---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—inside 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.