process, refining the shungite and aquamarine. As the first glimmers of dawn touched the monastery walls, Wilbur and the rest retired back into the crypts, and Ryne recharged, closing his eyes as he heard the hymn of Gaelamr rising from the grateful voices of Rothfield¡¯s people.


    Ryne stood still, eyes closing as the sacred melody washed over him. The warmth of faith, of hope rekindled, filled him. His flame burned brighter.

 Vol. II Chapter 7 - Lava Salamanders, Garnet, and a Pouch of Copper Coins

    Claude and the other soldiers gathered on the plateau near Rothfield, summoned by Lord Bahram after scouts reported a pack of direwolves prowling the outskirts. Bahram had made it clear that they needed this ground secured for incoming envoys and trade routes.


    Ryne followed in secret, slipping between the trees as Claude prepared for his first real battle against the shadow beasts. When the wolves came, he was there in the dark, unseen. At the first clash of steel and fangs, he whispered a blessing, and Claude¡¯s sword ignited with a soft, ethereal glow.


    Claude hesitated for half a breath, glancing at the blade, and recognizing the familiar warm touch. His eyes swept the treetops, searching. But there was no time to linger. The direwolves lunged, and he moved.


    He fought like he had trained for this moment his entire life, his blade carving arcs of silver through the beasts. He shielded his comrades, cutting down those who lunged for them, stepping into danger without hesitation. Ash clung to his skin, to the sweat on his brow, to the torn fabric at his sleeves. When the wolves finally retreated, the soldiers, his peers, clapped him on the back, shaking his shoulders, laughing as they hoisted him onto their arms in victory.


    Ryne watched. A slow smile tugged at his lips as Claude grinned, breathless and triumphant. It suited him, Ryne thought; the weight of admiration, the glow of battle still in his eyes.


    For a moment, just a moment, Ryne allowed himself to be proud. Then, as Claude¡¯s gaze swept the dark once more, searching, Ryne stepped back into the night.


    That night, Ryne dreamed of shadows with gleaming eyes, of snarling muzzles and padded feet gathering in the mist. When he woke, the vision clung to him like frost. More wolves were coming. Stronger. Hungrier.


    The second battle nearly broke Claude¡¯s party. The direwolves surged onto the plateau in greater numbers, their howls splitting the night air. Soldiers fell, their weapons barely cutting through the creatures¡¯ shifting forms. It would have been a massacre if not for Ealhstan, who tore boulders from the mountainside and sent them crashing into the fray. From the cliffs, Woodrow¡¯s thieves rained the daggers Ealhstan made down like a storm of silver, along with Jerome¡¯s steel-tipped arrows.


    Ryne clenched his fists, his power thrumming beneath his skin, but he dared not summon the sparrowflame, not with so many eyes watching. Instead, he reached for Ember. The small direwolf pup, ready at his side, trembled with the same flickering energy that burned within him. Ryne focused, channeling his flame into her. Ember¡¯s body tensed, then shuddered, her golden eyes burning bright as her small form twisted and grew.


    The air crackled. Where the pup had stood, a massive white direwolf now towered, her fur laced with living fire. Ember turned, meeting the gaze of the alpha direwolf leading the attack. She bared her fangs and let out a roar that sounded like flame given voice.


    She ran, brushing her flame-fur into the shadowbeasts so that they burned to ash. She also barked balls of flame which blasted forward, rolling over the battlefield, driving back the advancing wolves in a searing wave. The shadows scattered, howling into the night as Ember stood her ground, her breath ragged, her legs shaking. Ryne stumbled, his own fire spent, the bond between them flickering weakly.


    As the battlefield fell silent, Ryne knelt beside Ember, pressing a hand to her smoldering fur. Together, drained and hollowed by their power, they turned away from the plateau and made their way back to Rothfield, the echoes of their battle still burning in the wind. Ealhstan gently picked them up and carried them the remainder of their journey home.


    <hr>


    Claude visited Ryne late that night. Ryne had forgotten himself, ran from the steps of the church to hug his friend. They collided, Ryne knocking the breath out Claude¡¯s lungs, and almost stumbled to the ground. Claude grinned, showing a pouch heavy with coins.


    ¡°Bahram looked like he didn¡¯t wanted to give these to me,¡± Claude snickered. ¡°But he must obey his own laws or there will truly be a riot.¡±


    Ryne smiled. It¡¯s more than that. People of Rothfield know you are quickly becoming their champion.


    Claude hugged his mother and handed her the pouch of coins the moment he stepped inside. Lydia, without hesitation, pressed the pouch into Ryne¡¯s hands.


    Ryne frowned, shaking his head. ¡°This is yours. I have no right to it.¡±


    Lydia gave him a knowing look. ¡°Carrying money makes me a target for greed. And I know you don¡¯t take payment, but think of this as us trusting you to keep our treasure.¡±


    Claude chimed in. ¡°I¡¯d rather give tribute to you folks than our selfish lords, any day.¡±


    Ryne hesitated, understanding the truth in her words. He turned to Ealhstan the next morning, asking him to build a treasury in the monastery crypts. Ealhstan set to work, carving out a hollow in the stone; an alcove that could only be sealed by a boulder he alone could move. A smaller opening, just wide enough for a hand, was fitted with a lock only Ryne could access.


    When the work was done, Ryne embraced Claude, holding him longer than he had before, feeling the warmth of the boy who was becoming a man. Without a word, he led him to the communal fire, where Harlan, Agate, and the rest of the monastery¡¯s weary souls gathered.


    Claude stood by the flames, his voice steady as he spoke. ¡°The barracks aren¡¯t easy. Lord Bahram¡¯s training is¡­ well, it could use some improvements.¡± He glanced at Ryne. He winked at Woodrow and Ealhstan.


    But Ryne saw the joy in Claude¡¯s face. This was what he wanted.


