When we rejoined the festivities, I felt Wilbur hesitate beside me. We were approaching the villagers of Fairstep, silhouetted against a great roaring fire at the grange. Knox must be absolutely livid watching from his tower. Some of the folks were standing close to the fire, and others were sitting on the boulders or on logs.

“Are you nervous?” I asked him.

“I’ve never been one to participate in such manner of revelry.” Wilbur gulped and clasped both his hands behind him. “But Woodrow and I agreed that most of the monks should make an appearance tonight. It only happens every once in a while, anyway. And, look, the moon is out.”

Indeed, in the night sky, just enough clouds parted to reveal a gibbous moon, its light bright against the concealed shadow.

The path towards the main granges was lit with torches. The villagers had placed them on the ground, leading a loose trail to the open area once full of our grains. Woodrow was already at the center of it all, his red hair glowing like a halo, shouting for everyone to make themselves warm.

“Near the fire, all of you!” he said. He belonged up there, brimming with energy from all the attention. He was using a little bit of his power, coating his words with subtle honey, sweetening the air. “Tomorrow there will be rest. Tonight, you shall make merry through the gloom. Drink your fill! Relish the taste of your hard work!”

Wilbur and I quickly offered them trays of sweetbreads and mead. He was right, with them biting onto the sweetbreads and already intoxicated, it aided with Woodrow’s words. Whatever remaining worries they faded away. Finally. The men clapped us on the back, thanking us, even honoring us.

“And what good is a harvest without a proper goose and boar! Brothers, if you please.” Woodrow waved his hands around. Ealhstan and Swithin appeared from behind him, carrying the boar, goose, and duck. The crowd applauded at the sight of it, whistling and cheering as my brothers skewered them all using a thick log. They placed it over the fire to cook. The men's eyes widened. The women squealed.

As the meat roasted over the fire, the villagers gathered in different places. They played games that I did not know of. Some played an older version of children’s games, where they held hands and jumped over twisted arms and legs. Some of the women braided their hair with flowers from the meadows. Some of the men, in the light of the great bonfire, strengthened by liquor, presented themselves to the many maidens, and danced under the crackling flame, their skin washed red by the glowing fire. It even illuminated Woodrow’s pale face and arms.

One maiden was alone, looking somber and uncertain, smiling at everyone and tapping her feet to the music. Woodrow was next to her in a second, smiling warmly. “I’d offer you a drink, but it seems you aren’t interested in mead. Come then, won’t you lead this brother into the light of the moon and dance?”

She blushed and covered her lips, shying away. Woodrow did not use his power yet, only his natural charm. He was patient, his hand stretched as an invitation. “Brother, forgive me for my admission, but you are rather handsome. I might not behave well.”

Woodrow smiled. “Not to worry. I will.”

She grabbed his hand and Woodrow gently took her to the middle of the fields, joining the others. Men and women cheered as they danced. Their hands were on their own waists and their legs stomped giddily about. Then they gestured wildly in the air, palms opening and closing, a show of goofiness and harmless banter. She seemed to shake away her shyness with each step and swirl. At some point, Woodrow and the maiden went opposite directions and caught the vacant arms of those standing nearby. More and more villagers joined in, their arms looping over one another. The music sped as they leaped across the grounds. Those who were old and had bad knees cheered and clapped in sync with the dancers.

Woodrow disappeared to play his flute amongst the men. His playing itself was curious, and I thought that his eyes glowed green for a moment.

Then, at the last note, they tumbled to the ground, and something happened to Woodrow. He struggled and touched his head. He seemed to lose his balance. Wilbur and I attended him. He gave Woodrow that familiar wooden flask. Woodrow turned away from me as he drank the bottle in one big gulp. He looked at the night sky, wiped his lips, and smacked them.

“Are you all right?” Wilbur asked, taking the empty bottle from him and pocketing it.

Woodrow smiled. “The plan is going well. We did good.” He looked at me. “Well, little brother? Are you having fun?”

“Indeed I am,” I said. They both smiled at that.

“Then let’s keep at it.”

Woodrow led us to the group of men gathered around a large table. When they noticed that we had seen their gambling, they became at once solemn. But Woodrow took one look at the objects they were using to place bets on and arranged some of them in an order that made all the men cheer. He was handed a sack of grains and fruits–his winnings. Upon receiving it, he quickly gave it all back to them, save but one curious slice of apple pie that they just baked over the fire.

“Who knew you had a mind for strategy,” Wilbur murmured.

“Stick around for more surprises,” Woodrow said.

The night went on, the warm orange hue glowed even brighter as more and more drywood was added to the flame, sparks flying as the fat from the animals dripped down. And then finally Woodrow climbed up at the center of the great fire and thanked them.

The goose and pheasant were done, leaving only the boar in the middle. Woodrow, Wilbur, and some of the men and women carved portions for the whole village. “Don’t be shy now, there’s enough for everybody. Eat your fill!” Wodrow called.

