---CLAUDE---

They disappeared as if the night swallowed them whole.

I was in the fields harvesting the grains that would be sent to Lord Bahram this month. Ma was behind me bundling the stalks. I pressed the grains between my thumbs, wincing as I felt how brittle the husks were.

They were all dry, and none of them would barely pass the inspection from Lord Bahram. All dry, save for the few golden grains that were on the bowl next to me when I woke. I had stared at it. Gold and full. I thought in that one instant the world turned bright, that the world was saved, and the cities had lowered their walls. But once I ran into the fields, the world was still grey, and the monks were gone.

My heart sank. But it soared once more when I heard the soft pitter-patter of Annette's bare feet on the floor upstairs. She was standing on the edge of the bed, trying to walk. She smiled at me when I entered. She sat on the edge of Ma and Da's bed, the color back to her lips and cheeks, like the first thaw of winter. It was not a dream, after all. As I recovered while I worked, I marveled how our family was saved in just one night.

“You’re going the wrong direction, boy,” Ma called. I was going to the rye section of the fields when I should have been harvesting the barley. I retraced my steps, careful where I scythed the base of the stalks. The sounds of scything and bundling did not enter my ears when I dove back into my thoughts. I didn’t hear Ma’s concern under all my frustrations. How did I let myself fall asleep that night? How could I? Did my relief that my sister was saved drain me? But to fall asleep instantly...?

I wanted to see more of them. I wanted to know if Ryne was fine. The world can be so cruel to someone so different. Especially other priests. Hypocrites, the lot of them. Ryne should count himself lucky that he was a monk himself when he was orphaned. He would be offered protection for the rest of his days.

There was something off about the dark forest, too.

I wiped the sweat off my brow and looked at the first line of trees. They were not as secretive of its depths as before. Ma caught me looking.

“You want to go see them. I want to know if they’re safe as well. But it’s too dangerous, Claude. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

I didn’t want to worry Ma just as Annette was starting to get better, so I toiled the fields. I let the pigs roam in their pens, fed them the remaining slop and scraps that we had. I placed the driest hay in the bin for the cows and goats. They have grown thin and weary and can only offer milk every other milking day. I couldn’t bear how sad their eyes looked so I didn’t meet their gaze. The sheep were still fine, though. Belle and her sisters still had grass to feed on and their wool kept Bahram from exploding with fury at us, as if we were the ones solely responsible for this blight. But I suppose it was part of his plan to pin the blame on peasants and workers. He would have an excuse to send us on our way.

At the end of the day, I stared at the wooden bowl where the healthy grains and oats were placed. They shone like coins peeking through a wide-open purse.

The next morning, Annette was still confined in her room, but she groaned that she wanted to play outside. Ma was quick to change from being concerned to gently reprimanding her. But she did it with a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She still didn’t want me to go near Annette, but when I was done with my chores and had rinsed off the dirt, I sneaked into her room and talked to my little sister about the monks who healed her.

She remembered nothing as she stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She did not remember the veined boy with the pale dirty blonde hair and the lanky brown-haired man who clinked whenever he moved. It was in his many satchels that cured her of this sickness. All Annette remembered were awful dreams, and then waking up to a warm, tight, tear-soaked hug.

“You led a blessing into our doorstep that night,” Ma said to me.

A mysterious blessing, I thought. They were so curious. Strange. I scratched my head at how they managed to survive for so long. I convinced myself that if they managed to keep themselves fine through their long journey then that must mean they could handle themselves, but I just wanted to check if they were all fine. Especially the boy who looked both grayer than the clouds but warmer than the fireplace. Pale like his brothers but warmest of them all, and he did not seem to be like the other nobles or learned boys.

___

When dawn broke, I found myself walking towards the edge of the forest that had no name. Withered forest, my brother called it. I called it the dark forest. It had been silent all these years. It kept the sounds of the wind that blew there. It caged all the creatures within. My heart beat in my throat. I was scared to go further. But there were no signs here that they passed through.

“How did you even manage to slip by?” I whispered out loud. Then again, they seemed the type to pass through shadow.

