“Now, that’s not very polite. You could have at least said please.” From out of the shadows, Woodrow appeared behind them. “Hail, fellows. Lovely night for an ambush.” His green eyes glowed. He looked firmly at the talkative one. “You have a temper on you, don’t you? And bullying one of the brothers that took care of your village? You should really calm down.”

From being frightened, the youth’s eyelids drooped as Woodrow's words sank. His startled breathing slowed.

“Cover your nose, Ryne.” The familiar voice of my brother Wilbur. I covered my face with my long sleeves as the other boy whipped around, about to strike a smiling Woodrow. Wilbur appeared next to Woodrow and took advantage of the remaining youth’s confusion. He blew dust to the faces of the men. They coughed and sputtered before colliding with each other, slowly sinking to the ground, unconscious. Wilbur and Woodrow caught them before they banged their heads.

“What on the Four Saints’ miracles is that?!” Woodrow looked at the deep blue powder that Wilbur was holding in his hand.

He observed the two sleeping villagers. Their heads lolled on their shoulders, breathing deeply. “A sleeping powder, seems like.”

“You could have told me that before I charmed the lad.”

“I didn’t know it would work.” Wilbur and Woodrow both laid them on the grass as they continued to speak. “And it’s costly to make. Three different nightshade berries and three different ores. A product of the many failed experiments to treat Joserson’s illness.”

“They wanted to escape,” I said. “Their eyes, their whole body… it was as if they’ve been longing for freedom. Are we keeping them here? I thought they didn’t want to leave. I thought we just had to appease them.” Woodrow dropped his gaze and looked at Wilbur. Wilbur simply stared back at me. “You’re keeping something from me. You’re keeping a lot of things from me. You all told me how to do things because you said these were how things are done, and I just went along thinking that this was just how the world works, but I never realized…” I looked at the two unconscious boys again, “that they wanted something different.”

There goes heat again, spreading from up my gut. “And I don’t know if I can handle that if you don’t tell me what needs to be done, and if you keep hiding things from me. I notice these things now more than before, Wilbur. And you always told me to ask questions.”

“Told you he was throwing a tantrum,” Woodrow said. I was about to rage at him, but he held out a hand to stop me. “Though you deserve this release. You’ve been keeping it since... when... Shoreglass? If you want to let it out, then this would be the right moment.”

Well, don't mind if I do.

All rational and order left me. It was as if I was possessed, and there was this anger in me that seemed to stretch and yawn and twist my insides.

“These veins are like a symbol of my curse! The only reason I am kept by Abbott Blake anyway is that I can stand the sunlight, but I can’t do what you do! Try as I might, I can’t charm or trick people! I can’t lift stones as if they were pebbles! And even if I learn from you, Wilbur, I can’t heal as fast as you! What if they corner me to the ground and I can’t defend you? What then?”

“Defend me?” Wilbur asked abruptly.

“You saw what they would do if they really hated us. They could tie you up as you all sleep in your crypts and take you out in the middle of the field at sunrise. I don’t have supernatural strength to stop them.”

Woodrow was silent. Then, he said to Wilbur, “We can’t hide what we are from him forever. He has a point. And we need to prepare if ever any of our backup plans fail. We can’t let him go down with us. I know--!” Woodrow said as Wilbur spoke, “but even Ealhstan won’t lay waste to the villagers, even when Knox tells him to. And I’m not saying we should fight them. All I‘m saying is… we need to include Brother Ryne here and tell him what we know.” Woodrow leveled his gaze at Wilbur. “And show him what we are.”

Wilbur breathed. “Soon. It isn’t the time.” He looked gently at me. “I promise. Soon. You will know. Whatever you know about us… there is something else. A cost to our powers.” He laid a hand on my shoulder slowly, waiting if I would slap it away. I didn’t and let him touch me.

The he flinched and inhaled sharply. His eyes widened, grabbing his hand.

“What?” Woodrow and I both said. We had both jumped back in surprise. We checked my shoulder for anything sharp. I checked the bark behind me if there was a stinging insect.

Wilbur touched me again, this time firmly. With the back of his hand, he checked my neck, then my forehead. It looked like he was checking my temperature. “I thought you were burning up,” he mumbled. Then he relaxed. "Must have been my imagination.”

The wind howled around us, and with it came the sounds of laughter from the town. “This is where you escape to, Woodrow?” Wilbur asked. Woodrow mumbled a reply as we looked at the wild shadows dancing outside the city. The activities were louder now. I distinctly heard metal against metal, the clash of sharp stones against wood.

