The priest stood beside Rudyard, still covered but with a cold cloth on his forehead. The light from the candles illuminated the children's room. The place was less musty and more renovated than Gregory's room but still showed imperfections. The room had only three beds, there were holes in the wall, and the door didn't close properly and had to be kept open. The window was closed but not covered. There was no moon in the sky, but even if there were, it wouldn't be visible amidst the blizzard occurring outside. The boy was red, still sweating. Gregory watched Mila, Pavel, and Anya at the door, waiting for what he had to say.
"Children, Rudyard is not well..." Gregory says, standing up, his bones aching.
"But... but... Gregory, didn't you study medicine in the capital?" Mila's voice trembled, her blue eyes brimming with tears reflected the candlelight.
"Yes, but I don't have the tools here. Besides, many diseases are incurable or unknown." Gregory responds with precision, but inside him, a question lingered.
"It might be something else."
"Gregory, if it's just a fever, what will happen?" Pavel asks, concerned about Rudyard's future.
"Well, if it's just a fever, soon the medicine I gave him will take effect, and he will be well." Gregory begins to leave the room and go to the temple's door, his legs aching.
"Gregory, where are you going?" Mila asks, worried and frightened. She clings to her caretaker's coat.
"It's okay, Mila, there's no need to be afraid." Gregory kneels and strokes her head, hiding his pain. "I'm going to talk to Isabel to try to find out more about what ails Rudy. When I return, I will see what I can do. Until then, please Mila, take care of everyone." Gregory's words were for himself.
"Okay Gregory, I promise I will..." Mila was about to shout as she always did when making a promise to Gregory, but this time, the shout didn't come out, only tears did.
Her hands clenched. Her face was down with her eyes closed, streaming tears. She was scared.
"It's okay, Mila. I will solve everything." Gregory hugs the little girl. Their size difference was so great that Anya let out a slight giggle.
The priest then stands up and heads towards Isabel's house, taking a lantern with him so as not to get lost in the alleys and backstreets of Krasnaya Truda. The snow swallowed each step he took. With every step, his feet sank deeper into the fresh snow, the resistance of the cold and damp ground demanding more from his already tired muscles. The lantern in his hand trembled slightly, a small sphere of light amid the darkness of the blizzard.
The wind howled like a wild animal, cutting through his clothes and biting his skin. Snowflakes clung to his coat and cap, forming small accumulations that soon turned to ice. His breath formed small clouds of vapor in the cold air.
Gregory felt every bruise on his body. Every movement was a fight against the pain radiating from his bones, exacerbated by the biting cold. "I need to reach Isabel," he thought, using that determination as a shield against the pain and cold, but he knew those blows from before had left something wrong, he just didn't know what.
The alleys and backstreets of Krasnaya Truda were a labyrinth in the dark, but Gregory knew the way. His memories guided him, each turn and each corner marked in his mind as a map leading to his destination.
Finally, Isabel's house came into view, a small wooden construction that seemed to bow under the weight of the snow. Its door, slightly askew on its hinges, seemed inviting despite its simplicity. A weak light emanated from a window, indicating the presence of someone awake.
With trembling hands, Gregory knocked on the door, the sound dull against the wood. He stepped back, waiting while the snow continued to fall around him, covering his tracks almost as quickly as he made them.
The door to Isabel's house opened slowly, creaking lightly on its time-worn hinges. The dim light from inside spilled out, cutting through the darkness of the cold, snowy night. In contrast to the relentless cold outside, the warmth emanating from the opening seemed like a silent invitation.
Isabel appeared on the threshold, a figure wrapped in a thick shawl, her brown hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her face, illuminated by the weak light from inside, showed signs of worry and fatigue, but her green eyes shone with a mix of surprise and relief at seeing Gregory.
"Gregory!" Her voice was a mix of concern and care. "Come in quickly, you'll freeze out there."
