---CLAUDE---

The trees here were sturdier and more welcoming than the ones on our side. Strewn around them were sharp brambles. I recognized them. Once I got closer, I smiled. Da said he had cut brambles in his path with his iron sword. It’s nice to uphold tradition. I carefully drew Da’s sword, bent down, and tried to slice the thorns as neatly as I could just to get through the prize; red berries that winked at me through the sharp barrier.

I knew how to search for them; Da and my brothers taught me how. Finally, when I had cut enough to reach my hand in, I saw the line of bushes with sweetberries and scorchberries. The one red with yellow markings and one redder but looking squished. Ma and the baker would make these into pies during birthdays and other festivals. I could already taste them in my mouth. It almost made me forget about the looming structure ahead. I plucked them, placing them in my knapsack with the loaves of rye-oat bread, leaving plenty more in the bushes so they could multiply come another season. I must not be greedy. I turned my attention back to the looming structure framed neatly by the arched trees.

The monastery was unlike anything I’d ever seen and for some wild reason, I wanted to take off my boots and lay my bare feet on the dry grass. The little church in Rothfield could never compare to that. I di not even notice myself walking towards it until I saw the towers and then the broken windows, the dry black fields, and…

There he was. What I thought was a small boulder on the fields rose up to about my height. His cloak billowed gently in the wind. We stared at each other, and the sunlight suddenly hit me and warmed me, dispelling any apprehension I had. I smiled at him and waved.

“Hello!” he called, tone incredulous, voice bright. He ran towards me, his hood forgotten, his dirty blonde hair whipping in the wind. He was pale, and he was veined, and he was all right. He stopped short in front of me looking glad but bewildered, brows furrowed. He looked at me, then behind me, then back to the forest. “How did you—is that a sword?"

“I wanted to check up on you.” I turned away from him so that he did not have to see my protection and instead showed him the bread tucked in my knapsack. I handed it to his waiting outstretched palms. He beamed at me and I was suddenly shy. I looked down and wiped the crumbs and dirt off my hands. He looked so clean. I felt the oil in my hair and the grime sticking to me. I started shuffling back.

“You did not have to, but I am glad that you did,” he said softly, looking fondly at the bread. He pointed to the forest again. “It’s dangerous! How did you manage to get all the way here?” Again, his gaze flickered to the sword in my belt. He motioned to it. “Do you know how to use that?”

“No, it’s just to scare bandits.” I tried to be dismissive, not wanting to scare him off.

“I’m glad that you have means to protect yourself. How’s… everything?”

I told him. I told him about Annette’s health returning and Ma humming back again. He nodded and clapped. I couldn’t help noticing that he was tired. There were even deeper shadows weighing down his eyes.

“And how’s Belle?” He asked.

“That sheep would not stop bleating.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s glad that Annette is well. I sneaked her inside one night when Ma was milking the cow. Where are your brothers?”

“Praying,” he said quickly and then he munched on the bread. Soft steam rose to his nose when he bit into it. He closed his eyes and murmured thanks. He smiled. “We must not disturb them. I just came back from my prayers, too.” Then bashfully, he said, “I prayed for you. For your family to be safe. And… I prayed that we could meet again soon.”

“The Saints work fast.” I beamed at him. “At least in this moment. It’s nice to see you well, Ryne.”

He motioned to the entrance of the church. “Come inside.”

“I’m dirty,” I said as he walked to the entrance of the nave. I bowed my head even though I did not believe in the Saint’s power. Years of tradition have wormed themselves inside my body. I hated going inside churches. Hated how even though I did not understand the sermon—because how could I? It was in almost a dead language only known to the nobles—I knew from the priests’ faces how they think so little of us. But more than that, I did not want to insult Ryne.

“So am I,” Ryne said softly but sat down on the steps of the entrance. He broke the bread in half and offered it to me. I shook my head.

“It’s for you and your brothers. As thanks for helping us out that night. “Annette is begging to get out of Ma’s room. Ma’s begging her to stay. They’re going to be attached to each other for the rest of her days,” I snickered.

Ryne insisted on giving me half of the bread. “My brothers are fasting,” he said, though he did not meet my eyes when he said it.

“I have my own.” I took out the knapsack again and brought out my portion. His eyes twinkled when he saw the sweetberries and scorchberries. I pointed out that they were lying on the path here.

“And we did not even see it,” he exclaimed.

“They hide under, behind, or between brambles. The bramble protects the bushes so they can multiply.”

“Brother Wilbur mentioned those berries. How fortunate that a patch like that is near our monastery.”

“They grow quickly, too.” The shadow of the monastery fell on us. Winds from the mountains swept over the trees and blew in our direction. “Ryne, how did you know there was a monastery here? I didn’t. I’m sure Lord Bahram doesn’t.” I scratched my head. “I’m not sure the rest of the world knows.”

