“Do you need help?”

The strong voice did not suit the small boy down on the mound. The grass rustled all around us, waiting for our response. We three monks simply stared at him and registered what we just heard. He did not call his friends hiding in the nearby landscape like my mind told me. He simply stood and stared right back. At least, I think he was. His thick, dark hair hid his face like my cloak concealed my veins.

He was holding a wooden staff twice his size. He struck the soft ground with it, causing movement behind him. A sheep peered cautiously between the gaps of his legs.

A shepherd boy. A farmer.

Just then, a soft breeze passed through the branches of the apple tree, knocking a single apple, which thudded close to my feet. The sheep sprung from his position. It moved through the boy’s legs and sniffed the air. I didn’t know quite why I did it, but I picked the fruit, showed the red skin to the curious animal and rolled it downhill, where that it rested snugly on its feet. The sheep turned it upright, and, satisfied, bit hard into its core. The sound was delicious in the air. I almost tasted its juice.

“That would be your supper,” he told the sheep.

He patted the soft wool. I can sense that his eyes were still on us. We were taking too long to respond. He gently pointed the staff where Woodrow was resting against the trunk. “Your brother looks hurt. Is he all right?”

Wilbur moved to block Woodrow. “We are all right, young one. Thank you.”

The boy nodded. He motioned to move away, but his whole head was now fixed on us. We must be a strange sight. From behind those dark locks must be eyes that darted quickly, confused as to why two grown monks appeared out of nowhere with their young acolyte.

He gripped the staff firmly. “Pardon me, monks, but I cannot leave you unattended now that I’ve seen you. That tree is part of this farmland, you see.”

We realized what that meant. “We’ll be on our way, then.” They were already dusting themselves off. Woodrow covered his face. He wouldn’t want to confuse the boy any further.

Something clinked. A few of Wilbur’s bottles must have rolled along the slope, and now littered the grass. The sheep was perilously close to shattering one.

I jumped to action, rushed towards them before Wilbur could stop me, before any of his bottles might explode right under their feet. The sheep was about to lick one when I snatched it away just in time. The boy firmly struck the ground with his staff, scolding the sheep. It scurried once again behind him, protesting. Our faces went up and regarded each other just as the wind picked up; a powerful gust that lifted the dark locks covering his eyes.

His eyes were as dark as his hair, like the color of rich earth. Long lashes framed them and upwards still were brows thick enough to hide secrets. I found myself unable to look away until those eyes widened in surprise. I saw his lips part. I felt my own hair free in the breeze; the one that blew away my cowl.

The boy saw my veined face.

“Erin,” Wilbur caught my shoulder. Woodrow was there beside me too, collecting all the bottles from the ground and dropping them inside Wilbur’s bag. Once he was done, he joined Wilbur at my side.

The boy held his gaze. He composed himself; closed the parted lips, turned around, and ran to retrieve the cowl lying pathetically on the ground some distance away.

He looked at me as if he saw something unusual. Well, of course he did. His reaction was to be expected. Still, I felt light-headed.

In all my years of protecting my identity, I never thought that a stray wind would reveal our well-kept secret in front of the first villager we met on the road. Nothing has gone right since we set foot on that rocky hillside. Wilbur’s hand shook. I can feel them look at each other, then at the boy.

I was thankful that he had the good sense to move away. Part of me thought that he must have gathered his thoughts. I was gathering mine as well. Woodrow must be debating with Wilbur if he should use his powers now. Except that the boy looked too young to be charmed or compelled. He had seen my face. My face. My hands flew to my cheeks when he returned. I closed my eyes. “It’s not a sickness. You are fine, you won’t ever catch it.” I repeated the lines that I hoped would reassure him.

“You’re hurt too,” he said, looking at the faded bite mark on my wrist. “What happened to you? Did a stray dog bite you?”

We both touched it at the same time, our fingers colliding. Sudden warmth rose to my neck, followed by a strange fluttering in my stomach. “Oh,” I said. I tucked my hand into my pockets. “It is nothing.”

I heard Woodrow huff behind me. He was carefully observing his thumbs when I glanced back at him.

“My name is Claude.” The boy said, handing me back my cowl.

I immediately wore it and tied the string to the rest of my robes so that it wouldn’t fly off. His eyes were downcast, but as I fixed the knots, I saw them dart towards me. His mind must definitely be racing now. For a fraction of a moment, he was surprised, but he kept it from growing into terror, which is much more than I can say for most grown men and women. I realized then that his gestures afterward were not unlike my own. He was trying to be polite. It was a strange feeling when that treatment came from someone my age and from someone looking like him and ashamed that I am to think it, someone of his status.

