I will never leave them. Not for long, anyway. My plan was to reveal myself to the traders or to anyone I saw. One look at my ugly veined body and they could... well do a number of things: they could only be suspicious, taking away their business; they could question Knox; they could run; or they could attack. I have to do it on Saintsday when everyone would be there. I would abandon my dark corner in the church and run up to Knox, remove my cloak, and shout vile things. The villagers of Saint Korbin have begun to become superstitious now, anyway. I saw it in their faces and heard it from their whispers. They have become fearful of the world, and docile and dependent on Knox. I'd scream that we were all using them. I'd scream that there was another sickness brewing and it started with me. I'll chase them away and pretend to be rabid if I have to.

I just have to escape this blasted tower, first.

As soon as Knox left before dawn, I punched the doors. I kicked with as much force as my thin legs could. If only I could’ve grabbed a knife from the kitchens or anything to chip at the wood. I did the next best thing; the metal encasing in one of the scripture books. It may be blunt, but it would have to do. As each splinter of wood flew apart, I felt free.

But I had to rest after several hard knocks left me shaking and breathless. This went on for hours; chipping away and resting, until the light from the small hole in the tower faded to a pale ember. I had to work fast. With one last desperate shove, a large chunk of the door finally splintered away, and all I had to do was make it bigger. I kicked again, breathless as I was, finding the strength out of desperation, until there was a hole big enough for me to fit into. I crawled outside, wincing as sharp wood scratched my skin.

I hurried down the tower, where there was only a wide opening for an entrance, and stepped outside. I swallowed mouthfuls of air, my weak limbs falling to the ground. Then froze. The light had faded completely from the hills.

It was already too late. There was a sound from the other tower and knew that Knox was already on his way down. I ran towards the church which was the only path outside to the granges. I was supposed to let the villagers in, but they were probably still cleaning themselves off the sweat of labor back in their huts. And then I heard Knox swear and whistle to Swithin. I passed the pews, noticing how my arms and thighs ached, my heart once again in my throat.

I did not possess super speed or strength, so what chance did I have but surrender to the fastest brother in the monastery? I had already opened the church’s entrance, the wall already in sight. But Swithin’s steps crossed the distance like it was nothing and pounced on me again as Knox appeared on the far end of the nave. Swithin had slipped on the polished stone floors and upon impact with me, rolled outside to the grass and rocks.

“You little–!” Knox began but stopped when he saw what I was holding. It was a sharp stone, hovering over my cheek. I had already drawn a little blood and Swithin, momentarily confused, started sniffing my cheek as if he was a dog. I felt his hands tighten around my shoulders and back. He had changed drastically again, more beast than man, with his hair longer and with sharp teeth protruding from his lips. I thought that I shouldn’t have bothered with the stone, with this beast near me.

“What has happened to you?” My voice did not sound scared. It sounded as if Wilbur was simply checking in on one of his patients. I touched his cheek like I did with all the horses. Swithin's eyes widened and he blinked. He gasped and withdrew, away from me and Knox.

“Come here,” Knox said to Swithin. “I said, come here–”

“Don’t listen to him! Fight him, Swithin. He is not your master.” I challenged Knox and put my hands over Swithin’s ears.

“You dare–!”

“Oh, shut up!” I shouted. My voice echoed in the empty grounds. I hoped the villagers would check in on us.

Knox was fuming. I was challenging him again, and for the first time I’ve ever seen him, Swithin was actually resisting. He dug his hands into the earth and shook, his features changing back. Knox was about to say something else, when, from behind him, a sack appeared and covered his head. He scratched at it, but Woodrow had already tied it from behind.

“You heard the lad, brother. Shut it.” Woodrow kicked Knox's legs from under, causing him to fall onto the ground, screaming. I heard him whisper, now's a good time as any, before he cupped his hands over his mouth. “Ealhstan, make some noise!” Woodrow shouted over the walls of the monastery. Nothing happened.

"Now? Are you sure?" Elahstan's voice was uncertain beyond the walls.

"Yes, now!"

Suddenly, a giant bell rang through Saint Korbin. Ealhstan's booming voice echoed, “Run! Now! All of you in Saint Korbin, run!” Bells usually announced the start and end of mass in other monasteries. But this one was a clear sign of warning. Men and women started screaming, children started crying over Ealhstan's instructions. "Pack your things! Get out! We've already cleared a path for you down the mountains! Follow your elders!"