    Woodrow, usually quick with a teasing remark, was silent tonight. He watched the boy he had trained grow into something more, his eyes unreadable. Even Wilbur, often distracted by his alchemical pursuits, listened with uncharacteristic focus.


    Then Claude hesitated. ¡°There was a howl we heard one night,¡± he said, stepping down from the boulder he had been standing on. ¡°Not like the others.¡±


    At that, Ealhstan¡¯s head snapped up. His gaze flickered toward the shadows, but he said nothing.


    When the others had retired for the night, only the crackling of the communal fire remained to fill the quiet. Claude grinned, pulling two copper coins from his pocket. He flipped them, letting the firelight catch on their worn edges, then bumped his knee against Ryne¡¯s. Without a word, they wandered toward the sheep enclosure, settling into the hay-strewn ground. Belle, the favored sheep, nestled between them, her wool warm beneath their hands.


    Claude was the one who spoke first, his voice light but probing. ¡°Have you been eating well?¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Ryne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the odd question.


    Claude, however, only studied him, his gaze lingering long enough that warmth crept up Ryne¡¯s neck. Flustered, he pulled his cowl lower over his face.


    Claude reached out, slowly peeling the hood back. ¡°You look stronger,¡± he murmured.


    Ryne didn¡¯t reply, his throat tightening. ¡°So do you.¡± Ryne knew he did not mean his physical strength, but he was glad Claude saw something in him. He thought him strong.


    Claude smiled, but there was something wistful in it. ¡°I miss the mountains and the meadows. I miss Rothfield.¡± His voice dipped, softer now. ¡°I miss you.¡±


    Ryne exhaled, his chest aching. ¡°I miss you too.¡±


    Claude¡¯s shoulders loosened slightly, but the moment didn¡¯t last. His expression grew serious. ¡°The night after tomorrow, we ride for the border. Lord Bahram wants us to clear out direwolves for some important tradesmen. It¡¯s two days¡¯ travel from here.¡± He met Ryne¡¯s gaze, searching.


    Ryne stiffened, pushing to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Wilbur to prepare more healing potions and explosives. I¡ª¡±


    Claude¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing the fabric of his robe and pulling him back down. ¡°I haven¡¯t even used the ones he gave me yet,¡± he said, voice steady. ¡°Somehow, every night, I don¡¯t feel sore. Even when all my other friends do.¡± He looked at Ryne then, eyes unreadable in the dim light.


    Ryne remained silent.


    Claude¡¯s smile returned, smaller this time, more knowing. ¡°I just wanted you to know. I¡¯ll be safe.¡± His fingers loosened their grip, but they didn¡¯t fall away immediately. ¡°I¡¯m protected by Saint Gaelamr¡¯s flame.¡± He winked, then rose, heading back toward his mother to share the news.


    He left his sword behind.


    Ryne stared at it, unmoving. After a long moment, he held out his palm, letting the flame flicker to life.


    Just as Ryne stared into the flickering flame, his vision blurred, the world around him fading into an expanse of golden light. A figure emerged from the glow. Saint Gaelmar, his robes gleaming white and gold, his presence radiant and serene.


    ¡°You care for the lad,¡± Gaelmar said, his voice warm. ¡°And I know the dangers he will face on the outskirts of Rothfield.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s heart clenched. ¡°Please. There must be something I can do. I cannot go far beyond the monastery. None of my dark brothers can. Without your flame, they will lose too many lives. Their numbers aren¡¯t enough.¡±


    Gaelmar lifted his staff, revealing something Ryne hadn¡¯t noticed before: seven gemstones inlaid along its length, each pulsing faintly with stored power.


    ¡°These stones enhanced my strength, as well as my flame,¡± Gaelmar explained. ¡°Edmund once crafted his own gemstone to catch my fire, storing it within my staff so that even when I could not wield my full might, I could still call upon its power.¡± He turned, gesturing toward the distant, smoke-crowned peak of Mount Lhottem. ¡°In the lava pools, you will find three gemstones. Carnelian, sunstone, and garnet. They will do for now. Seek them out, but beware the lava salamanders that guard them.¡±


    Ryne nodded, already preparing for the challenge.


    Gaelmar¡¯s lips curled in amusement. ¡°Do not fear them. Unlike the sea lions, your fire will work against these creatures. Simply command the flame away from their bodies, and they will fall.¡±


    Ryne swallowed hard. ¡°And once I have the stones?¡±


    ¡°Use them to bind your flame to Claude¡¯s sword. It will ignite when he calls my name,¡± Gaelmar said, before pausing, a knowing smile in his eyes. ¡°Though¡­ he might as well call yours.¡±


    Ryne frowned. ¡°My name?¡±


    Gaelamr chuckled. ¡°He doesn¡¯t truly believe in my power. He believes in you. To him, the flame is yours as much as it is mine.¡±


    With that, the vision shattered, and Ryne found himself back in the quiet night, the fire before him crackling as though nothing had changed. But something had.


    Moving with purpose, he gathered Claude¡¯s boots and battle armor, scrubbing them clean in the river, then washed his bowl with the same careful hands. When he was done, he slipped into the hut Ealhstan had built for Claude¡¯s family, finding him fast asleep beside his mother and sister, their breaths steady in the warm confines of their home.


    Ryne set the polished armor near Claude¡¯s cot. Then, without a sound, he took the sword from its sheath and stepped back into the night. He had work to do.


    <hr>


    Ryne found Ealhstan and Woodrow together. Good. ¡°Brothers, help me improve this sword for Claude,¡± he said urgently. He explained his vision and what needed to be done.


    ¡°We¡¯ll come too,¡± came Agate¡¯s voice from behind them. ¡°The lad needs all the help he can get without us.¡±


    Ryne turned to her. She had regained her usual firm, serious composure. He nodded.


    Together, they made their way to the lava pool chambers. The air shimmered with heat, and the ground pulsed with an eerie red glow. Lava salamanders hissed, their molten bodies slithering through the rocky terrain. They spat chunks of burning rock, but Ryne lifted a hand, stopping the projectiles mid-air before sending them hurtling back.


