---CLAUDE---

The next day, Ryne gave me their crops. He was in the middle of the field, grinning, hands and arms full. I blinked at them. Then I blinked at the empty field where he had just harvested them. He was still smiling at me, showing me eagerly the fruits of their labor.

“That is yours! You will need it.” I said, holding out my hands and backing away.

Ryne's smile shortened as he stepped closer. “I took more than half of our yields and put them in our storeroom. It’s all right Claude. We want you to have this.”

It did not feel right to take them from him. They were plump and healthy and big. Brown potatoes. Light-colored parsnips and turnips. “You are too generous,” I whispered. I thought I might be in awe. And then I remembered. The seeds! My hand reached deep within my pockets and handed them to Ryne, telling them what they were. “They’re not healthy seeds, but maybe your Brother Wilbur can bring life to them.” I again admired how fresh their crops looked. “Ryne,” I said to him softly as he pushed their harvest onto my hands. “Thank you.”

Inside my knapsack was warm soup from last night. Just cream with bits of meat. I told him that maybe we could add bits of the crops and make a proper stew. Ryne pointed me to a brass cooking pot in the mile of the granges, sitting over dark logs that looked like they were cut down from the dark forest. I wanted to ask how they managed to kindle those dead logs, but I had now slowly accepted that the world shifted favorably around these curious monks.

I didn’t see Ryne carry stones to spark a fire, but when he bent low to the logs, the flames rose. I poured the soup onto the pot and when it began to boil, tore loose chunks of the crops and added them to the stew. As I did that, Ryne went back to the monastery and brought out two wooden bowls and spoons.

We ate in silence, closing our eyes to the taste. I did not mind that there was not much salt and herbs. To me, our humble meal was like a banquet of the lords. I couldn’t wait for Ma and Annette to taste this back home.

When we were done, Ryne prayed but asked me to stay, saying that he wouldn’t take long today. Closing the church doors, I saw his face grow serious. When he emerged, he brought out a pole and gave it to me.

“Ready to write your name?”

He drew in the soil away from the crops. C. L. A. U. D. E. My name. That was what my name looked like. When he handed the pole to me, signaling that it was my turn to draw, I giggled like Annette. My hand shook with excitement, copying the lines Ryne had drawn on the dirt. My first attempt was clumsy. My second and third were cleaner. This was my name marked in Rothfield soil. I wanted to write it everywhere. In our own soil. In the fields. In our doors. In our fences. In my clothes. In the clouds.

“I want to write yours,” I said, handing him back the pole.

Instead of taking it from me, he guided my hand and wrote his name next to mine. R.Y. N. E. Four letters. I smiled. I drew his name again. And again. I wanted to remember him. I shouted the names of my brothers next. Then everyone I knew. I asked him how to spell his brothers’, then the animals and the days. We etched those that we held dear in their soil.

We hadn't noticed that it got dark until we heard a cough back in the church doors.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Ryne paused and looked at the sky. When I looked behind me, I thought that there were wild animals—wolves and foxes—inside the church. Eyes glowed in the darkness. But it was only Wilbur and Woodrow, their eyes glowing must be a trick of twilight.

“Good evening, young Claude,” Wilbur said quietly. He stepped out of the doors and down to the steps. “How is Annette?” I told him everything that happened since the night they left. He nodded patiently. His reply was short. “That is good. I am glad.” Brother Wilbur paused on his step when he looked down and saw my name.

Woodrow was smiling, looking at the writings on the soil. “Been busy I see.”

I slunk back. They did not look nor sound angry, but I did not want to be at arm’s length of them. Ryne stepped forward and stood between me and his brothers. “I invite him every day. He brings me meals sometimes and he tells me funny stories. I will continue to invite him here.” And then, he looked at me and whispered, “You should go home. Your mother is probably worried about you. Go, before the forest gets any darker.” As I left, he called out to me. “You’re always welcome here, Claude.”

---RYNE---

“When were you planning to tell us he was visiting?” Wilbur asked.

“I just did. In the best way possible. I know how you worry about the little things. I like talking to him, Wilbur.” I did not mean to raise my voice. Wilbur said nothing, only breathed through his nose. I softened. “You met his family. They’re not like the rest. I know to be careful. Besides, we agreed to help change the world. We must do right by the closest thing we have. We must be good to our neighbors.” I placed my hand in the soil again, full of the seeds Claude had just given me. “I like having him around. He tells me stories of a childhood I never had.”

At that, Wilbur felt silent. Only when he noticed that I was shoveling the soil with my bare hands did he ask, “What are you doing?”

“Planting the seeds he gave me. Blessing the ground again.” I memorized the prayer by now. It was not a prayer for fertility like Saint Cerelia. It was more of a prayer of awakening. “Wake,” I said again, just like I did the last time. All I saw was the bright light and felt my strength sapped from me. I buckled, knees hitting the ground. I felt Woodrow and Wilbur’s hands on my arms as they helped me stand. They settled me back down on the steps of the church.

I think the dark forest kept answering my prayer when I wished for him to travel safely. A few ways off the fertile soil where we planted Wilbur’s crops, a new patch of soil was glowing with Gaelmar’s kindflame. I smiled faintly, knowing that the barley and oats and rye would soon grow, along with more turnips, potatoes, and parsnips.

Sleep started pulling my eyelids. I felt heavy. I looked at Wilbur and Woodrow. “The prayers drain me and I’m not sure how to refill it. It may be like your abilities with the blood, but I’m sure feeding won’t replenish me. Whatever the power source is, it isn’t the darkness. Resting and meditating help restore it a little, but not by much. Not enough to bless more of these hallowed grounds.”

Wilbur closed his eyes and turned around. I knew he felt useless in not knowing how to solve this problem. He simply paced up and down the stairs, eyes closed, hands clasped firmly behind his back, allowing his worries to untangle. As I drifted off to sleep, Wilbur’s voice hissed, “He acts as if he can stop the Unending Chaos.”

“Isn’t that the end goal?” Woodrow’s tone was steady. “That whatever we do from here on out will be its undoing?”

“With what? Flimsy crops, a garden of medicinal flowers, and a boy that can bless a small plot of land? And at great cost to him! This will be Ryne’s undoing.”

Gaelmar was known as the flame that guides you on your path, Claude said. Little by little. Not revealing anything.

I mumbled, “You have to trust me, Wilbur. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that what I am going to do will work. And I’m going to start helping Claude. Could you… help me with the crops? Make sure they’re healthy and can yield more?”

Wilbur took a moment before answering. He nodded. "Of course."

I grabbed Woodrow’s arm before surrendering to sleep. The drowsiness was making me talk without much reason. “He doesn’t think that I am a freak, Woodrow. I want him to be my friend. If he wants to be my friend.” I hated how small my voice was. Woodrow was not smiling. Eyes steady, he simply nodded.

My brothers’ forms grew hazy, the reds and browns blurring together, but what remained clear was the firm frown dragging Wilbur’s lips.