Ealhstan was watching if the mead had made the men violent. But they were at peace; greed and hunger abated. They did not jostle or cheat. They actually pushed the thinnest among them first in line. It was like the first monastery all over again, and it seemed like the world was getting better.

More laughter; some of the women and even a few of the men wanted to dance with Woodrow. Some even made their way to Wilbur and kissed his hands. Some even pinched my cheeks. Their eyes had become hazy, their cheeks flushed and wet. As they dined and talked, we found ourselves leaning against a quiet spot near the wall. I hadn’t realized that I hadn’t yet supped and was munching on the apple pie slowly. Swithin and Ealhstan joined us not long after.

“It feels right, to eat together like this. Wish we could have more nights like this one if Knox and Abbott Blake would keep us together,” Ealhstan said.

“Knox joining us and Abbott Blake finally revealing his face? I am terrified, brother. Don’t spoil the fun.” Woodrow said.

They joked around and talked about the people they observed. And then the conversation drifted away. We looked at each other and thought the same thing: we did not know each other’s lives that well, apart from what we do every day. Woodrow stood and walked up back to the bonfire that was slowly roaring.

“And now I’m afraid we need to put the little ones to bed.” It was made to be a joke, but Woodrow looked at me. Wilbur patted my shoulder and took me home. I stood, smiling at Ealhstan and Swithin and Woodrow, and all the villagers.

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“We feast on the boar!” Woodrow announced. With a nod to Wilbur, he added another bottle to the mead discreetly as all the heads turned to the fire. I knew then that he would use his power. Wilbur hurried away with me, back to the torches, back to the monastery.

Still, Woodrow’s voice echoed. “Dance. Dance until your feet tire. Dance until the dawn. And once the dawn comes, this bond we forged tonight shall weigh in your hearts and sink into your blood. And as we provide you with food, so will you provide for us in turn.”

Wilbur did not count on Woodrow’s powers being this strong. I felt a wave of heat and wind as Wilbur stumbled. “Close your ears,” he said to me, and I did. We hurried to the infirmary, where oddly enough his voice still carried. Some of the women looked out the window, and a few of them were outside, curious at the fire and beckoned by his voice. They followed him like curious sheep.

Amongst those remaining were Joserson’s mother and some young caretakers, already sleeping. Wilbur took me to his gardens, instead. The laughter was louder, wilder as we closed the garden doors.

Wilbur then played from a simple flute made out of a goat’s horn. A light melody that I instantly recognized. It was the one villagers often whistled to call the wind, to pass the time. It told the story of a simple farmer girl left alone in a farmhouse to collect the milk and the eggs and make supper for her whole family.

I hummed along with him until the orange glow of the fire from the distance faded. Wilbur stopped playing. It seemed the whole world fell silent. He swallowed and took another flask from his pockets. “Wait here.”

I hugged my knees and watched him go, noting that this was yet another mystery to my brothers’ plans. Moments passed and I hummed the song Wilbur played again.

Chuckles and playful growls approached the garden. I stopped humming. Some of the villagers have found themselves here, drunk. I saw from the garden window, the shy maiden who Woodrow asked to dance with, holding the neck of another man. They kissed each other. Then Woodrow came into view, pale and not like himself. His eyes were glowing in an unpleasant way, much like his smile. His finger, when he brought it to both their faces was long, his ears pointed.

“Lost are we, my sweet? Naughty, you know you shouldn’t be here. Come, come, and let me take you back to the fire where it’s warm.” And then he grabbed their necks tighter. He kissed them. I stayed silent. Woodrow kissed them both in the mouths and then, lower below the ear. They closed their eyes and shuddered, but clung to him. And then I heard footsteps hurrying towards them.

Woodrow stopped. “Ah. We have been found. Run my darlings.”

“I thought Ealhstan had a grip on you,” Wilbur huffed, emerging from the shadows. He watched the other two stumble away, mumbling, back into the granges.

“He did. All throughout the dance. But then he had to retire, drained of his energy to keep me from having too much fun. Still, I am proud of myself. I did not drain them.”

“Here, finish it.” Wilbur gave the bottle to Woodrow.

Once he had drank that curious draught, Woodrow smiled coyly and touched Wilbur’s cheeks. “You’re so adorable, brother. Take care of me, yes? Like you take care of the rest.”

Wilbur grabbed his wrist and slowly pried him off. His face was soft and stern. “Of course. And I will make sure you will not hurt anyone, as you made me promise. Let’s get you out of here.”

They sounded like two drunkards caring for each other.

___

The morning after, Joserson was breathing fine, his fever broken. His mother was already celebrating. Such was her joy that she swept the whole infirmary and helped launder the blankets and pillows.