    Agate and Harlan moved swiftly, cutting through the quick, aggressive creatures, holding them back while Ryne reached out with his power. He linked himself to the salamanders'' flame and commanded it away. The effect was immediate: almost all of them recoiled, their lava cooling into blackened stone. With one last shudder, they crumbled into ash.


    From the remains, Woodrow pulled out a curious gemstone, its fiery hues reflecting the molten light. Ryne inspected it¡ªit was not like the ones in Gaelamr¡¯s staff, but it was good enough for now. Agate, Harlan, and Ealhstan retrieved similar gemstones, each pulsing faintly with residual energy. As soon as the stones were taken, the ashes of the salamanders scattered into nothingness.


    Back at the forge, Ealhstan worked tirelessly, melting the gemstones and mixing them with steel. When he was done, the once-rusted blade now had a subtle orange glow, like embers nestled within its metal. Ryne murmured his thanks before taking the sword to Saint Gaelmar¡¯s statue.


    There, he knelt, focusing on the saint¡¯s face, the prayers of the faithful echoing in his mind. He reached deep into that belief, channeling his kindflame into the sword. It shimmered, shifting between bright red and its usual combat blue, infused with divine protection.


    Then, Ryne waited.


    As soon as Claude stirred awake, Ryne presented the sword to him.


    ¡°I apologize for taking it from you in the night,¡± Ryne said, explaining that Ealhstan had the idea to improve it.


    Claude took the sword gingerly, his fingers tracing the now-enhanced blade. He looked pleased, though a bit hurt that Ryne had taken it without permission.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Ryne said again.


    Claude sighed but gave a small smile. ¡°Just don¡¯t do it again.¡±


    Together, they made their way to the church.


    ¡°So, this will help me fend off the wolves?¡± Claude asked, testing the weight of the sword.


    Ryne nodded. ¡°Call Gaemar¡¯s name, and his power will flow into your sword, just like you¡¯ve always done before. But be careful. It has its limits. Use it only against great enemies or when outnumbered.¡±


    Claude regarded the sword before sheathing it. Then, he turned to Ryne, who hesitated only a moment before embracing him.


    ¡°Come back safe,¡± Ryne whispered.


    Claude chuckled. ¡°I will. Especially if you promise me a hearty stew. With goat¡¯s milk, warm porridge, goose eggs, and bread.¡±


    Ryne smiled. ¡°Then you have no choice but to return.¡±


    Claude whistled. ¡°Now I really must come home.¡±


    Just as he turned to leave, Ryne caught his hand, pressing his fingers firmly into Claude¡¯s palm. ¡°You will not fall if I can help it.¡±


    Claude¡¯s gaze lingered, his grip tightening in return. Ryne did not let go first.

 Vol. II Chapter 8 - Merchants (Part 1)

    The rivers and streams of Rothfield had mostly cleared, their water running clear as children and livestock splashed in the stream winding through the granges. People washed their clothes in the gentle flow, scrubbing away the grime with large, smooth stones.


    Ryne¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, waiting for Claude¡¯s return. He had faltered in delivering a joyful Saintsday service, his words catching as his kindflame dimmed from a lack of renewal.


    He kept himself busy. He lit the black obelisks in the meadow so the petalfolk sheep could graze, and tended to Rothfield Lake where locals fished for eels. Lydia watched him, her hand brushing his hair as she murmured that Claude would be back soon.


    After two long nights of fervent prayer for safety, he finally returned.


    Claude passed beneath the welcoming arches of Rothfield, battle-worn and weary yet smiling. At the church steps, Ryne¡¯s heart quickened, and he sprang forward with arms wide, silently thanking Gaelmar. Mid-step, he caught sight of the gathering crowd behind his friend. Claude appeared shy as he slipped to one side to let Ryne absorb the scene. Soldiers and curious villagers with long robes mingled.


    Their eyes met briefly, Ryne felt a gentle warmth spread through him.


    Claude clasped Ryne¡¯s arms. ¡°We saw them on the flatlands yonder, about to be devoured,¡± he said. Leaning in close, Claude¡¯s scent¡ªof terrible nights and adventure¡ªwashed over Ryne, mingling with the lingering odor of sweat and blood. Ryne¡¯s eyes caught the fresh wounds and scars on Claude¡¯s skin.


    Gently, Claude placed his finger on one fresh wound. Ryne mirrored the gesture, their fingers meeting. ¡°I used up most of the healing potions Wilbur made,¡± Claude continued. ¡°You¡¯ll be glad to know I rationed them. One for me, one for the gravely injured in my group, and one bottle shared among those traveling in a caravan.¡±


    Their fingers lingered for a moment longer.


    Ryne smiled warmly. Of course, he did. He turned his attention toward the shy newcomers and pulled down his hood. He nodded meekly to the soldiers, but two of them grinned back at him. They both looked to be older than Claude, but not by much; maybe in their mid-teens. One appeared sullen, eyeing Ryne and the monastery with a vacant expression, his black hair and dark eyes, contrasting the other who was all smiles. The tall one skipped up to Ryne, held his hand, and shook it. The lad grinned broadly at him.


    "You''re Ryne, all right. Grey-blonde hair, shy, pale, cold to the touch," he whistled appreciatively. "The way the priest talks about you as some sort of grotesque monster¡­ good for you for leaving such an impression. I love to see it when Father Clint shivers whenever he sees Claude. My name¡¯s Gilbert. The silent one over there is called Pint¡ª"


    "My name is Cal," the shorter boy interjected lightly. He didn¡¯t even look as if he were on the verge of puberty. Ryne squirmed at the thought of someone so young on the battlefield; he hoped he just appeared younger than he really was. Ryne could see his bow slung behind his back and a small shield attached at his hip. An archer, Ryne thought. He did notice arrows flying in a previous skirmish. Maybe it was him.