She stepped back, making room for him to enter. Gregory, silently thankful, stepped into the house, bringing with him a trail of cold and melting snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched the warmer ground. Isabel closed the door behind him, isolating them from the storm raging outside.
Isabel's house was modest but cozy. The light came from candles scattered throughout the space, casting soft shadows on the wooden walls and simple furniture. The aroma of herbs and homemade remedies filled the air, mingling with the scent of hot tea.
Isabel led him to a small wooden table, a gesture Gregory accepted with a slight nod, each step an effort against the pain consuming him.
"Sit down, let me see how you are," Isabel said, with a softness that contrasted with the determination in her eyes. She noticed the stiffness of Gregory's movements and how he avoided putting weight on certain parts of his body.
Gregory sat down carefully, his expression revealing more than he would have liked. Isabel, with skilled and gentle hands, began to examine his bruises, her touch as careful as it was efficient. In his mind, Gregory prepared to ask about Rudyard's situation, but a part of him was grateful for the care Isabel was offering at that moment.
"What did you find about Rudy?" The priest asks, waiting for Isabel to finish examining.
"He has a very high fever, but it doesn't seem to be anything else," Isabel says, standing up after finishing examining Gregory. "I didn't see any protrusions, rashes, marks, or any kind of injury. His lung was clear, so it shouldn't be pneumonia. I medicated him with some antipyretic herbs, but I guess now we just have to wait."
"That's what I feared..." says Gregory, with a bit of frustration. "And about what happened earlier after I passed out? I just woke up and..."
"You just woke up?!" Isabel looks at Gregory with concern. "How can you do that, Gregory? You're injured, just woke up, and go out in a blizzard? The night is very cold, Rudyard is already sick..." Isabel, who was frantically waving her hands while speaking with concern, simply stops and looks at Gregory with a sad gaze. "We don't want you to get sick too..."
"I know, Isabel, but I still have the health to take a walk at night." Gregory looks at her with a slight smile on his face.
"Well, Gregory, you were pretty bad when I found you. Leontiev ordered Yuri Fedorov to inform me of your condition so I could treat you... I ran out of here right away, didn't know what to expect." Isabel closes up a bit. "I thought Orlov had killed you... When I found you, you were passed out on the ground, covered in blood and bruises. The snow was vivid red with your blood. I treated your wounds and washed your body. I took you to the temple and asked Mila to take care of you."
"Thank you very much, Isabel... You don't know how much that means to me." Gregory feels relieved. "But what about Orlov? What did he do after that?"
"He ordered that four-fifths of all the remaining food from the taxes be taken as punishment for rebellion..." Isabel tries to hold back, but tears run down her face.
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"I didn't want to do that... It wasn't what I was looking for..." Gregory says to himself, disheartened.
"I made a vow, and people are going to starve because of my fault."
"It wasn't your fault, Gregory." Isabel could say softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You did what you thought was right at the moment. Now, we need to focus on how to help people here."
Gregory nodded slowly, determination beginning to reignite in his eyes. "You're right, Isabel. We can't change the past, but we can influence the future. Tomorrow I'll talk to Alexei and see if we can do something about this."
"You intend to hunt with those bruises? Gregory, you're injured." Isabel approaches the priest, trying to bring reason to his head.
"It's okay, Isabel, I won't go hunting. I'll just see if there's anything I can help with... I want to redeem myself."
"Redeem yourself? Alright, then go back to the Temple of Markhal and take care of the children. They need you well, they don't have anyone else. Winter took everything they had, don't let it take the little they still have..." Isabel starts to pack Gregory's things, and then hands them to him.
"It's okay, my prayers will take effect. I'm sure God won't let us starve and freeze to death while we plead for him." Gregory dresses, and heads for the door, ready to leave. "I'll be going, I hope we can see each other tomorrow."
"Alright, please take care of yourself, and be careful in the blizzard..." Isabel seems to want to say something, but the words choke in her throat.
"At least, if I get hurt or sick, I know I can count on your skills." Gregory opens the door, saying goodbye.