I wondered why I was thinking about him so much. He would probably have forgotten me by now, diving into his books and being trained by monks older than him. I looked at the dirt on my hands. I was born in the dirt the moment I was born, as Vincent Bahram pointed out, every time I had the misfortune of encountering him at the town square. A stain under his boots, he said.

Ryne would be clean and well-fed. He can find a city where he would be welcomed, especially during these days. He would be snug in his position, but I would always remain a farmer. Deep in crops and mud. There would be no changing that, so I turned away. Back to my fields and the cottage. Unless I prove myself as a soldier and by some miracle become a knight. But those chances were wishes upon the gloomy clouds.

I just did not like the image of Ryne growing up and preaching to poor peasants like me and being withdrawn and fixing me with the same look Bahram and our priest do. I didn’t want him to grow greedy and fat in the belly with frail arms demanding for tithes and tributes.

I hoped he was safe.

___

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“Carve me something, Claude,” Annette said. “Anything.”

“It just so happens that I have a log waiting to be carved, little miss,” I said as she giggled. Ma allowed me to sit with her now. It was nice hearing her little giggles again. The farmhouse was not complete without them. They were broken by a thick cough or two, but she was back to her old self.

I grabbed a small log from a pile and began to chip away with the carving knife Da left me. My brothers spent their afternoons carving out figures from small logs when they were younger, but they outgrew it. Chipping away wood until there was shape to it gave me peace when I didn’t know what to do. I carved three images during the time Annette was sick. I showed them to her and she picked the one that looked like a flower, even though it was clumsy work.

I chipped away the wood under the window. Just then, a stray sunbeam fell through and my carving knife glinted. I stopped. Annette and I made sounds of wonder as if we’d never seen the sunlight before. And then, with that light, I carved quickly, determined to finish this before the clouds blocked it once more. When I blew the last of the dust off the shape, the sunlight was still there.

It was of a sparrow with only one wing. I frowned at it. Annette was trying to form the words behind her wide eyes. She settled on, “That looks different. Maybe you should give it to your friend.”

“He’s…” I turned the sparrow in my hand. “You’re right. Don’t tell Ma.”

She smiled and hid under the covers. Ma would not stop me from leaving the farmhouse today. Ma hadn’t touched the golden grains on the table until now. We can’t show it to Lord Bahram, of course. So, she baked it on our fireplace instead, placing it on a pan that hung over the fire, and covering it with a lid. Ma was humming, bent over the fireplace, checking the bread. I smiled. It’s been too long since she hummed. I waited on the table as the living room was filled with the breath of warm, freshly baked bread. I missed the scent of it whenever I passed by the bakery in the town. Months of not having a proper meal made my mouth water. When she was done, I placed a thick napkin on the table, where she placed a big loaf of coarse rye-oat bread, the smoke curling in the air. She gave a quarter of it to me, more than the size of my palm.

She cut another quarter of the thick loaf and placed it on a wooden plate with two knives and forks. She then placed those on the tray with a bowl of the remaining soup she made last night. With a knowing look from me, she turned away and brought it upstairs for Annette.

This was it. This was my chance. I think Ma knew anyway. I cut another small portion from the large bread and stored the two smaller loaves that I had in my knapsack. I rarely used it anymore since my jerkin had pockets inside it. But I was about to embark on an adventure today. I felt giddy with the break of a routine, of going into someone’s place instead of being shunned by your own neighbors. Assuming that the monks were there, of course. If they weren’t, well, at least I’ve put my mind at ease.

Then it hit me. I felt the carving knife in my pocket, and my eyes wandered to the toolshed where I kept the treasure that was given to me by Da before he disappeared. My heart beating loudly in my chest, I walked slowly towards it. The faint sunlight fell through the dirt, all the way past the normal tools to the one bundle I kept hidden in the corner.

I swallowed and crept closer to it. I took off its cover and stared at the old weapon. I reached for it gingerly. I held in my hands the handiwork of my father and his old friend. A rusted blade. He had a dear friend in his childhood before he met Ma. Back in his hometown of builders and blacksmiths. I had forgotten his name, but Da told me once that he could have been a dear uncle to me. Probably would have made me an apprentice, too. Da said his old friend would probably like how restless I was. Restless to carve, to help around the house. It was another life I could have lived. Blacksmithing would be in demand now, I suppose. With all the skirmishes and inner wars.