    "But everyone calls him Pint, because he''s so short," Gilbert finished, stepping back and patting Pint¡¯s head, while the smaller boy swatted his hand away.


    Ryne saw these two always with Claude. He smiled at them both, glad to see Claude¡¯s other friends. He welcomed them to the monastery, and as Pint passed him, the little boy said, "It''s all right, Brother Ryne. Claude told us all about you. We don''t fear your ground, nor you. It''s thanks to your healing potions that that big goof right there is still walking," he said, gesturing toward Gilbert.


    Ryne smiled, and as he surveyed the gathered crowd, he now knew that Claude had shared stories of this place, and of him, with everyone. Judging by their pleasant stares, most of Claude¡¯s stories have painted them in a pleasing light. He looked back as Claude led his friends and the few soldiers who had chosen to come to Rothfield. Claude¡¯s eyes met his, and in that silent exchange, a secret smile passed between them.


    "Go," Ryne said. "Your meal is waiting. Feed your friends, drink and rest. Wilbur will care for you soon."


    The other group of people in curious orange-red robes nodded at him, and some looked awestruck at the monastery. They appeared more well-fed and cleaner, wearing nicer clothes than the commoners of Rothfield. A strongly built man with a distinctive beard stepped forward and bowed deeply to Ryne. ¡°Brother monk. Your friend says we are welcome here. Is it true?¡±


    The man, adorned in long robes that smelled of spice and incense, made it clear he was a merchant. It made sense now. Ryne inspected the people carrying burlap sacks and other oddities wrapped in cloth, and he heard the tinkling of jars and the clatter of wheels pulled by two horses.


    ¡°My people,¡± the man said warmly.


    ¡°What do I call you, sir?¡± Ryne asked.


    The man laughed softly. ¡°So polite.¡± He winked at Ryne and bowed again. ¡°People call me Cassian.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ryne felt a gentle stirring of the warmth he¡¯d seen in Claude¡¯s eyes. He was glad for this unexpected kinship. With a quiet smile, he showed them the way to the monastery. ¡°Welcome,¡± he said, his voice soft and inviting.


    <hr>


    Ryne welcomed more and more newcomers in the following days and nights; merchants, artisans, and farmers seeking refuge. Meanwhile, Wilbur gathered his flowers and ores and crafted more healing potions for them. In the cool pool fed by Rothfield Lake, Ryne discreetly cast his healing flame over Claude¡¯s bruises as they splashed together.


    "I have missed this," Claude called out, raising his arm wide before plunging his back into the water. Ryne laughed, watched his friend peel off his clothes until only his tunic remained, and scrubbed himself clean in the pool. He had grown taller still, his body more toned than before. Ryne glanced at himself knowing he would always remain this way.


    Then Claude called from the lake and splashed Ryne with water. "Stop brooding and join me!" he laughed as Ryne waded into the pool once more.


    Their laughter mingled with the gentle lapping of water.


    <hr>


    Ealhstan patrolled the area and reported that the trade routes had opened up. And people knew that there was an invitation to sell wares if they wished. Woodrow welcomed the news, his eyes bright at the thought of new faces at the monastery, while Wilbur frowned, uneasy with the change. Claude recalled one evening when he¡¯d been surprised to hear word of the little miracle happening in Rothfield. Not in the town, but somewhere in the deep dark forest where life was thought to be long gone. He had winked at Ryne then, a quiet spark passing between them as they exchanged looks of understanding. Ryne watched these new merchants closely. He knew that merchants, after all, were like messengers, spreading news with speed. They all flocked to Rothfield because it was now labeled as a safe haven and sanctuary for people.


    ¡°You can sell your potions to the others. Let the nobles pay for them¡ªwe need the coins,¡± Woodrow said, his tone brisk. ¡°Then you could distribute them to the commoners freely.¡±


    ¡°Coins do sound nice,¡± Ealhstan agreed.


    ¡°And the merchants here can still make a profit. Every commoner can,¡± Woodrow added. ¡°We can even sell sheep¡¯s fur for clothing. Ealhstan could even sell his wares, perhaps. The blacksmiths have already appraised your skill, brother. And there is no shortage of people needing weapons and shields.¡±


    Ryne felt a thrill at the prospect and watched Claude¡¯s expression brighten. He, too, had become animated, his eyes dancing with possibility. ¡°We can sell ores too, if we have some to spare.¡±


    Wilbur asked, ¡°So, do we open ourselves up to the rest of the realms?¡±


    Ryne paused, his gaze lingering on Claude¡¯s face for a moment. ¡°This is the plan, I think. Gaelmar¡¯s story has been sleeping for too long. It¡¯s time for his flame to spread.¡±


    <hr>


    Rothfield had become a sanctuary for merchants. The commoners, whose lives had been bound to farming and fishing, could hardly believe they were now free to trade, which was an act once forbidden. As word spread that they could venture beyond their usual life routine, Ryne and his dark brothers became instantly popular. Smiles greeted them everywhere; villagers pressed their hands and brows to those of Ryne and his companions in thanks. Flustered, Ryne bowed in return, murmuring that it was all as Saint Gaelamr desired. And because of what he said, people have been showing Saint Gaelamr with humble praises and thanks. Ryne felt rejuvenated. Absorbing this new, bright energy, Ealhstan even began constructing stalls for the newcomers.


    Cassian proved to be a gracious guest. Methodical like Agate, good-humored like Harlan. He maintained a strict routine for his people: exercise, proper meals, scheduled feeding, and even letting their chickens graze in the meadows. He had already struck business with Ryne and Claude, purchasing the Rothfield petalfok sheep along with some goats, geese, and five pigs. Wilbur made sure that the animals¡¯s vitals were smooth.