The cold of the night embraced Gregory as soon as he left Isabel's house, the persistent blizzard covering his steps almost immediately. As he advanced through the thick snow, thoughts about Rudyard and the children weighed on his mind, mixed with concern for the severity of Orlov's punishment. Each step towards the temple seemed to carry the weight of his bruises.
The priest finally arrives at his home. Entering through the wooden double door. The place, lit only by candlelight, showed Mila, who was taking care of Pavel and Anya while they slept on the sanctuary benches.
The girl watched Gregory and approached quietly so as not to wake the other two.
"Will Rudyard be okay?" Mila asks, looking up.
"I still don't know, but I'll find out soon. I'll examine him better now, but I need you to stay alert." Gregory then kneels and whispers in Mila's ear. "Code red." The caretaker whispers.
"Okay, understood." Mila then proceeds to sit on a bench near the double door and remains on the lookout.
Gregory then moves to his quarters through the small corridor of the temple. Upon entering, he locks the door and closes the curtains, and some candles on his work table are lit.
The priest then pushes the bed a few meters away from the wall and approaches the railing. There, on the floor, two side-by-side boards were loose. Gregory carefully removes them from the floor, making no noise. As they are removed, a secret compartment is revealed.
Inside the secret compartment, revealed under the floor, lay a carefully hidden arsenal. The first thing that caught Gregory's attention was the bolt-action rifle, a Mistralis Grifo M1893, resting on a custom-made wooden stand. Its brushed steel finish, the polished wood of the handle, and silver inscriptions of griffins demonstrated meticulous care. Beside the rifle, there were several boxes of ammunition, neatly arranged, each marked with the precise caliber for the M1893.
Besides the weapons and ammunition, there was a small collection of books. They were varied works, some appearing to deal with history and military strategy, while others were thicker volumes of philosophy and theology. Among them, two books stood out, not just for their content, but for how they were stored. One wrapped in black cloth, another in white.
Gregory then proceeds to take both books out. After adjusting the floor and returning the bed to its place, Gregory sits at the table, holding the diary wrapped in white cloth. The book had no title on the cover, which was made of simple, well-handled leather. A thin cord, carefully tied, kept the diary closed, ensuring its privacy and preservation.
Untying the cord and opening the diary, Gregory was immediately transported to another time in his life. The first pages contained detailed notes and carefully drawn diagrams. There were annotations on anatomy, treatments for common diseases, and even homemade remedies and first aid techniques.
As he flipped through the pages, Gregory found personal reflections interspersed with the medical notes. They were thoughts about the nature of healing and the responsibilities of a doctor. On some pages, there were sketches of medicinal plants and their properties, along with instructions for preparing remedies, but Gregory was unsure of what he was looking for.
He flipped through the pages of that old memory from the past, searching for any information that might help with Rudyard's case, but nothing good enough was found. Gregory closes the book, wraps it in a white cloth, and returns it to its rightful place, along with the other book.
The night was not yet over, and neither was the blizzard. The priest was in the room, next to an unconscious Rudyard. He had just examined him again and found nothing, not even a slight improvement in his fever. "If this fever doesn't improve soon, I fear he will die," these thoughts weighed heavily on Gregory's mind.
"Will Rudy be okay, Gregory?" Anya asked with a sleepy look, her voice laden with concern.
Gregory looked at her, noticing the genuine care in her eyes. "Yes, he will. But Anya, it's very late. Why are you still awake?"
Anya hesitated, twisting the ends of her pajamas. "I... just wanted to make sure Rudy would be okay. He always plays with me and... I really like him."
Gregory couldn't help but smile slightly at the girl's innocence. "Well, Anya, it seems you really care about him. Who knows, maybe one day, you two will make a lovely couple?"
Anya's cheeks instantly flushed with the suggestion, and she looked down, embarrassed. "Gregory! I... I didn't mean that..."