As I secured the last knot, I thought, would he have been kinder even if I wasn’t a disguised monk? Would he treat me the same if I were nothing but a common peasant?

He placed his hand on his chest. “I won’t do you any harm.” How odd and how comforting that he said it. “May I say the same thing for you three? You won’t hurt me?” Those long lashes swept us all.

I saw again the broken bones, the shredded skin, the torn limbs, and the blood. How can I be certain that I will not cause him harm? Woe to those that touched me, for they are then marked. I struggled to look at him, especially when his eyes bore into mine. If he can look at me straight in my strange, weird face, I must return the same gesture. If my eyes had voice in them, I would tell him to run away and never return, not until the storm has cleared.

It was Wilbur who spoke, almost like an oath. “We are but traveling monks, off to find their next home. We will leave these premises without taking anything.” I thought to myself: and without harming anyone.

Something shifted in Claude’s eyes. “Where is your next home?” he asked.

“We have heard that there was a monastery nearby.” Wilbur’s tone was careful. “Might you point us where it stands?”

“The monastery?” Claude did not even hide his surprise. “Pardon me, but isn’t it a strange time for a pilgrimage? I thought all the monks had left for the walled cities. Priests and nuns, too.”

“The walled cities,” I repeated.

He nodded. “My father says that they are all being called back from their monasteries and convents and brought to all the important nobles’ protected estates. That’s what the rumors say, anyway.”

“Why would they call back monks and nuns from their abbeys when people need them right now?”

I had thought that when a village died, monasteries emptied with them. I thought that all monks had a sacred calling to heal and protect every last person until the very end, and leave only to heal and protect others elsewhere. I thought it applied to the rest of the religious orders, whether they be ordinary or gifted. The memories came up again, like fish on the surface of a pond, like their scales glinting in the sun. I do not see their faces anymore, but I was certain that when we left our people, their faces were ripe with glee. They pressed their faces to Wilbur and they kissed Woodrow’s hands. And then we do it all over again.

Claude shrugged. “I thought you of all people should know. Rumors say darker times are ahead. The end is nigh, and all that. That’s why people are getting reckless. Some of the good ones, too.” He stabbed the soil with his staff, and twisted it around so he made a small deep hole. His head then motioned vaguely around him. “Some are even abandoning their lords or staging rebellions and skirmishes. We are lucky that we are still standing.”

“These skirmishes, where do these happen?” Wilbur asked.

“I reckon as far back there beyond that hillside.” He looked at our cloaks. “Where did you say you monks came from?”

“You’re an inquisitive young mind,” Woodrow said. I thought he was irked, but I can see he was smiling. “We were attacked near the forest trail back, by a terrible beast.”

He looked again at our clothes and noticed how dirty it was, how mud-stained. Thankfully, that might prove the story. “Now we have beastly animals to worry about? The once-hunted now becomes prey. I’d better report that to our elder.” He shook his head. “It’s good that you came out alive.”

Claude pointed his staff towards the smoke. “That is your destination. This farm of ours connects to that monastery.” Claude suddenly furrowed his brows. He wore a curious expression as if just realizing where the path lay.

“Is it far?” Wilbur asked.

“It’s… not supposed to be.” His voice came as if he’d forgotten the pathway all these years and had just now remembered its many markers. “We could very well be neighbors if it wasn’t for the winding path, and… the trees that seemed to block you from progressing forward. It’s a strange place, monk. I got lost one time when I wandered the thick forest there, you see, and the trees seem to move when you aren’t looking. Heck, they seemed to swell as if they were breathing. We are near the cold mountains, but they aren’t so close that icy boulder would appear on the forest floor.”

The mountains that stories say formed from a frost giant's spine. Its ridge was always covered in ice and snow all year long. Wilbur said it was freezing even before our dark awakening. There it was in the distance, looming at us all. It served a purpose; to keep the monsters at bay. Yet now, people say that it was the first to be claimed by the greater threats, its defenses weakened, allowing the miasma to enter and pollute the land. Masquerading as monks, I now thought, bitterly.

“If you really plan on settling there, we are to become neighbors. It’s just that,” he sounded distant, still. He scratched his head. “It has been abandoned since before I was born and no one has ever stepped foot in it. Not even the lord that governs these lands.” He pointed to the vast field around him. “And now suddenly three monks appear on the road and wish to inhabit it.”