    A high-ranking merchant¡¯s eyes sparkled as he surveyed the scene. ¡°In all my years, I¡¯ve developed an eye for quality,¡± he declared. ¡°I can tell, without flattery, that your sheep, and your steel, are quite unique.¡± He tipped his head and added, ¡°As are your brothers in the monastery.¡±


    Ryne returned his polite nod and soon found himself engaged in conversation with Cassian about his travels. Their exchange filled the cool evening air with vivid tales of distant roads and adventures. In a quiet moment, Ryne glanced over at Claude; his friend¡¯s mouth hung open in awe, his eyes alight with rekindled wanderlust.


    <hr>


    Merchants taught the commoners their tricks. They taught the people of Rothfield how to sell, haggle, charm customers, care for them, and entice business, while Ealhstan made stalls that now lined the streets with fragrant spices, handcrafted wares, and goods once thought lost to the blight. A bazaar had risen in defiance, a silent challenge to Lord Bahram. Woodrow moved among the crowd, clearly in his element, not just admiring the wares but the transformation of Rothfield itself and the way merchants did their business. He caught the eye of Cassian and they nodded at each other.


    ¡°It¡¯s not much different than charming people with my powers,¡± Woodrow said.


    The merchants proved a great help to the dark brothers at the monastery. To preserve Ryne¡¯s flame, and the unique appetites of his kin, they bought the supplies needed from the mountains using their own men. Soon, everything melded together in the granges. With his rejuvenated flame, Ryne blessed and awakened vast tracts of land, paving the way for new crops, while Wilbur toiled to ensure the soil received proper nutrients. Every new resident of Rothfield was bled, their blood carefully stored in Wilbur¡¯s lab. Resources were plentiful, and Ryne knew they must be saved.


    People mingled freely, some courting anyone they fancied, and before long Ealhstan was asked to build more huts. Eventually, Ryne and Wilbur took charge of welcoming new souls to the monastery. Wilbur helped deliver babies with his soothing ointments, and Ryne blessed the newborns under Gaelamr¡¯s protection; his flame wrapping each child as if swaddling them in warmth. The people contributed what they could, whether coins or animal produce.


    In the midst of the celebration, as the merchants and commoners celebrated their newfound freedom, Ryne caught sight of Claude near a busy stall. Their eyes met across the crowd, and for a heartbeat the noise faded to a gentle hush. A small smile passed between them, the warmth in Claude¡¯s gaze mingled with the soft glow of the torches and banners.

 Vol. II Chapter 8 - Merchants (Part 2)

    Claude was sword fighting alone in one of the dormitories Ealhstan was building. The rare sun slanted through the roof, bathing Claude¡¯s practice in grey light as he struck his poses. He paused when he saw Ryne lurking in the shadows. Grinning, Claude raised his subtle russet-colored sword.


    ¡°I called up Gaelmar¡¯s name, and it lit. Just like you said. I felled several wolves with that thing. Chased them out of the battlefield. It¡¯s run out of charge, though.¡± Claude handed the sword back to Ryne.


    ¡°A couple of fire gemstones and you¡¯ll be set for your next battle, don¡¯t you worry,¡± Ryne replied, taking its sheath from Claude and holding it awkwardly.


    ¡°I said Gaelmar¡¯s name. But I also thought of you.¡± Claude was silent, his boots scraping the ground.


    Ryne stared at him. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°You.¡± Claude closed the distance between them until they were nearly touching. Ryne could hear Claude¡¯s steady breathing, the way his face had matured from boyhood to man. ¡°You and your brothers. But mostly you. How could I not? Without you, I fear my family and I would have starved. We would have taken our chances and escaped Rothfield. Without you, none of this would have happened. None of this goodness, all these miracles.¡±


    Ryne could see the bones and muscles flex beneath Claude¡¯s skin as he looked down at him. ¡°At night, I could not wait to come back here and see you again,¡± Claude murmured, his fingers reaching out before falling to his side. He looked deeper into Ryne¡¯s eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to change. You¡¯re like a gemstone yourself. I think I¡¯ve never seen you or your brothers bruise.¡±


    Ryne¡¯s breath hitched. He swallowed hard. ¡°You feel unreal sometimes that I¡­¡± He held Ryne¡¯s wrist and felt the pulse of his blood. ¡°But you¡¯re here. You¡¯re alive.¡± He chuckled, relieved.


    ¡°It¡¯s so heavy,¡± Ryne said, not fully understanding his own words until Claude took it to mean the sword. Ryne recovered and asked, ¡°How do you swing it so?¡± Lifting the sword, his weak arms trembled under its weight.


    Claude stepped quickly behind him and helped steady the weapon. His fingers brushed the back of Ryne¡¯s hand; his shoulder pressed gently against Ryne¡¯s. Together, they practiced, a fluid motion of slashing the air and circling around. Their laughter echoed, filling the empty space.


    Ryne turned to Claude. ¡°Do you have something to sell for the upcoming bazaar? The merchants have sent word of Rothfield¡¯s safe passage. They¡¯re coming through the dark forest to check our wares.¡±


    Claude considered. ¡°We usually give all the farm¡¯s produce to Bahram. But since we¡¯re here, I suppose we could sell the usual. Eggs, milk, wool, of course. Belle¡¯s due for some shearing. Help me with her?¡± Claude¡¯s brows wiggled as an invitation. ¡°Maybe I could even be hired as a mercenary.¡±


    Ryne squirmed, and Claude noticed. ¡°You don¡¯t like it when I leave Rothfield, do you? You¡¯re like my mother when you make that face.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s safe here, but I understand. It¡¯s in demand. You need coins. But I¡¯d rather¡­ rather make your coins through peaceful, mundane means like¡ª¡±


    ¡°Like a farmer,¡± Claude finished.