"It's okay, Anya. It's normal to worry about people we care about. Now, go rest. Rudy needs rest, and so do you."
Anya nodded quickly, still flushed, and turned to leave the room. Before leaving, she cast one last worried glance at Rudyard, then hurried back to her own bed.
Gregory watched her leave, his smile slowly fading as he turned his attention back to Rudyard. Anya's concern was a reminder of the responsibility he carried, not just for Rudyard, but for all the children under his care. "I will do everything to keep them safe," he thought, feeling the weight of those words in his body.
A few moments later, a voice barely cuts through the silence.
"Dad?" Rudyard whispers.
Gregory looks astonished at the boy. His body was completely red from his high temperature. He was sweating heavily, even with a wet cloth on his forehead.
"Dad? Are you there?" The boy repeats, with a weak voice.
"Yes, Rudy, I'm here. What are you feeling?" Gregory holds the boy in his arms, taking care of him. He watched how his son behaved, trying to diagnose the disease.
"Pain... My whole body hurts... My mouth is dry... I feel like I'm burning inside..." Rudyard says while shaking his head from side to side.
"Rudy, drink this water and stay strong." After saying this Gregory takes a small jug of water and gives it to him in his mouth. "Don't give up on fighting, your brothers are here for you. They care a lot about you and love you very much too."
After Rudyard drank some water, Gregory adjusted him on the bed and covered him with a light blanket, trying to balance the need to keep him warm without exacerbating the fever. He took another cloth, wet it with cold water, and placed it on Rudyard's forehead, hoping to help lower his temperature.
Looking through the window, the priest realized that the blizzard had stopped, and decided to get some air outside. There he was, leaning against one of the temple walls, just looking at the stars and the forest at night. The snow on the ground covered everything, but at least it no longer fell from the skies. "It must dawn in a few hours," Gregory thought, already preparing to go back and rest.
"Gregory? What are you doing out here?" Isabel asks, having approached silently.
"Now that the blizzard has finally stopped, I decided it was time to get some air to clear my head." The priest turns to Isabel, looking her in the eyes. "And what are you doing here?"
"I was very worried about you guys, and since the blizzard stopped I decided to come see how you would be." Isabel moves a bit closer to Gregory, steam coming out of her mouth as she speaks.
Gregory looked at Isabel, the soft light of the stars reflecting on her face. There was a sincerity in her eyes that he couldn't ignore. "Your concern is comforting, Isabel. It's good not to be alone in these moments."
Isabel gave a small smile, a mix of relief and something deeper. "You're never alone, Gregory. We're all in this together, aren't we?"
There was a pause, a suspended moment where something unspoken hung in the air between them. Gregory felt a connection, a recognition of the strength and kindness that Isabel brought into his life and into the lives of the children at the temple, reminding him of the past.
"Yes, we are." Gregory responded, his tone softer than he intended. He moved a bit closer, the cold of the night making Isabel's warmth even more noticeable. "Isabel, I..."
She interrupted him with a gentle gesture, placing her hand on his arm. "You don't need to say anything, Gregory. I understand. And I... I feel something too."
Both remained silent for a moment, sharing a look that said more than words could express. But then, Gregory stepped back slightly, the reality of his responsibilities reaffirming itself in his mind.
"I should go back. Rudyard is still very ill, and the children need me." He said, a tone of apology in his voice.
Isabel nodded, understanding. "Of course, Gregory. The children come first. And Rudyard needs you."
There was a hesitation before they parted, a brief moment where the possibility of something more seemed within reach. But then Gregory turned and went back inside the temple, leaving Isabel alone with the cold night and her own reflections.
The priest then returns to his room. His door is locked, his window closed, and there in the dark sitting on his bed, he thought about the day he had. "Should I pray?" Gregory wonders. "No, Markhal will not answer me."
There, lying down and covered, with his eyes closed and almost sleeping, a thought crosses his mind. "Whose footsteps were in the snow earlier?"