---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.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

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—where Rothfield was—and 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.