    Ryne held up a hand. ¡°But of course, I know you¡¯ll say the pay is better and that you could save many lives. I just worry. I can¡¯t help but worry.¡±


    Claude smiled and pulled Ryne into a long, warm hug. ¡°I feel invincible now that you came into my life. Nothing to worry about.¡±


    Ryne took comfort in that embrace. He led Claude to one of the few constructed cells in the dormitory. ¡°When I said you have a room here, I meant it,¡± Ryne said, gesturing to the spacious cell. ¡°This could be your room, if you wish. Complete with a bed and a trunk in the corner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a monk,¡± Claude said, his eyes wide with a mix of amusement and uncertainty.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. You are part of Rothfield, right from the start.¡±


    <hr>


    The bazaar came to life under the cover of night, lanterns casting pools of golden light over the monastery grounds. The brothers stood in a line, with Ryne and Cassian at the front, greeting the other merchants with firm handshakes and words of welcome. The air swirled with the scent of spiced honey, tanned leather, and sharp, strong spirits or burning coals from a blacksmith¡¯s forge. Trappers, smiths, and traders wove between stalls, their voices mingling with the distant music of a flute.


    Cassian introduced Ryne to men of wealth and humble traders alike. ¡°Our good and gracious host, Brother Ryne of Rothfield. The roaring flame of these fields,¡± he declared. Ryne let the words settle in his chest. Roaring flame. He liked that.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Woodrow was thriving in the attention, as people gawked and blushed at his graceful features, his sharp smile flashing in the candlelight. Ryne was brimming with energy, too. More and more, people offered prayers to Saint Gaelmar as they passed, and Ryne felt the hum of devotion in his veins, strengthening him.


    But then Ryne caught his reflection in a passing mirror and felt something coil tight in his gut. He suddenly felt ugly. Even laughing, even doing nothing at all, Woodrow commanded attention in a way Ryne never could. The cowl was a poor shield, but he adjusted it anyway, suddenly too aware of himself; his gauntness, his strange pallor. His eyes drifted to Claude, who was ducking away from people walking about as they checked the stalls. He was searching for him, Ryne could tell. Ryne saw his unruly curls, the broad shoulders that had hardened with labor.


    Ryne pulled deeper into the shadows. Claude stopped Woodrow,


    ¡°Where¡¯s Ryne?¡± Claude asked.


    Woodrow barely glanced up, already enchanted by a dark-haired girl from Cassian¡¯s tribe. She whispered something to him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and Woodrow followed her into a grand tent. Ryne resurfaced to an empty space in the field.


    Later, Cassian smirked, nudging him. ¡°If he weren¡¯t bound to your services, I¡¯d have him sell my wares.¡± He gestured to Woodrow coming out of the tent.


    Ryne only nodded. ¡°He could sell river stones as rubies and still sleep soundly at night.¡±


    Ryne told Woodrow of Cassian¡¯s comment later, and his brother only hummed in thought. ¡°In another life, perhaps. But my powers fade in the morning light. I¡¯d rather not have men at my door with empty purses and sharp knives.¡±


    Midnight came, and the festival quieted into clusters of conversation and laughter. Claude had found him then. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? You look glum,¡± Claude commented. But Ryne forced a smile and led him to the communal fire. Pint and Gilbert found them, and they quickly shared childhood stories over cups of cider, their voices warm with memories. Ryne sat beside Claude, who was watching the firelight dance in their cups.


    Gilbert shoved Claude suddenly, and in an instant, the two were wrestling in the grass, wooden swords forgotten. Claude pinned him with ease, grinning as Gilbert swore lightly.


    Pint rolled his eyes and turned to Ryne. They talked about crops and the seasons. He noticed that Pint was forcing his voice to deepen. ¡°My family planted new barley on the granges. Should be a good season.¡±


    Ryne smiled, though his attention lingered on Claude, the way the firelight turned his hair to gold, the way his laughter filled the empty spaces in the night.


    For the first time in a long while, Ryne let himself enjoy it.


    <hr>


    Ryne was thrilled for Claude and his family. Without the crushing weight of taxes, tributes, and the endless demands of noble lords and clergy, commoners like them could finally keep what they earned. He watched with pride as Claude moved through the crowd, bartering with ease, his natural confidence drawing people in. Lydia and Annette, too, had an effortless simple charm, all bright smiles and warm voices making their small stall feel like an extension of their cottage home.


    Lydia and Gabriella worked side by side, selling Wilbur¡¯s flowers and soaps as if they¡¯d been sisters all their lives. Their laughter carried across the market, mixing with the low murmur of trade. One evening, Wilbur drifted between stalls, his sharp eyes scanning for glass bottles, paper, and cloth. He even bought a handful of rare spices, pushing coins into the merchant¡¯s hands with a sheepish nod before disappearing back into his lab.


    Ryne caught Claude¡¯s eye. Wilbur looked¡­ happy. Truly happy.


    The following night, Wilbur set up a stall of his own, auctioning potions to an eager crowd. Claude, Gilbert, and Pint volunteered as test subjects, sparring with exaggerated bravado, wanting to prove Wilbur¡¯s concoctions worked. A well-aimed jab to the ribs, a playful shove to the shoulder, and then, like magic, the bruises faded before the audience¡¯s eyes as Wilbur poured his shining-gold elixirs. Laughter rang out as coins passed hands, deals struck, and for the first time, it felt like they were all moving forward.


    Across the granges, Ember darted between children¡¯s legs, her bright fur a blur as she yipped and leaped, chasing tossed scraps of meat. In Wilbur¡¯s lab, new gemstones gleamed under candlelight as he refined his potions. One, an improved version of his shivering maiden, he named freezing maiden.


    He held it out to Ryne and Claude. ¡°It still needs work, but if I distill it, I could perhaps cause an ice blast to slow down fast enemies. It would definitely be useful for foes with an affinity for water. Like the sea-lions.¡±


    ¡°Sea-lions?¡± Claude¡¯s brows went up.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you all about it at supper,¡± Ryne said.


    One evening, Ryne found Claude alone, sitting in their usual spot in the monastery garden, turning coins over in his hands. The disbelief on his face made Ryne frown.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± he asked, settling beside him.