Woodrow stepped over the still-screaming Knox like he was nothing but a rock and walked closer to me. He winked at me, smiled, and took in each other’s appearance. He looked weary. Thinner, too. The red of his hair looked dull, the strands dry. He, meanwhile, stopped in his tracks, dropped the smile, then stepped back.

“What’s wrong?" He was staring at the blood from the scratches I received from the broken door. "It’s nothing.” I was about to ask where the rest were, when Wilbur--my brother Wilbur--appeared from behind him, stepping over Knox as well, and let out a soft, surprised sound when he saw me.

“Ryne,” he breathed, “wipe the blood away. Let go of Swithin and wipe the blood off and throw it away. Over the wall, there’s a small river. Throw the cloth you used over it. Now.” I did so, using an old cloth hanging on one of the posts in the stable. I washed the blood off using a water bucket nearby, and flung it over the walls, away from Ealhstan's voice. I arranged my robes, so that they didn’t see the wounds. It was only then that they all regained their composure.

“Oh, Ryne,” Wilbur said. Woodrow was helping Swithin up. Knox was still untangling the sack over his head. Wilbur approached me, arms wide. We hugged. We were rarely this affectionate, but it did not matter. He felt cold, but he was warm in my mind. His hand was around the back of my head, and the other steadied my back. His chest rose and fell, as mine did, breathing in the moment. But then, it sharply rose and fell. Alarmed, I looked up at him and saw that he was crying. I have never seen him cry before.

But as he was about to explain, a giant of a man appeared from the monastic grounds. It was Brother Ealhstan, and I smiled widely, already running up to him.

“Step back!” he yelled, his voice booming. The shock of his fury stopped me in my tracks. I felt the earth quaked around me. Ealhstan’s eyes were wide, scared. He muttered through clenched jaws, “Wilbur. Ryne. Get away!”

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He was grabbing his head and his legs skewered. He fell to the ground and screamed. When he raised his head, it was calm. When he opened his eyes, the blacks were a sinister glowing red. He pounced on Wilbur and pinned him to the ground. Knox had removed the bag from his head. He was enraged, mouth already open for assault, but when he saw Ealhstan, Knox bowed his head in reverence.

“Abbott Blake,” he said.

The air became cold, colder than winter. And empty. Woodrow, Swithin… all my brothers except for Knox clutched their chests and fell. Ealhstan smiled. It was not him. “Ryne.” He simply said. It was not Ealhstan’s voice. Deep. Ancient. Empty. Wilbur stopped resisting by this point, and I thought the worst. But Ealhstan’s body released him and stared around at all of them. “Inside the chapter house. Now.”

As one, Wilbur, Woodrow, Swithin, and Knox went back to the monastery. Even though my entire being wanted to pull most of them away. Ealhstan's eyes looked at me calmly. “Come now, before I do any more damage with his strength. The villagers are outside, bones brittle and soft.”

___

It was the first time I stepped foot in the chapter house, the only building whose cloistered path I did not trespass. Ever since, that part of each monastery was colder and darker, even when the sun was out. Daylight did not warm the stone columns. Every time a monastery was built, we felt the source of our power fill the cloisters and the nave, out towards the granges. It was how we knew that Abbott Blake had blessed the land, and we are now tied to it. Tied to him. My brothers consulted with Abbott Blake for three nights with new instructions before we began ruling over a monastery.

I was blind, the sight accustomed to the darkness did not work here. Then, with a flick, a single candle was lit. My brothers were standing in a circle with me at the center. They looked wildly about as soon as the light flickered to life and all eyes landed on mine. Ealhstan was also there, now completely himself. But my eyes were fixed in one area of this boxed room.

There, in the shadow, was a being darker than darkness, with gold and red eyes and whose smile was the dagger shining with moonlight. “My brothers, look at you all,” Blake said.

Abbott Blake was small, barely above Wilbur’s shoulder. His face was of a regular man’s, lined with age, like an elder of a village. He had salt-and-pepper hair, his skin wrinkled and pale. But then he passed through a candle, and he became middle-aged, with a strong stature and firm jaw. He passed through Knox, passed through him like he was nothing but smoke, and re-formed in front of me, back to looking like an elder.

“You will never do that again,” he said to me calmly, confidently. And then the reds of his eyes glowed sinister again. My brothers, even Knox this time, fell to the ground with their mouths wide open and eyes rolling back to their heads.

“Stop it!” I said grabbing Blake’s face. But my hands only held smoke, his smile still pleasant as my brothers silently screamed.

“I can do much worse if you don’t behave,” he warned. He became corporeal, pushing me aside. I fell to the floor as my brothers recovered. Ealhstan was unsure of how to proceed, but Woodrow readied his stance.