Ryne opened his mouth but no words came out. He was keeping something from me, that was obvious, but I didn’t want to press him. “Our Abbott left us a map that had all the monasteries recorded on it. From our Order, I mean.” He turned to face me. There was a small smile on his face but his eyes were serious. “Claude, please don’t tell anyone we’re here.”

“No, of course not,” I said quickly. I turned to face him too and shook my head to reassure him. Our loaves of bread were temporarily forgotten on our laps.

“We would love to help people. That is our mission. But right now, we need to hide. Not for long, anyway. Maybe after a few days, maybe a month at most, we can finally be of service.” I can tell he was being true. Ma taught me the signs. As he talked, his lips did not curl, his eyes were steady. And I just believed him. He has such kind blue eyes. All of him was grey except for those eyes.

“I’ll not tell a soul. And don’t pressure yourself so much. Kindness and charity are noble. But right now, people may take advantage of you. Help when you’re ready.”

I popped the berries into my mouth and motioned for Ryne to grab some. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, squishing the berries. I closed my eyes to the spicy sweetness. I opened them when Ryne started coughing. I chuckled when he gulped down the berries. He spluttered, swallowing big mouthfuls of air.

“Not used to spice, I take it?”

“No,” he gasped. “But I think I would like to try it some more.”

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“You know, they say scorchberries had magic then. Inflicts burn to enemies, hence the name. They say one of the Saints invented these. But now it’s mostly used to spiced pies.” I showed Ryne how to differentiate them. He seemed interested in the story, though. He asked me to explain. “It’s just a story, but Da says that the Saints had the power to awaken their powers. They said when they cooked food, they could give more than nourishment to their comrades. Once they have eaten, they can temporarily replenish their fighting spirit and can wield swords they couldn’t lift before. It’s as if they were given strength and skill.”

I was waiting for him to dismiss me, but Ryne absorbed that.

“Now you keep a secret of mine from the rest,” I said, testing the waters with him. “Don’t tell any priest you encounter that I still have these stories in my head and heart.” He chuckled and nodded. I continued, “I swear… if Lord Bahram knew, he would have claimed this land for himself. He said that his property extends to the entrance of the mountain.”

“That mountain near us?” He said, jerking his thumb at the side of the monastery. “How many entrances are there?”

I shrugged. “Enough for each neighboring town or castle so that we wouldn’t squabble. Though marriages between two nobles meant two of those entrances would be theirs. Not to mention the leases for mining ores. Each entrance to the mountain has different types of ores. That one,” I said pointing to the mountain, “is Mount Lhottem. Lord Bahram hopes that they would find iron and silver in the entrance near here.”

I tried to remember what Da taught me when he was mining with his pals. “Though the entrances have different ores on the first level, they would more or less have the same ones when you go deeper into the center of the mountains or caves. The same kind of rare ores would be available to everybody. But I guess it’s a race to whoever digs the fastest to the center. Then whoever lord gets to the rich mineral deposits first can sell them to the rest at a steep price, or make their own weapons with it. Topaz swords. Amethyst shields. Garnet gloves. That’s why miners, blacksmiths, silversmiths, goldsmiths, and soldiers are one of the few professions that pay well. Oh, and builders too.”

“Dangerous ones, these professions,” Ryne said quietly. He absentmindedly placed the berries on top of his loaf and smeared them with his thumb. More sweetberries than scorchberries. Part of me wondered if he had made loaves of bread like that before. Maybe they turned berries into jams. He bit into it absentmindedly.

“I will be careful around Lord Bahram and any priests. You be careful, too.”

“I always am.”

We sat still for a while. I popped the last of the berries into my mouth with a large bite of bread and smiled as the juices soaked the loaf, making it easier to chew. My eyes wandered to the rest of the monastery as we ate. It was then I saw the sprouts on his field.

I pointed to it and made a sound. “You’re already planting!” Then I frowned. It was only days. I inspected the soft greens growing on top of the soil. Three different crops. Turnips. Parsnips. Potatoes. “Ryne,” I began slowly, my eyes looking at how green the crops were, “how are your turnips and parsnips and potatoes growing faster and healthier than our barley?”

Ryne, again, took a moment to gather his thoughts. He breathed out and told me. “My brother Wilbur? He knows about plants. He’s our resident botanist on top of being a healer.” He paused, considering if he should add more. “It was his dream to fill the world with flowers and healthy crops before this blight.”

That sounded nice, I thought. “And your brother Woodrow?”

“He… had another life before this.”

“Well, that explains some things,” I said. Ryne looked relieved. He let out a breath. “Brother Woodrow could be part of a traveling circus.” I leaned closer to Ryne and whispered in his ear. “Do you think he may be noble-born or lowborn? He seems to be the type to go gallivanting into unknown lands.”

Ryne laughed. “You know, he may very well be,” but he avoided my eyes, instead focusing on the fields.

