Woodrow was right. Good food and good company did wonders for sullen people. Each day that passed, more and more workers brightened the field with smiles. Some of the more receptive ones did not look at us with hostile eyes anymore. They even called out to their fellows back at the huts; those remaining numbers that were still wary and guarded, tempting them with bread and ale and laughter.

Little Laura was the one who melted their hearts and chipped away the stubborn slab of distrust towards us. When they saw her playing with her siblings, making crowns out of flowers, some of them crossed the gap of suspicion. Then, Laura, a child with such a sweet nature, gave everyone flower crowns.

The parents agreed to keep their children distant from each other until the sickness had stopped spreading, but seeing Laura walk again brought hope back to the villagers’ quarters. The only downside was the sad faces of the children who couldn’t be with their friends.

Apart from this, I felt the gravity of another realization: that my brothers were all grappling under the constraints of the world, despite their powers.

We had to be resourceful with limited tangible things like money, people, ores, plants, animals, and their produce. But we needed to be strategic about abstract qualities too, like people’s trust and fear.

We, by some miracle, were just given an advantage.

Woodrow and I collected all the hops in Wilbur’s garden. He left out a generous jar of honey for us to ferment to make mead; a drink stronger than beer as a special treat for the harvest festival. I’ve not seen Wilbur since he gave me Laura’s medicine.

“I know you miss him, else you wouldn’t be kneading that dough into the dawn, but cheer up lad, you’ll see him soon. Wilbur is anything but determined.”

Woodrow and I planned on preparing batches of baked bread for the looming harvest festival. Only then at the night itself would we add the herbed butter and honey.

“What makes this harvest festival different from the others?” I asked. I stopped kneading the dough and watched him roll his batch into curious shapes.

“Happens only twenty-four years. They raise their cups to the pagan goddess of agriculture,” Woodrow replied.

“I thought the Saints didn’t allow us to worship them anymore.”

“It’s more about the celebration and community, Ryne. Half of them don’t even know the origins of the festival. They just know that it’s a special day that comes around once in a while. That’s why it’s our big chance to really rake them in. Good food and drink aside, there are table games and music.”

“Well, I hope I get to see all of them dance around the fire. I hadn’t heard the music from this part of the region.”

Woodrow stopped, eyes careful. He was about to place the baking paddle in the oven. “Ryne, I swore to Wilbur that I will not let you see the festivities.” He put it inside the roaring fire and slowly turned to face me.

I was crushed. “What?”

“You wouldn’t want to see me when I activate my powers in full force. It is not for the eyes of a young novice to see.”

Heat began spreading from my chest. “I’m not a child, Woodrow. I’m thrice the age of the young men in the field. I could be their grandfather, their great-grandfather even!”

“Yet, you behave and think like a child, still.”

“But I know what… I know what lovers do. I know how babies are made, Wilbur has already taught me these things.” Barely above a whisper, I added, “I know what you do sometimes in your tent in the mess halls.”

He did not respond, only looked at me differently, like he saw me as something strange. “It’s more than that, Ryne. We’ve never revealed ourselves completely to the masses. I don’t know how I’ll act. I don’t want to tarnish my image to you. If you have an image in your head about what I do behind my tent, then here is me blocking you from seeing the act that would lead to that.” He looked at me, stern, yet somehow caring. “Wilbur may have taught you these things on paper, but to see it before your eyes… you may not look at me the same way again. We are also afraid that you will be traumatized forever by how uncertain we are of how your brain works. You may be full-grown in years, but your eyes and the flush of emotion in your cheeks say otherwise.”

“I don’t like it when you become this serious.” I felt strange. Angry, I think, and I felt like stomping my feet and throwing the wooden bowls and spoons on the floor. I surprised myself and looked down at the floor, then at my hands as Woodrow cleaned the kitchens, whistling a tune. His whistling aggravated me, too.

“I imagine having a pretty face would make life easier,” I muttered, the low voice surprising even myself. I did not even know where the words came from. I just spoke. “Instead of having these hands and this face.”

I showed Woodrow the veins on my skin. I jutted my chin forward to show him the features of my face. Woodrow stared, green eyes serious. I saw those green irises take in my appearance; veins and thin wispy hair, the color of dried grains. “It must be nice to not have trouble convincing the rest of the world day in and day out that you only want to help.” I covered my face and arms again, turning around. “Have fun, Woodrow.”

“Ryne, wait!” Woodrow called.

The concrete floor became blurry. My nose was wet. I ran, steps echoing away from the kitchens. I did not care if it disturbed Knox.

I was already at the entrance of the stairway leading to the crypts when I heard a sizzle and boom and Wilbur’s echoing swear. Wilbur rarely swore, and that must mean he was truly frustrated. I must not disturb him. But I can’t be here inside the monastery.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

I sucked in breaths. Everything inside me in that instant made me forget all that I’ve been taught, forgot fear and practical measures. For the first time in so many years, I felt like I was suffocating, but no matter how much I breathed in the open, I couldn’t seem to take in enough air. Woodrow’s hair emerged from the kitchens and I quickly fled from the gardens and out into the monastery, into the boundary where Woodrow told. The tree.

I kept to the shadows, past the night patrol with their torches. Knox told me how but I couldn’t figure out how to do it properly until now. I closed my eyes, crouched low to the ground, away from the fire, and focused on my steps, pulling the shadows towards me as how one snatches blankets during the cold.

I was on the other side of the farmer's fields before I knew it. There was Woodrow, neck craning to see where I’d gone. Once the men drew closer, however, he put on his cheerful mask and carried on with the plan. I hated him, but how I wished I could do what he could do. Act fine, even when your chest tells you to break things. I took one last look at Hollowed Fairstep monastery, a black looming figure in the distance.

