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.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

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–or was it around me?–vast 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.”