Blake turned to smoke and materialized behind Swithin and Ealhstan, opened his arms wide as if to embrace them, then dug into their necks as they both yelled. The scream was so agonizing that it made us all jump back. He pulled back his hands–no–his claws and, as if held by strings, made their limbs move. He was a puppeteer pulling the strings.

Blake flicked his fingers. Ealhstan grabbed Wilbur as Swithin grabbed Woodrow. Swithin has his own claws pointed at Woodrow’s neck, already slicing a bloodless thin line on his neck, while Ealhstan locked Wilbur’s head. All were protesting against each other, eyes wide, screams yelling to stop.

I knelt down, raised my arms up, and looked at Blake. “Let them go! I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.” The voice inside me was high and pleading. I locked eyes with Wilbur and Woodrow, at Ealhstan and Swithin.

“Truly? Do I have your word to listen to Brother Knox’s lessons? To not escape into your dear brother Wilbur’s study and garden?”

“Yes,” I pleaded, looking at how Wilbur was closing his eyes, as Ealhstan tried to pull himself away, his arms and hands and legs shaking, while Knox pointed Woodrow’s own dagger onto his neck.

“Bastard,” Woodrow said to Knox. Though Knox frowned and touched his face and neck, clearly confused as to why Blake needed to force his power upon him as his loyal servant.

Blake retracted his claws and all my brothers except for Knox fell to the floor, gasping and retching. Ealhstan pulled Wilbur up and quickly backed away from us all, fearing what Blake would do with his body again. Swithin cowered before Blake and behind Woodrow. Woodrow stood up and tried to regain his composure, eyes flitting from Knox to Blake. And Wilbur? Wilbur wanted to quickly go to me, but Blake held one finger at him. Stay put.

“Good. All would be well, then. Humility, my dear, brothers. We need to–”

The crash of the chapter house door. Outside the monastery there were voices. “Burn everything! Loot them for all their worth! Take back our treasure from that blasted monk!”

Knox looked at Abbott Blake, alarmed. Abbott Blake, the first time I’ve seen him, frowned, then snarled, and snapped his head to all of us, his neck cracking and moving in odd angles. Finally, it rested on Woodrow.

Woodrow smiled and let out a breath. “Took them long enough. We’ve been planning this for a while. Had to escape and charm a few soldiers and a fine fledgling trader. Convinced them to place wool and wax in their ears from being fooled by Knox’s words and illusions.”

Blake slapped him, throwing him across the chapter house where he collided with the door, revealing the chaotic scene outside. Roaring fire and heat swept inside but chilled quickly in Blake’s presence. Woodrow, realizing he was outside, jumped to his feet and called to the soldiers. “Get out!”

“Get him!” The soldiers said. The hostility in their voice told me that they were not our allies. They wanted us to burn along with the monastery.

Abbott Blake roared and turned into his younger stronger self. He turned to smoke and flew outside. The smoke that trailed behind him looked like snakes and bat wings. What I didn’t see was that those tendrils grabbed each of my brothers' waists, including mine, and dragged us outside with him where we rolled to the ground.

The soldiers screamed. “By the Holiest Saints!”

“No!” Blake said, tone cold and distant. “There are no Saints here. Only hunger and blood.”

I felt it again; the pressure, the force. All of my brothers buckled under it. Woodrow and Ealhstan shouted at them to run, but the soldiers only raised their torches and weapons higher. Some of them threw spears at Abbott Blake, but blinked and screamed, pushing each other away when they saw how the weapons went through his body. The flames near him sputtered out. Furious, Abbott Blake looked around at the monastery, and I felt anger coursing through him. I also saw how he was straining beginning to be incorporeal, the smoke turning solid.

Then, Abbott Blake took one last look at me, opened his mouth, and said softly, “So close. But I will not let this monastery fall without the truth. The truth that you’ve been asking for. Brothers, let us show him how we feed.”

All at once, my brothers buckled. Then, slowly, raised their heads, then their bodies, up from the ground, still as water.

Then they attacked the soldiers, their eyes glowing red. Woodrow did not charm them. Knox did not cast illusions. Instead, Swithin hunted them like they were prey and vaulted into the soldier with the lightest armor and pinned him to the ground. He tore his neck and the man’s screams died in his throat full of blood. Ealhstan crushed the one with the heaviest plate armor, probably one he fixed, and smashed his head. Wilbur, knowing where to cut, sliced clean the mid-neck of one terrified soldier and pressed his lips to the spilling blood as if kissing it better.