The chapel’s gorgeous.

My family’s Buddhist 1, but I’ve been to a fair amount of historical churches while on school or family trips. This chapel wouldn’t have looked out-of-place on any of those itineraries. It’s smaller than most of the ones I’ve seen, but the vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows still give it that unmistakable ‘church’ somber air. The stained glass window in the back is dark, but the one above the entrance facing west catches just enough of the dying sun to shine with otherworldly light. As everyone, including me, crosses the chapel’s threshold, an automatic hush seems to move through them.

Near the doors, a figure in robes stand and touch the forehead of anyone who bends to him. The pastor, I guess—or priest? Or reverend? I’m never sure what the right term is. Then again, I’m not even sure if this universe’s religion is even meant to be Christianity, or some fantasy kind-of-different-but-mostly-the-same version of it. Whatever the proper term for him is, it’s a good bet the guy knows Aurelia. His eyes widen when I accidentally make eye contact. Then he recovers and gives s a small nod of acknowledgment.

Great. Another person to tiptoe around.

Many move directly to the big open space in the middle, created by pushing all the pews to the side, and claim their couple of inches of ground. I duck my head and instead go the very edges of the cleared space in the middle of the chapel, where the light from the windows at either ends don’t quite reach

To the floor goes my lumpy day sack, and then me.

I wince as I make contact with the cold tiles. Now I really wish I’d stolen a cloak from Aurelia. Sleeping on this is going to be miserable. Not to mention disgusting, I think as I turn my leg over. There’s grime everywhere my skin had touched the floor.

But better dirty and cold than dead.

People keep flowing into the chapel. The space around me shrink, and shrink, and shrink again, until the only way I’d be able to lie down is curled in on myself.

Eventually, as promised, a guy comes by with a sword. He doesn’t even introduce himself. Just kneels down to clasp me on the shoulders and leave it on the floor, then departs.

I suspect he knew Aurelia too. Probably that should just be my de facto assumption around Silverwood Keep. Aurelia did grow up around Silverwood Keep her whole life, and was one if its charity wards. Of course she’d know all the side characters the book never named.

A murmur seems to ripple through the crowd as they take in the sword. And then the space around me shrinks even more. At this rate I’m going to be sleeping sitting up.

The hysterical urge to proclaim that I’m more likely to hurt myself with the stupid sword than I am to protect them with it rushes through me—but I stifle the hysterical urge.

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I guess this counts as a form of helping and soothing?

“Miss?”

I freeze. Blink. And look to my right, the direction of that quiet, disbelieving voice.

Several feet away, in a narrow gap in the dense pattern of people, Winfred’s face peeks through to me.

His already large eyes get even larger as we make eye contact. “Miss! It is you!” he shouts. And then he scrambling through all the bodies and belongings standing in between us.

“Yes, it’s me, Winfred—be careful!” He trips on something, but manages to catch himself on one arm and keeps coming. I push somebody—I’m not really sure who—away from my right side, and clear just enough space for Winfred to step into. “Here, this way.”

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Winfred says the moment he reaches my side. He’s short enough that with him standing and me sitting, we’re at eye level. “My dad said you meant what you said and wouldn’t come.”

“Oh,” I say. My heart squeezes. “Yeah. I, uhm, changed my mind.” I look behind him and then side to side. “Are you here alone? Where’s your—”

The realization strikes me like a blow to the back of the head. I cut myself off—but it’s too late.

“Oh. Dad couldn’t come with me and wouldn’t let me go with him.” Winfred says. “He told me to follow the other kids and he’d find me in the morning.” His bottom lip trembles. He bites down on it.

“I’m sure your dad definitely will,” I hasten to say.

Luke had every man staying had to help defend the Keep, but surely they wouldn’t put like, untrained farmers on the front lines, right? Probably they’ll just be bringing up the rear with supplies or something.

But my words must sound as weak to Winfred as to me. He blinks rapidly, his eyes growing wetter.

He definitely knows why he’s in the chapel and his dad isn’t, even though neither of us are saying it. Kids always know more than you think.

I grasp on my tried-and-true method of distracting children, homed through many hours with my cousins: distraction.

“Come on, sit down next to me. You can stay with me until your dad comes back.” I pat the floor next to me.

Winfred hesitates. But after another beat, he sits down as instructed next to me,.

I smile at him. “Have anyone ever told you the legend of Luke Skywalker?” 2

Winfred shakes his head.

“Oh, you’ve been missing out,” I say with too much pep. “I have to tell you about it! And anyway, there’s nothing else to do until the morning, right?”

I’m probably being very obvious, but whatever. You don’t have to be clever with kids, you just need to get your way.

And indeed, Winfred wipes his sleeves over his eyes, and nods. “Okay,” he says, in a small voice.

“Awesome!” I pull myself into a cross-legged seat too, like Winfred, so that we’re mirroring each other. I take a deep breath. “Okay. So a long time ago, in a land far far away….”

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1. Vaguely Buddhist? I don’t know how much of it is culture and how much of it is belief for my parents, to be honest. We have an altar at home and they go to temple once in awhile. Sometimes I tag along. Mostly, I just light incense and perform rites and eat vegetarian when they tell me to.

2. What! It’s not plagiarism when I’m in a different universe, one that doesn’t even have TVs where I can just pop in the movies like I usually would when I’m trying to distract my cousins. Also, it’s kind of perfect for the situation. I will forever maintain Star Trek is better than Stars, but Star Wars just makes you feel good. Bad guy tries to hurt good guy, good guy defeats bad guy and finds his family. I just have to change planets to kingdoms, the Force to magic, and lightsabers to swords, and it’s the perfect bed-time story. (I cut out the part where Luke’s aunt and uncle die though, for obvious reasons).