Wilbur said softly, “Woodrow told me what happened. From what we can tell, you possess both mature and childlike behavior and intellect. That, and many years of repressed emotions. I suppose, when it comes to emotions, his judgments on how to proceed are better than mine.” Woodrow made a celebratory noise. Wilbur continued, “When we were reborn as this, we were fortunate enough to have our grown faculties. But you… you’re the only one of us that had to endure growing up. The conflict you must be feeling right now. And the multitude of questions…” He looked at Woodrow and nodded.

“We have come to an agreement. You can participate in the harvest festival for a short while. But when Woodrow activates his powers in full force, he would give us the sign to withdraw. You will come join me for a well-deserved supper. We are celebrating more things than the good harvest and Laura’s good health, after all.” He smiled at me wearily. He and Woodrow, both.

He held out to me a glass bottle, its contents a swirling glowing golden amber, like honey with a drop of sunlight. “I think I developed the cure for little Joserson’s curious illness. I tested it on his blood sample and it looked cleaner when I last checked. If this works on him, we simply need to collect his blood sample again. We would use that as the base component for this kind of strong medicine in the future. We wouldn’t need the exact measure of ingredients.” He winced. “It took a long time trying to figure out the correct combination of ingredients. I lost a lot when I finally made this.”

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The trial and error of alchemy, Wilbur once said. It was the reason why so many alchemists rarely ever made new concoctions and so few of them celebrated if they ever managed to make one. Ingredients were costly and perilous to attain.

I stared in wonder and clapped my hands. Wilbur took a mock bow. “All right. Let’s go heal Joserson.” I almost stepped on the face of the boy when I turned around. “What to do with them?”

“Take them to Knox. Maybe he can fool them. Maybe even have the power to make them forget,” said Woodrow.

“He can do that?” I asked.

“He seems to think so. I’ve overheard it sometimes when his illusions break. But I think it leaves the person confused for some time.” His eyes wandered to the town with their own merrymaking. “Someday, maybe we’ll be strong and careful enough for one of our villages to rise like these towns.” His eyes then wandered to the tree. “Oh, how lovely. Apples!”

We took half of the tree’s gifts. I carried them as Wilbur and Woodrow carried the unconscious farmers to the monastery, avoiding the people and taking them to Knox’s tower where we explained in detail what happened minus me escaping to the tree.

“Very well, I shall handle it. Tie their hands and feet and gag them.”

___

Swithin appeared at the foot of the tower with wild goose and pheasant and duck. His mouth and hands were bloody. “Where did you get that, Brother?” They did not seem to come from our village. I’m not even sure they came from the wilds.

He simply grinned at me, teeth sharp and bloody. To Woodrow, he said, “Do you have time to prepare this?”

“With help? Yes, we can manage.”

The kitchen was warm and messy. Flour was everywhere and so were trays, bowls, jars, and barrels of fermented mead. Wilbur and I helped with the organization. “It’s glad to be back in the kitchens,” he said. He cut small holes in the thick bread and placed a dollop of herbed butter into them, then spooned them with honey. He dipped the hardbread into the thick cream. The trays smelled sweet and warm.

I offered one sweetbread to Swithin, but he refused, frowning. He didn’t have a sweet tooth. I shrugged and threw one to Ealhstan instead, who just came in behind Swithin. He took one bite and whistled his appreciation. “A rare treat this will be for the villagers of Fairstep.”

“Good, you’re here. Grab a goose and pluck its feathers.”

We were so near each other in one setting. Whatever fear I had starting tonight, whatever anger I felt for the past two nights vanished. Wilbur and Woodrow were close, moving in sync like how he and I moved when mixing his medicines. His auburn hair was such a contrast to Woodrow’s true red. His lanky frame against Woodorw’s tall, graceful body. But both wore similar expressions of concentration as they plucked feathers and smeared gooseberry jam.

“If only we had some oranges…” Woodrow murmured.

“And pears…” Swithin added.

Wilbur stopped and looked up at me. I snapped my fingers. “We don’t have oranges and pears, but we can use the fruits Wilbur has in his garden.” We hadn’t named it yet, but it seemed sweet enough for this. I sped off to his garden and grabbed one single circular fruit, dark red like an apple with curious orange spots in its skin. I also grabbed rosemary and thyme in his herbarium.