    The moon bathed Wilbur¡¯s newest blooms in silver light, drawing butterflies from a merchant¡¯s cages. They flitted between the petals, drinking from the strange nectar. Their wings shimmered as if laced with stardust. One landed on Ryne¡¯s shoulder, delicate and weightless.


    Claude¡¯s smile softened. Even Annette, watching from a few feet away, let out a delighted gasp. Ryne extended his finger, letting a brilliant blue butterfly crawl onto it before passing it gently to Annette. She giggled as it perched on her dark curls like a living hairpin before fluttering away. She chased after it, her laughter light as the wind.


    Claude turned to him, holding up his coins again. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d have this much.¡± He rubbed a silver piece between his fingers before pressing the pouch into Ryne¡¯s open palm. His touch lingered for just a moment.


    ¡°Keep it,¡± Claude said. ¡°It¡¯s as much yours as it is mine.¡±

 Vol. II Chapter 8 - Merchants (Part 3 - END)

    One night, Ealhstan approached Ryne with an idea. ¡°I want to build a small tower to hold your sacred flame,¡± he said. ¡°Like the obelisks that wake the meadows and fishing lake. I have a theory. If it fails, I¡¯ll tear it down and reuse the materials.¡±


    Ryne shrugged. ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    By the next evening, the tower was complete. A sturdy pillar of stone, hastily but skillfully constructed, rose against the dark sky. At its peak, a platform of hay and iron stood ready to cradle a flame.


    ¡°I used the same gemstones you gave me when upgrading Claude¡¯s sword,¡± Ealhstan explained, dusting his hands off. ¡°If you channel your sacred flame into them, the fire should grow stronger, maybe even push back more of the miasma lingering over Rothfield.¡±


    Ryne craned his neck, taking in the structure. Before he could protest, Ealhstan grinned and hoisted him onto the tower.


    Balancing on the platform, Ryne placed his hands over the embedded stones. He pressed it firmly against his palm, the carnelian, sunstone, and garnet. He closed his eyes and summoned Gaelmar¡¯s kindflame, feeling its warmth flow through him. The gemstones drank in the sacred fire, their deep reds and golds flickering to life. With a steady breath, Ryne released a burst of small flame, igniting the charged gemstones.


    A pillar of golden fire roared to life, sending a wave of warmth through the air. The gathered townsfolk gasped as they saw the flame, and Ryne saw miasma recoil, thinning and scattering like smoke in the wind. Rothfield, at least for this night, was safe.


    Ryne leapt down from the tower, landing lightly on his feet. The crowd broke into applause, and Ealhstan clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ealhstan said, watching the steady flame burn high above them, ¡°looks like my theory was right.¡±


    <hr>


    Claude moves through the bustling bazaar easily. He weaved between traders and travelers, bartering for rations, testing the balance of a blade. Soon, he rested on a clearing on the side of the monastery where most people were prohibited to go. His mind lingered on the weight of his newly-fixed sword, on the fleeting warmth that had pressed into his palm when Ryne held it the night before.


    Ryne slips through the growing hub, his monk¡¯s robes contrasting with the mercantile acitivites around him. He spotted Claude earlier, but kept a few paces away, though his gaze never strays far. His fingers ghost over his wrist, remembering the quiet press of Claude¡¯s hand against his own. I should be tending to the sick or reinforce the monastery wards. Instead, he was there. Watching. Guarding.


    Claude stopped at a stall draped in deep-blue cloth, where amulets of bone and silver glinted under flickering lanternlight. The merchant grinned, plucking one from the display. ¡°For protection,¡± he said. ¡°Though I fear this won¡¯t do you much good, what with the good monks looking out for you.¡±


    Claude saw him gesture behind him and saw Ryne float forward to meet him. Ryne looked slightly embarrassed by the marchant¡¯s comment. Claude grabbed his wrist gently and whispered, ¡°He isn¡¯t wrong.¡±


    Claude turned the amulet over in his fingers, tracing the delicate etchings. He dropped them on the stall and took out the mark of Saint Gaelmar under his tunic. He showed it to Ryne, winked, and tucked it back. ¡°My guardian,¡± he said to the air.


    Ryne stepped closer, his robes whispering against Claude¡¯s arm. Claude met his gaze, something settling in his eyes. The usual mischief softened.


    Ryne hesitated, then reached for his charm, his fingertips grazing Claude¡¯s knuckles as he took it. He murmured a blessing low under his breath, the words meant only for him, before pressing the charm back into Claude¡¯s palm. Claude huffed a small laugh, but his fingers didn¡¯t leave the amulet. Or Ryne¡¯s hand. Not right away.


    <hr>


    Even as Rothfield thrived, the dangers beyond its borders multiplied. Scouts reported strange figures lingering near the outskirts. The shadowbeasts were restless, furious that Ryne¡¯s fiery tower now held them at bay. Ealhstan, worried, tasked Claude and his unit to watch from one of their common towers. Jerome was with him, spear in hand, bow strapped to his back.


    In the dim torchlight, Claude sharpened his sword, the rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone filling the quiet. Ryne approached, a flask of warmed broth cradled in his hands.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right now. Dawn is coming soon. You need to rest,¡± Ryne murmured, setting the flask beside him.


    Claude smirked. ¡°You keep saying that. I think you just want an excuse to hover.¡±


    Ryne crossed his arms. ¡°If I wanted an excuse, I¡¯d make a far more convincing one.¡±


    Claude chuckled, but the sound faded as his gaze drifted back to the blade in his lap. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have time to rest soon.¡±


    Ryne exhaled softly before lowering himself onto the bench beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing. Soon, Claude would leave again, summoned by Bahram, sent back into the maws of the shadows.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Then at least let me stay awhile.¡±


    Claude didn¡¯t argue. The night stretched around them. In the distance, the last murmurs of the market still stirred. At least life continued. At some point, Ryne¡¯s fingers ghosted over Claude¡¯s wrist; a fleeting touch, barely there. But Claude felt it long after Ryne had pulled away.


