—INFIRMARY—
The heavy scent of iron filled the air as we prepared to harvest blood after Saintsday mass. Ealhstan held a glass vial filled with dark red liquid, the blood of the villagers, and his brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Are you sure you want to watch us… drink this?” he asked, glancing between me and the vial.
“I’m used to it, brother. Go ahead and nourish yourself,” I replied, making a dismissive gesture with my hand, though I felt a knot twist in my stomach.
Ealhstan shrugged, lifting the vial to his lips, and with a swift tilt, he poured the contents into his mouth. Wilbur and Woodrow joined him. Ealhstan’s shoulders relaxed as he swallowed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a smile breaking across his face as if a weight had been lifted. But then the guilt settled in, casting a shadow over his expression.
I patted his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. “We have to rely on them for that,” I reminded him, my voice steady.
Ealhstan glanced down at the empty vial, a flicker of unease in his gaze. “So, what we’re doing… is trying to protect them while Gaelmar shows you how to defeat this Unending Chaos?”
I nodded, the gravity of our mission hanging in the air. “Yes. I think he reveals the visions to me gradually, and all I know is that it corresponds with returning this monastery to its former glory.”
Ealhstan pondered for a moment, then shrugged. “Well then, you know best how to put my talents to good use.”
—GRANGES—
The communal fire at the granges flickered brightly, laughter echoing from the village of Kent. I could see villagers gathered around, their faces glowing in the firelight, their spirits lifted as they shared stories. Maybe Woodrow will join them later.
Ealhstan approached me quietly, settling down beside me. I missed how small and comfortable he made me feel. “Feeling overwhelmed?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. “You carry a heavy burden, my brother. To have so many lives depend on you, when just this winter you were but Wilbur’s ordinary apprentice. Well, ordinary save for your unaging nature.”
I turned to him, brow furrowed in worry. “I’m hopeful that we can do this, but doubt lingers like a specter, refusing to move away.”
He studied me, understanding flowing from his gaze. “What I know is that you have shown these people kindness and strength. They see you as a protector. And that you’ve always given your best to heal them and this land. It’s natural to feel doubt, but always remember, we are here to offer our support.”
A smile broke across my lips, feeling lightness swell within me. “That is true. With you here, I feel stronger already.”
Ealhstan’s smile deepened. “And there is also that friend of yours. You have Claude by your side, and he seems like a good lad. Wilbur and Woodrow both mentioned he is steadfast and loyal. But beyond their words, I can see how he treats you. I am grateful you have such a friend.”
His words ignited warmth within me, a flicker of something deeper, something I wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge. “You think so?” I asked, searching Ealhstan’s face for confirmation, a small hope flickering in my chest.
“Indeed,” Ealhstan replied, his tone reassuring. “His faith in you reflects the faith others have as well. Cherish those bonds, Ryne. They will sustain you when the weight feels too great to bear.”
I took a deep breath, allowing the storm within me to settle. “Thank you, Ealhstan. I have missed your words.”
He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie that filled me with comfort. “Lean on me when you need to. Together, we will see Rothfield flourish.”
—GRANGES (EALHSTAN'S POV)—
Ealhstan stood, surveying the untouched expanse before him. He had long dreamed of a place where he could harness his skills in blacksmithing and crafting; a place where he could meld metal. Forging tools and weapons to aid in the protection of the land. It is what Ryne needed, he thought.
With a determined glint in his eye, Ealhstan knelt to the ground, his fingers brushing against the earth. He envisioned the workshop taking shape, its sturdy beams rising to the sky.
He set to work, using his strength to uproot fallen trees from the dark forest. The dead, gnarled trunks yielded effortlessly to his grip, uprooted as if they were mere saplings. Ealhstan dragged the massive logs to the chosen site, arranging them in a wide circle to form the framework of his workshop.
With each tree he felled, Ealhstan methodically stripped away the bark, revealing the rich, warm wood underneath. He crafted the logs into long beams for the walls, using a sharpened stone to smooth the surfaces. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he stacked the beams, raising the structure with speed and efficiency. The people stared. He waved at them.
The air buzzed with excitement as he worked, the sounds of murmurs blending with the rhythmic thud of wood striking against wood. Ealhstan secured the beams with thick vines, weaving them tightly to hold the structure firm against the wind.
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The walls took shape. Now, the roof. He fashioned a slanted design, allowing rain to run off easily. Using his strength, he hoisted large, flat stones he collected from the swamp, placing them atop the framework as shingles. The sound of stone striking stone echoed through the clearing.
Once the walls were complete, Ealhstan built a sturdy door from one of the sturdier trees, reinforcing it with iron straps. He pounded iron nails into the wood with ease, hoping it would last a couple of storms. After crafting a simple latch from wrought iron, he stood back, admiring his handiwork.
Nights went by. He was sent on missions that dealt with pesky direwolves. Harlan and the other men cheeren as he made quick work of them. Several night, he joined them during supper. Harlan clapped him on the back, admiring his work.
“A true workshop. Right here in a monastery,” he whispered.
Then Agate came, frowning slightly. “Why is it that I have never seen you monks eat, save for Brother Ryne? Surely you would have an appetite doing all that work in so short amount of time?”
Ryne and Ealhstan locked eyes. They said nothing.