As soon as I gripped its handle, I was back in the living room years ago, the fireplace crackling. My brothers were there, gathered in a circle, listening to our father in his chair.

“He gave this to me as a parting gift when I wanted to venture out into the world. I did not want to be a blacksmith like my father, your grandfather. I wanted to tend to soft lands and softer sheep.” I was on his lap when he brought out the sword. I was young. My older brothers stared at the weapon, so odd and dangerous than the usual farm tools we used. Ma was patting her belly, her womb already housing Annette. “It was a kind thing he did. He was happy for me, but sad to see me go. I was sad to leave him too. But he was a fine blacksmith, and I knew that he would fare better than I.”

He settled me down on the floor as he showed us more of the sword, careful that the tip of the blade was pointing away from us. He took a stance and gently whacked the air. My brothers and I were awed. My eldest brother smiled. Da said, “My friend taught me how to fight. At least well enough to scare off bandits and thieves.” He looked at me. “Taught your goofy brother over there." He jerked his thumb to our eldest. "I will teach it all to you so you can protect yourselves.”

“How did you make it?” I asked. Da looked like a true soldier, tall and lean. Most of the time, he was bent down in the fields, or sitting, or lying down on the meadows, holding Ma's hand. He always had a smile. Ma says I was the one that was most like him. That was why I tried to smile as best I could, to make her happy when Da was gone.

He whispered as if he would get caught. “We went into the mines in the middle of the night.” That was dangerous, I knew. Not only if they get caught, but when exploring with not much light. “We took enough iron to make this. I designed the handle with both our initials on it, and he made the blade. ‘Now out with you and safe travels. May your pastures be green’ my friend said to me. When we embraced for the last time, I slipped him half of my final wages as a clumsy blacksmith's apprentice and a charm I carved out of chestnut.”

He let me hold the hilt of the sword. “Thank the Saints that I have not used it save for cutting fruits and hacking away brambles on my path. You must remember to treasure it, Claude.”

“I promise,” I said.

Back at the shed, I gripped the hilt tighter. The blade had rust on it, but my face was still clear on its surface. I looked at my face as he looked at it sometimes. I’m sure Da would have loved to visit his friend, but once a peasant sneaks out without the permission of his lord, he is labeled an outcast and could never return.

I tucked the old sword in the space between my belt and pants. When I stood, the pommel hit my chin and the point of the sword tapped my ankles. I hoped I never get to use it. If there were signs of thieves hiding inside the withering forest, then I would try another day. I could not risk losing this treasure.

There was a gap in the trees that wasn’t there before, I was sure of it. I sucked in a breath. For many years, I simply stared at its outline, only accepting it as part of the farm. Now, I was going through it. When we were younger, my brothers dared each other to enter but only circled back on one tree, afraid to go further. When it was my turn to pass through, it felt like spring had turned to autumn. My arm looked like gooseflesh.

I took one last look at our farmhouse, then sucked in a breath and shivered as I passed through hollow bark and twisted trunks. Immediately came a strong feeling of many eyes boring into the back of my skull.

But I was glad for the insects I heard buzzing around unseen. It made me calmer that there was indeed life here. To think that the monks walked this way… I kept my eyes behind each tree I passed, watchful of cruel men who wore long cloaks and red hoods covering their faces. I pushed away the image of a small dagger on Ryne’s chin. I gripped the sword tighter on my waist.

I wasn’t sure where I was going, just that I made one step after another. I looked back at the tracks I made so far so that I knew that I was going through a straight line. I hoped that ahead of me weren’t any chasms or sudden drops or any trick terrain where I could slip. When I had walked long enough, branches of the trees began to grow apart and the gray sky once again greeted me. Progress, I thought. Onward I marched, ducking under low branches and stepping over roots, until I saw a curious path, neat and well-kept as if nature decided to preserve it. When I followed the path toward its end, I stopped and felt the hairs of my arms stand again.

There, on the other side, was what looked like a giant monastery.