“What is so strange about that? There have been stranger things happening recently,” I said.

“I don’t usually believe these kinds of things, but people say it is cursed.”

Perfect for our home, then. It would suit us just fine, I thought. The sheep bleated its discomfort and Claude soothed it. He chuckled nervously. “Can you not find another decrepit monastery?”

Wilbur was growing impatient with him. “You’ve been there before. Aside from the strangeness, is it so cursed?”

“I’ve been there only once and I care not to return, but I remember enough to tell you now that there is no life there.” He looked up at Wilbur, staring right at his face. “I’m only worried for…” his voice trailed off and he looked at me. When I caught his eye, he looked away.

Ah. He was concerned for me because he thought I would be the first one to perish. I did not mind. I felt his compassion. When he did return his gaze to me, he saw only my smile. Relieved, he proceeded with his tale.

“I wouldn’t believe in curses, especially set in monasteries and churches of all places, if I hadn’t gotten lost in those woods. I do not, for the life of me, know how I managed to see that place and go back home in one piece when no one else did.” Claude twisted the staff again, making a deeper hole. “It was so unlike the other monasteries I’ve seen before. I haven’t seen much, but I do know that they don’t look like that. Nothing waits for you there. It is barren. No plants grow in the fields. No fish swim in the water. He locked eyes with me. “It isn’t a place you’d call home.”

We did not budge, only looked at him. With his staff, he could be a guardian of many gateways. My small voice pleaded. “Please. We have nowhere else to go.”

Claude studied me. He sighed. “I will take you there tomorrow. Just the entrance. You can make your way through those trees with your brothers. Safely, I hope. And I hope they make way for you three. You seem too eager to get there.”

We didn’t need him to lead us there, of course. But we knew that if we didn’t follow him, he would tell the rest of his neighbors. He would lay the news at the breakfast table along with some pears, apples, oats, and eggs. His family would swallow the story of the strange dark monks he encountered on their apple tree hill, and his family would pass it on to their neighbors and their own friends. The news would swell and rile up the superstitious villagers and soon we would be hunted down.

I thought of that out of fear, yet, looking at those dark brown eyes, I saw in them Wilbur’s warmth. The hue of their irises may be different, but the warmth was the same. I felt it. He wasn’t malevolent. From the moment he saw us, he wanted to help. He was curious. He talked to us, and sought to understand. He was guarded, yes, but he wasn’t fearful. He picked up my cowl and chose not to react wildly. Whenever he looked at me, his gaze was steady.

“That is very kind of you, Claude,” I said. He nodded to me. He smiled. I realized I haven’t given him my name yet. I took a deep breath. “My name is, Erin.”

“Erin,” he repeated, smiling at my name. “Erin, your brothers look like they are about to whisk you away from me and start your journey towards this abandoned monastery.” He chuckled and looked at Woodrow. “Your wrist is bleeding and you all look pale. We don’t have much to offer, but we can help you on your way. Let’s go back to our cottage.”

The last people who offered hospitality to us were dead on the ground. I wanted to shake my head and thank him, but his eyes held mine.

“I won’t let any wild boar or bear maul you to death. That will be on my conscience for the rest of my days, no matter how short it may be.” I widened my eyes at that. He was too young to think about death, even though it hung around us all. Especially now. Oh, heavens above, Blake.

“What’s one more night? Besides, what kind of a good farm boy does not offer three good monks a place to rest?” Claude opened his hands and gestured to the fields around us, into the village behind him still far away to see.

It would be too late for him now, I thought. Now that his scent mixed with ours, Swithin will attack him. If not him, then Blake for certain will.

I will not let that happen.

I smiled and nodded to Claude. “This little monk thanks you for your kindness. Lead the way, neighbor.”

I found myself with a new resolve. I found myself with a desire so strong that I turned around to meet Wilbur and Woodrow’s eyes and whisper, “We have to protect them. I don’t know how, but we shouldn’t leave them in this cottage, not with that storm. You know as well as I that it will tear them apart.” They nodded.

“This way, quick, before the light completely leaves the sky,” Claude said. We moved, us three monks with our dirty robes following the young farm boy and his fluffy sheep. Claude turned to me and slowed his pace so that we walked side by side, our arms almost brushing against each other. I noticed we were about the same height. He arranged his dark curls and smiled. “Welcome to Rothfield.”