___
Inside the workshop, Ealhstan fashioned a forge from local clay and stones, shaping them into a hollow rectangle that would hold the fire. He used his strength to gather chunks of coal and iron ore from the earth, filling the forge with the materials needed to fuel his craft. A sturdy bellows, made from leather he had tanned himself, sat beside the forge, ready to breathe life into the flames.
Next, he constructed a workbench from the remains of the logs he had cut. Ealhstan meticulously joined the pieces, ensuring the surface was wide and flat, perfect for laying out tools and materials. He carved grooves into the wood for holding tools and an area for quenching hot metal, using a bucket of water he had filled from the nearby stream.
The final touches included shelves built into the walls, where he could store herbs, tools, and other supplies. He created hooks for hanging weapons and tools, ensuring everything had its place within the organized chaos of creation.
As night came, Ealhstan stepped back and surveyed his workshop. The smell of wood and earth lingered in the air. This would be more than just a workshop; it would be a sanctuary for his craft, a haven where he could hone his skills and create with purpose. For centuries, Knox and Blake banned him fro pursuing his interests. Now he will work and give his service to the people here.
With a smile tugging at his lips, Ealhstan turned to the forge, stoked the fire, and watched as the flames danced higher, eager to embrace the metal he would soon shape into something extraordinary.
—GRANGES (RYNE'S POV)—
The crops steadily grew in the monastery grounds, vibrant and lush. So too flourished the flowers in Wilbur’s garth, a riot of colors brightening what was once a barren wasteland. Now, rows of young shoots stood defiant, their roots plunging into dark, rich soil, the power coursing through it evident in every verdant blade. I could see Wilbur’s influence in the bright colors and curious shapes sprouting in tidy beds, a testament to his care and expertise.
Ealhstan’s strength reshaped this land, as he felled trees twisted and gnarled with his bare hands, plucking their roots from the earth as if they were nothing but weeds. He wielded his power with a relentless, patient force, shifting the very fabric of the terrain. Just beyond, a swamp emerged, a surprise to us all, as Ealhstan continued chopping wood to build decent homes for the villagers of Kent. Wilbur and Ealhstan’s efforts transformed foul waters into irrigation channels, a lifeline for our growing crops.
Ealhstan's strong hands moved with purpose as he prepared to forge new alchemical tools for Wilbur. With each powerful stroke, he shaped raw materials into the instruments of science.
A sturdy anvil lay at the center of a makeshift workshop. Ealhstan's breath came in steady puffs as he wielded a heavy hammer from the toolshed, striking a piece of copper with precise, calculated force. The metal sang under the blows, transforming from a rough ingot into a smooth sheet. He measured carefully, recalling the designs Wilbur had sketched; alembics for distillation, crucibles for heating.
With a flourish, Ealhstan heated the copper sheet over a roaring forge, the flames licking up around it, illuminating the glint of his muscles as they flexed with each movement. He watched the metal glow, his eyes keen, feeling the heat as he transferred it to a simple stone mold shaped for the alembic’s body.
The real challenge lay ahead. Ealhstan poured the molten copper into the mold, feeling the weight of the metal shift as he expertly controlled the flow. After a moment, he placed the top of the alembic—a finely crafted cap with a long neck—over the body, forging it together with expert precision.
Once the alembic was complete, Ealhstan turned to the crucibles. He carefully shaped a heavier alloy of iron for durability. The process was the same, but he found joy in the meticulousness required. Ealhstan folded the iron into layers, hammering them flat and stretching the material, crafting several crucibles that would withstand the rigors of heat and experimentation. The ringing of the hammer against metal echoed through the clearing, harmonizing with the songs of birds flitting about, oblivious to the creation of tools meant for magic.
As the last crucible took form, he set the tools aside, and a satisfied smile creased his lips.
“Wilbur!” he called, his voice booming through the trees. “Come and see what I have made for you!”
Wilbur emerged from his infirmary. His eyes widened at the sight of the tools laid out before him. The alembic shone, while the crucibles looked sturdy. “Ealhstan, these are incredible!” he exclaimed, his fingers hovering over the polished surfaces as if afraid to touch them. “I’ve never seen such craftsmanship. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Ealhstan chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. “They are yours now. Use them well.”
Wilbur wasted no time. He gathered the alembic and crucibles, his excitement bubbling over as he hurried back to the lab. Ealhstan followed, a proud smile on his face as he watched Wilbur set everything up.
“Let’s see how quickly we can get this new batch started!” Wilbur declared, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. He waited for me to light a small fire beneath the crucibles, the flames licking up hungrily as they caught. Carefully, he measured out the herbs and minerals they had gathered: dried orpine, crystalized sap, and a few shards of fire opals.
With practiced hands, he poured the ingredients into the first crucible, watching as they began to melt and blend together. He placed the alembic atop a wooden stand, filling the lower chamber with water to create steam for distillation.
“This will speed up our experiments!” Wilbur exclaimed, his heart racing. “I can make more in a shorter amount of time!” He turned to us. “Do you know what this means? With Ealhstan here making quick work of the beasts, we can collect more ores, and then I can make more vitamins, medicines, and supplements! I can even have more to stock!”
Ealhstan watched as Wilbur’s fingers flew over the apparatus, excitement propelling him forward. With each new process, the air around them thickened with the heady scents of alchemy.
The alembic began to gurgle softly as the steam rose, a clear liquid condensing in the lower chamber. Ealhstan grinned at Wilbur’s delight, feeling a swell of pride.