    <hr>


    Grey dawn spilled through the monastery¡¯s open windows, casting pale halos along the stone floor. Claude fastened the last buckle of his armor, the leather straps firm under his fingers. Beyond Rothfield¡¯s walls, duty awaited.


    By the doorway, Ryne stood unmoving, silent. He knew better than to ask Claude to stay, but the weight in his chest pressed tighter with each passing moment.


    Claude caught his gaze and, on impulse, reached out. His finger hooked into the loose tie of Ryne¡¯s robes, a quiet pull¡ªjust enough to draw him closer.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be here when I get back?¡± His voice was steady. It was silly to ask, but he sounded so innocent.


    Ryne swallowed, the warmth of Claude¡¯s touch a whisper against his skin. ¡°Always.¡±


    Claude held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. He let go.


    Ryne didn¡¯t move. Not yet. Not until Claude did. He brought him his new supplies; more bottles of healing potions now, a recharged sword, and steel shields for him and for Pint and Gilbert. Elastane also forged Pint some steel-tipped arrows that Ryne blessed.


    Ryne murmured, ¡°Be well.¡±


    <hr>


    Claude returned after five days, just in time for the village festival. The moment he stepped past Rothfield¡¯s gates, he pulled Gilbert into a rough embrace and clasped Pint¡¯s shoulder with warm familiarity. They swapped stories¡ªtales of the road, of the quiet dangers lurking beyond the fields¡ªas Claude slowly unraveled beside Ryne, his head resting against his shoulder.


    Ryne said nothing, only letting his fingers drift absently through Claude¡¯s hair, twisting the strands between his fingertips. It was an idle habit, but one Pint noticed. He said nothing, his gaze flickering between them and the flickering festival flames.


    ¡°You need to cut your hair,¡± Ryne murmured.


    Claude hummed, reaching up to take a strand of Ryne¡¯s between his own fingers. ¡°So do you.¡±


    Ryne frowned. That was strange. He hadn¡¯t needed a trim before.


    Beyond them, the village festival bloomed; a burst of color and laughter against the creeping dread beyond Rothfield¡¯s borders. Lanterns bobbed in the air like fireflies, their golden glow casting soft halos along the granges. The new crops have grown tall and some of them were harvested for the night. Music wove through the night; lutes strumming, flutes singing, the steady pulse of drums calling people to dance. Woodrow was at the center of it all, taking in all that revelry.


    Claude led Ryne in the middle of the crowd, trading nods with farmers, jesting with soldiers, slipping a coin to a vendor selling roasted chestnuts. Ryne followed, smiling, drawn not just by the sheer pulse of life around him.


    But by the wonderful boy holding his hand.


    <hr>


    The music swelled as Woodrow clapped to the beat, his laughter ringing through the square. He spun at the center of the lantern-lit courtyard, his movements effortless, infectious. Then, with a flourish, he caught Agate¡¯s hand and twirled her across the packed earth, their steps quick, fluid, full of laughter.


    Harlan was next. Woodrow seized his strong hands, pulling him into the fray. The crowd erupted into cheers as the three of them whirled together, boots kicking up dust, the rhythm of the drums thrumming beneath their feet. Then Woodrow¡¯s hands found another partner, and another; a dark-haired woman, a grinning soldier, a farmer still clutching a half-eaten pastry, until the entire square pulsed with bodies in motion, swept up in the fevered joy of the dance.


    Claude turned, searching for Ryne.


    The moment their eyes met, Claude¡¯s lips curled, wicked and warm.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he called, stepping backward into the lantern glow, arms open, daring. ¡°You¡¯re not getting away this time.¡±


    Ryne shook his head, fists clenching at his sides. ¡°I don¡¯t dance.¡±


    Claude grinned. ¡°Good thing I do.¡±


    Before Ryne could protest, Claude caught his wrist and tugged firmly. And Ryne¡ªagainst every sensible thought¡ªlet himself be pulled forward.


    The music surged, a bright, dizzying thing. Claude¡¯s fingers slipped from Ryne¡¯s wrist to his palm, their hands fitting together. Then Claude spun him into the throng of dancers, and for a moment, Ryne could only move, feet stumbling, breath catching, heart hammering too loudly against his ribs.


    The world shrank to the space between them. The flicker of firelight in Claude¡¯s eyes. The heat of his palm, steady against Ryne¡¯s own. The barely-there brush of Claude¡¯s thumb over the back of his hand, guiding him through each step.


    ¡°Relax,¡± Claude murmured, amusement threading through his voice. ¡°You¡¯re holding on like I might vanish.¡±


    Ryne exhaled sharply, forcing his fingers to unclench, to loosen their grip.


    Claude¡¯s laughter was low, warm, a sound that curled in Ryne¡¯s chest like an ember catching fire. ¡°I¡¯m not going to leave. Not tonight.¡±


    The dance ended in a blur of spinning skirts and stomping boots, the revelers breaking apart to cheer for the musicians. But Claude didn¡¯t let go. Neither did Ryne.


    Their breaths tangled in the cool night air, bodies too close, the pulse of the music still thrumming beneath their skin. Ryne knew he should step back, should retreat before this feeling settled too deep, and took root in a place he couldn¡¯t afford to nurture.


    But Claude¡¯s fingers tightened, just slightly, as if waiting for Ryne to pull away first.


    Ryne tightened his fingers around Claude¡¯s, squeezing his hand firmly before flashing him a smile. Without a word, he led him back toward the communal fire, where their friends awaited, laughter and chatter filling the air. He didn¡¯t notice the trio of dark figures watching him from the edge of the crowd, the weight of their gazes heavy.


    Ealhstan, Woodrow, and Wilbur stood, their faces a mirror of concern. Wilbur bit his lip, releasing the breath he¡¯d been holding as he exchanged a glance with the others. They stood there for a moment, uncertain, unsure of what to say, or even if they should say anything at all.