When I came back to the kitchens, the activity was in full swing. They bumped against one another, sliding between spaces. I realized as I handed Wilbur the fruit that they did not sweat, unlike me who wiped away the moisture from my face. The air was a mixture of flavor and delightful scents. My stomach growled. Unable to resist, I picked up a bread and closed my eyes to its warmth and flavor and hoped the children would be able to taste this.

“Can we take some back to the infirmary?”

Immediately, Woodrow, Ealhstan, Swithin, Wilbur, and I, grabbed bread, one in each hand, and placed them on a basket for Wilbur to carry. “We must be off,” we said and waved goodbye to our brothers. Ealhsatn grabbed two barrels of mead, while Swithin and Woodrow carried one.

“We’ll see you on the grange,” Woodrow called.

For once in Fairstep, there was music and laughter in the air. The inaudible voices of men and women mingled; giggling, shouting. I felt a rush of energy in my steps even as we were going to a somber place. We knew that our brothers had revealed the barrels when the villagers cheered and erupted in unified applause and laughter.

The infirmary was warmer. Wilbur was glad to see half of the beds vacated. Two of the children looked up and smiled at him. “Brother Wilbur!” They said and by the mention of his name, some of the children and mothers smiled weakly at him.

“Look at all of you, stronger than when I left,” Wilbur smiled. He presented the basket he was holding, their eyes widening. “You shouldn’t miss a taste of the festival. Here, for those of you that can stomach warm milk and bread.”

Tiny squeals erupted, and even the angry women warmed their stone-like faces. They passed bread amongst each other, their fingers glistening with honey and butter. They licked them first before biting into it. They sighed and smiled and offered thanks. They even chatted and giggled amongst themselves, the children’s voices telling stories.

The only boy that was silent was Joserson and his mother. Wilbur gently placed his palm on the mother’s shoulder and placed the last of the bread and cup of milk on the table. He showed the medicine to the mother while the rest were distracted. He told her how it was to be administered.

The mother carefully placed her hand under her son’s neck and slowly raised him up as Wilbur tipped the bottle down on the corner of his lips. The boy coughed and whined, but Wilbur, firmly but gently, poured all the amber liquid until the bottle was half full.

We waited, but the child merely groaned. I checked his temperature after moments of silence. I smiled at both of them. “His temperature’s going down. Here, feel his head,” I said, taking her hand and placing it on her son’s forehead. She almost cried as she did.

“The medicine tastes horrible,” Wilbur said. Its beauty was to conceal its taste, then.

“At least he’s groaning. He hasn’t spoken at all since the delirium.” I offered warm milk for her and warm bread. “Please, you must also keep your strength.”

She looked at us. “I am thankful for you both.” I believed her when she said it.

We stayed, with Wilbur absorbing the scene. He breathed in a deep satisfactory breath, smiling a little as he took in his infirmary. I touched his arm, welcoming him back to his station. Selfishly, I hoped that little Joserson’s fever would break. That his spots would fade, so Wilbur can be with his flowers again, his hands touching soil and leaves. I looked at his hands. I knew his experiments involved burns, and his gardening involved cuts. But they were smooth, unscarred, thanks to his healing powers.

Wilbur smiled at the sight of women touching the children’s cheeks, even if they weren’t their own. They fluffed their pillows and attended to the caretakers who looked visibly tired. Bursts of noise from the harvest festival disturbed the soft chatter.

“Mama…” a frail voice called. To us, it was louder than all the noise.

Joserson’s eyes fluttered open, and the mother enveloped him in her hands. Wilbur and I stepped back, Wilbur holding out a hand to all the women just as they were about to crowd us. “I am here, my son,” the woman cried, tears leaking, lips kissing pale round cheeks. “I am here. Hush now.”

The women sighed and crooned. The harvest festival wasn’t just a distraction, but there was cause for celebration, after all. Joserson slept, soundly this time. His mother held his hand as one reached for the bread, dipped it into the thick milk, and brought it to her mouth.

“He hasn’t even tasted it, shame,” she said softly.

“We’ll make some more for when he gets better,” Wilbur promised. As of now, he can only tolerate soups. Plain ones with bone broth, not even an appetite for small grains and crops.

Before we left, Wilbur thanked the women for caring for each other. He left them with words that I knew they would remember. “Medicines may cure your children, but there is no substitute for community.” He even locked eyes at the two women. “You need tough people to protect one another. Good night.”