No one fixed me with an angry look. When I went outside the granges, the villagers all had pleasant smiles and were too eager to let me collect their blood. The next night, it was still the same vacant smiles. It wasn’t until the third night that I noticed that something was wrong.

On the third night, Joserson was smiling and was actually standing up. From losing the color of his body to now being a fair-faced cherub with dark curls, he was beaming at us with rosy cheeks when Wilbur checked his pulse.

“No spots, no fever.” Wilbur smiled warmly at him and at his mother. “You’re free to go. But make sure you keep him close when he plays outside and never past the monastery boundary.” The mother nodded and Wilbur stopped, and his face grew serious once more. “I need now only to take a sample of his blood, if you please rest your arm on the pillow, Joserson.” Joserson saw the sharp needle and grew stiff for a moment but looking at his mother, at Wilbur, and at me, he laid his head back and closed his eyes. “It will only be a moment.”

Just as he was about to prick the skin, a dark man barged into the room and pointed an accusatory finger at Wilbur. “Get away from them!”

His tone was menacing. He seethed with such anger that he frightened Joserson. It was him--the last remaining member of the trio who hated me. The one who wanted to marry the maiden from the nearby town.

“Oh, not this again,” Wilbur muttered.

The man, taller than the rest, was already halfway towards us when Joserson’s mother, to our surprise, stepped forward and blocked him from harming us. “Calm yourself, Ansel. What has happened?”

“Away, let me through! They have drugged them all! Your friends! Those of you who were foolish enough to listen to that red-haired incubus’ voice. Don’t let him touch your child!” He struggled with her, and she was still trying to prevent him from reaching us when Joserson started crying and screaming.

“They have healed my son! If you have problems with Brother Woodrow then it is him you should storm.”

“They are hiding him!” Ansel sounded frustrated. “But these two! These two were there. They were always there. My friends… they…” He whimpered and then he gave us such a hateful look.

Ansel pushed Joserson’s mother aside. Such was his strength and rage that I was too late to catch her. “You,” he said to me and he was about to kick me in the face when Wilbur pushed him back and threw him to the floor. They wrestled as Wilbur rummaged through his satchels and dropped a puff of his sleeping powder on Ansel, just like his friends. “No…” he said as he slumped back to the floor.

It was only then that loud thunderous footsteps came, flinging the infirmary doors open. Knox and Ealhstan entered. They drank in the scene, Ealhstan with wide eyes and Knox with an impassive face.

As Knox spoke, Wilbur smudged a little of the sleeping powder on Joserson’s nose and the boy quieted down. As I helped the mother up, Wilbur smudged a little on her nose as well.

“So this is the Ansel I’ve been looking for. He’s been hiding lately, refusing to mingle with Woodrow. He’s been sneaking into the town with a damsel, I hear.” He looked over at him and told Ealhstan to gag and tie him. “Send him to the crypts. Brother Woodrow is positively famished.”

“Knox!” Wilbur shouted, startling me.

“Do forgive me, Brother Wilbur. I seem to have forgotten myself.” Though his smile was anything but genuine. As Ealhstan picked him up, Knox looked back at the other two sleeping on the bed. He asked Wilbur with his eyes, to which Wilbur shook his head. “I’ll take care of them.”

He nodded and went off with Ealhstan. “Should we leave early, or are you ready to fight the people you have made merry two nights prior?” Ealhstan did not respond.

“I don’t like doing this, but it’s a good time as any,” Wilbur said as he picked the needle off the ground and wiped it clean. He readied the small glass vial and pricked Josersen’s skin, letting the blood flow until it was half-full. He stoppered it with rubber and wrapped it in fabric. He arranged both their clothes before leaving them.

The next night, for the first time since we arrived, the infirmary was empty. And so were the expressions of some of the men and women. The children called their names, but they were slow in turning their heads, and even slower to respond in speech. They seemed confused and prone to laughing and snickering by themselves as they worked silently in the fields. Three of them were hacking the air with their scythes, quite a ways off from the grains. By the fourth night, the children were crying, and some of the adults who had recovered tried to slap the others from their stupor.

The next night, they were humming the songs in disharmony, and they became paler and paler. A few of them were standing outside the monastery walls, simply looking. When I approached them, the only thing they said was, “Where is Brother Woodrow?” I led them back towards the huts. But not before I continued with the bloodletting, seeing the dark red liquid flow freely. I was not collecting them with wooden bowls, but into tiny wooden jars that Wilbur gave me. I hadn’t seen Woodrow and the three young men who attacked us.

By the seventh night, Woodrow was standing outside on the grange. I was actually glad to see him, but when I came up to him, his whole face was devoid of his usual smile.

“Woodrow?” I touched his arm. He did not look right; though his features were back.

It took a few seconds before he said anything. “What have I done?” His eyes were fixed on the shouting people in the huts, telling them to snap out of it, to wake and care for their children. “What have I done?”