Something about it caught me off-guard. Amongst the simmering anger, there was a flash of ice. That feeling again. I was unsettled. Is this how they saw us? I shook my head: no, not now. I continued to flee until I no longer saw the huts and no longer heard the men. I kept walking until the land before me was barren with no trees. No shrubs, no huts. The boundary, Woodrow said.

It was then I felt the pull. I touched my chest as if I were a puppet with strings. It was only for a moment. I walked slowly, unsure, but then it was gone.

The apple tree was an oddity; it was the only tree around a vast expanse of grass. It was bigger than average. In the distance was the town Woodrow saw, bakers lining the outskirts, bells and voices in the air. It was the most activity I’ve seen. It had walls like ours, with flickering torches overhead, scattering light to the people entering the small opening.

I turned my attention back to the tree and thought about climbing its branches. Before Ealhstan would make monasteries, we slept in abandoned towers or thick forests or sometimes even in caves. Swihithin had this habit of climbing on the top of the ceiling where he slept like a bat. I kept watch over all of them. This was the first time I slept under the boughs of one solitary tree. Boys younger than me can climb up. I wrapped my arms around its base… and quickly fell back to the ground.

I huffed and settled for laying my head on its bark.

I went back there for two more nights. I returned to the monastery in the mornings to finish the routine and came back as soon as the light began to dim. When I did the rounds, I stared at the women who always looked at me, frowning. But I decided to not be bullied.

“Do you want me to heal your child?” Anger in my soft voice. I surprised myself when I heard it. “I could leave if you want. I could give this medicine to you, and not return. If it would make it easier for you to tolerate one another.” I looked at them all. “I want you out of my hair as you would mine. Now move.” A long breath passed as I stared them down, offering the medicines to them.

They slinked back in retreat.

On the day of the festival, one could feel the difference in the air. Almost free of hostility and suspicion. When I stepped out of the monastery, the men were already bringing out wooden tables and chairs, arranging boulders in a circle, and piling drywood at its center. I was guessing that is where the bonfire would be. They scattered ashes around their house–maybe some sort of pagan belief of protection.

Woodrow’s instructions were left on the table, to bake the bread with apple bits and drizzle honey and thick cream on them, his handwriting a scribble of loops.

That sunset, I went to the tree again, the cool breeze hitting my face. My face was set firmly on the town. If my brothers didn’t want me to see the festival in Fairstep, then I’d see it far away from this distance. I’d prefer watching it from afar, incomplete and obscured, than seeing nothing of it at all.

But then I saw on the road some of the young men from my villager. Curious, I inspected them. I knew those features: tall and broad-shouldered and realized that they were the three friends who whistled a curious tune to warn the villagers. The trio who hated us.

The oldest one was nineteen, already with plans to marry another girl in another town. I overheard his argument with Brother Knox one time. He was furious when Knox forbade him to enter any town. I knew some of the rules by now. Any villager depending on us was under our laws. From the town was a female figure separating from the crowd; a maiden wearing a long gown that seemed... to search for her suitor. Lad and maiden reached for each other. They embraced.

The young couple did not go back to the town. They instead went to a miniature horse bearing a cart not unlike Brother Swithin used. The lad helped the maiden on the cart and pulled himself with her. He kicked the horse gently and they sped off, away from the town and into the shadows. The two friends had disappeared as I observed where the couple was going.

Before long, the town became bright and the sounds of activity sounded raucous. The embers from within the city brightened. I let go of the anger I held for the past nights, eager to see what would happen.

“Don’t move,” a voice demanded behind me. It was unfamiliar and very angry. “Come spying on us, have you?”

I froze. The hostility and proximity of the voice made my heart jump. I was a fool. These were the lost people Swithin and the rest of my brothers warned me about. Images of bandits and wooden spears and crazed eyes flashed in my mind. They reeked of sweat.

And then a hand pushed me back to the tree, skinning my face as I yelped. But the pain was nothing to the shock I felt when they drew closer. This time, I sharply turned to face them. Something in me wanted to face my attackers.

It was them. The two boys who had always distrusted me, who targeted me out of all my brothers. They did not once join in when all the other workers supped with Woodrow. They simply glared and turned away. I assumed they dined on their own. With Swithin gone hunting and Ealhstan busy with the walls and other defenses, they must have had a chance to seek a new setting.

No, that wasn’t it. From the desperation on their face, it seemed like they wanted more.

They smirked. “What a find. Did the red-haired one send you, grey child? Spying to get us into trouble?”

The taller one raised his legs and my heart skipped thinking he was about to kick my face, but he was only close to my ear. “None of your brothers to protect you now. We’ve been planning to grab you for a while now. Lucky us, tonight.”

But then the other boy pushed him aside. “Don’t come close to him, just look at him!” He made a face that was of pure disgust. He pointed to my veined face. “I knew they were keeping a secret. He must be the one poisoning us so that we become sick. They mean for us to depend on them for the rest of our lives!”

“They will never let us go,” he confirmed.

They had no weapons. They left their scythes and farm tools back at the huts. The hatred they felt was in their chests, voices, and eyes. They really wanted to hurt me.

“See our friend back there? He’s giving us safe passage to that town. All we need is a license and he’ll be getting that from that dame. We can leave town tonight or tomorrow and it will be too late for any one of your brothers to harm us.” He punched the tree hard. Despite his thin body, he can still punch and kick. “But you won’t be there to run your ugly mouth. You’ll be staying here as we pack our things.” Then he paused and stood, planning something behind his eyes. “Tie him,” he said to the other. To me, he said, “but before we do leave, how about you tell us everything you’ve been doing inside your blasted monastery?”

The tree swayed, leaves rustling. I was preparing for the pain. I knew I would never tell them all my secrets. Can I bleed? Can Wilbur patch me up?