“My Da told me a world before you and our time,” I said. “During the Saints’ time. Or even before that. They said it was the norm to travel from town to town, and it was up to you to find wonders everywhere and up to you when and where you settled. I’ve heard from travelers that was why some of the ruins scattered along this land had different cultures and idols. They say that the clergy has to stamp them out and remove all evidence of it. Of course, they were quickly silenced and branded as heretics.”

Ryne’s eyes shone once more. I continued my tale. “Imagine walking around green hills and pastures. Talking to people from far-off places. Trading in skills, in money, in languages. You can be whatever you wish. You can pack all your things in a knapsack, just like I did, and decide who you want to be. Passing towns and villages, hills and lakes. Stop by inns and trade stories for lodging.”

Ryne was smiling at me. “We share the same dream. Whatever you just said was what I was thinking.” He added knowingly, “Is that why you wanted to become a soldier, too? Maybe it isn’t just for the money and survival. Maybe you wanted an adventure.”

Before the borders closed, there was a storyteller who came into the tavern in Rothfied Square. He’d share the stories of long ago where men can make their own path and not be resigned to plowing the fields until their final breath. One can be a soldier or a knight. There were even some who could wield magic. But with the coming of the Saints’ scriptures, all that was prohibited. You can still hear it, just not believe in it. There were plays about it, but they always had to be approved by the local clergyman or woman and always had to include the Saints banishing the paganistic rituals.

“I’m sure the Saints would be fine with stories,” Ryne said finally.

I made a sound. “Now you sound like a blasphemer. Careful, oh, Brother. The priest would have you chained to his study for that, boring you with the scriptures.” I was smiling, but he closed his eyes and seemed to recoil. “What’s wrong?”

He winced. “Nothing. A bad memory.” He shook his head. “But who is a priest to know what the Saints did or did not believe? The documents they left? I’d say half of those are just journals they scribbled mixed with the opinions and documents of their followers. Who knows what they truly believed? I believe one of them accepted almost every soul into his fold.”

“Is it Gaelmar, the Kind Flame?” I pointed behind him to the nave’s altar when he looked surprised. I looked at the statue, curiously. The chapel in Rothfield Square had the statues of the Four Saints, but they were not placed on the altar. They were in the alcoves to the sides. All eyes should be on the priest at the pulpit. “Da said something about him. He said that he guides wandering souls to the right path. He doesn’t reveal the path, but just enough light for the next step.”

“Oh,” Ryne said, mildly surprised. “I didn’t know that about him. I hope that he doesn’t lead us to a dead end.”

“No. I think he knows where we are supposed to be headed.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Do you believe in the old stories? As a monk?”

Ryne did not respond. He looked over the crops growing fast and the golden crops that I told him about earlier. “I haven’t known the old stories. I was really sheltered even for a monk,” he said. Then he grew serious. “But if I did, then I wouldn’t want a priest or nobleman or anyone trying to control what I believe in. I would hold onto my dreams, for they could give me comfort in this harsh world. I know that not all belief is good. But stories like the ones you just told me?” He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and hugged his arms. “Some people need to lighten up. The next thing you’ll tell me is that no more folktale songs.”

“Thanks for the sermon,” I said. “You’ll be a great monk someday. I hope you keep that kindness. The world needs more compassion.” I sucked in a breath. “And you are sheltered a bit. The folk songs are actually being banned. They said it discourages absolute obedience in the faith.”

He groaned. “That’s a shame. Well, you can sing your folk songs here, if you want. Saints know that the air here can use some music. When we are not praying, of course.” Softly, Ryne added, “I thank Gaelmar that he has led your path to mine this day.”

I think I shall offer a prayer of my own to him. It never hurt anybody to be a bit spiritual. “So, you will stay here?” Something in me wanted him to say yes.

“I will. This is our home now. And you’re invited to come and visit me whenever… when I have the time. When you have the time.”

“I’m sure I can carve out some days for you,” I snorted. But Ryne looked serious.

“I would like that. You’re always welcome here.”

His words warmed me. My lips parted. It has been so long since we were not shunned. I beamed at him. I coughed and motioned to the field. “The land seems to take to you. The withered forest… I think that wherever you will go, good things will happen.

“That means a lot, thank you.” He was smiling and was about to say something else. But then his smile faltered like he was struck. He clutched his chest dropped to the ground and heaved. I thought for a wild, terrifying moment that I poisoned him and had already shouted for his brothers inside but he held out a hand to stop me from yelling. I did not realize I was holding him until he gently pried himself off my grip and spoke weakly. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I need to… pray.”

“Do you need medicine? Does Brother Wilbur have something for you?” They had promised me that he did not have a contagious disease, but maybe he had another illness that affected only him. I know of another boy who breathed with difficulty. That neighbor did not survive his fourth year in this world.

“It’s fine, Claude. Really. But I have to go inside now and I have to close the doors. You understand, yes?”

He looked apologetic, but I nodded my head. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” And with a small wave, he disappeared back into the nave, closing the great doors of the church.