Giradin reported to me that on his first day as a saint, he stayed up well into the late night hours, healing and blessing people. As far as he was concerned, he was working on a deadline, and wanted to be sure everyone in Elekvaz had a chance to come before him. Though they saw it as the tremendous kindness and humility of a saint of God, he saw it as pennance for his part in setting part of their city on fire a few days back.

Exhausted as he was, he did not go to bed as his devotees assumed, but rather called Shlomo, Mujahid, and Fulk to meet with him in the church.

Upon entering Giradin's guest quarters in the church, Shlomo turned his lenses to the ceiling and the stained-glass windows. "It's prettier than your room at the inn. Wish I was a saint." He chuckled.

"In my eyes, you will always be a saint," said Giradin, who sat on the edge of his bed.

Fulk gagged and rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Mujahid leaned up against the wall furthest from Giradin. "So, your Holiness, why did you send for us?"

"Please don't call me that," said Giradin. "That's the Pope's title."

Mu shook his head. "When the Pope starts to glow and heal the sick and injured I'll start calling him his Holiness. Until then, you deserve the title more than he does." When Giradin opened his mouth to argue again, Mu waved a dismissive hand. "My question remains, why did you call this meeting? Shouldn't you be resting after all you've been through?"

"I'd love to rest," said Giradin. "But last time I tried to sleep that... creature... the man made of ashes and fire came and did this." He pointed to the burned socket where his eye used to be. "I fear he... or... it may come after me again. Or, worse, that he'll go after someone else and they won't escape with their lives. Mu, you said you've traveled all over the world. Do you know what this monster is and how we can stop it?"

Mu nodded. "I do. Based on your description, it's what we call an aschengeist, or cinder ghost. Cinders are the vengeful spirits of those who've been burned to death. They have only the vaguest memory of who or what hurt them and will attack anything that reminds them of their murderers."

Giradin rubbed his stubbled chin. "So, you think this is the spirit of someone who died in the fire?"

Mu shrugged. "It could be from Elekvaz, yes. Or from any number of other cities the Crows have burned. Or it could be it's not after us at all, but someone else wearing black."

"So, how do we stop it?" Giradin asked. "Fulk smashed it to pieces with his mace. Twice, in fact. And it still came back."

Again, Mu shrugged. "I don't really know. I've heard stories about aschengeists, but none of those stories ever had a happy ending."

Giradin sighed and hung his head. "Well, it recoiled from me. Maybe if we find it again I can banish it."

When Giradin started to stand Shlomo reached out and held his shoulder, making him sit again. "Your one remaining eye has bags enough for ten. I'd say you're far too exhausted to go ghost-hunting right now."

"But what if the aschengeist kills again?" Giradin protested.

"Melcher Fitz is already writing to the local Templar Knights," said Shlomo. "They specialize in killing monsters and banishing evil spirits. They should be here within a day or two. Maybe less, considering all the people declaring you a saint."

"But the ghost could kill again tonight!" Giradin tried to force himself to his feet again, but Shlomo pushed him back down.

Fulk grunted. "Aye, it could kill again tonight. And you could be its victim!"

"I'm not afraid to die," said Giradin, his face full of confidence.

Shlomo and Mu both chuckled. Fulk sneered. "Since when? You've always been afraid as long as I've known you!"

"I'm not afraid anymore," said Giradin. "Now I know for sure, God is with me! He will protect me from death."

"And if he does not?" Fulk asked.

"Then I will see Heaven's gates," said Giradin, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"Damn it, boy!" Fulk beat his fist on the wall. "Think beyond yourself for just a moment! You have some kind of power, and that power allows you to heal people. That's literally all we know for certain right now."

"This power comes from God," Giradin insisted.

"Who cares where it comes from?" Fulk threw both his hands up in the air. "My point is, if you can heal my broken wrists good as new, like you did, then you can probably cure the plague. You may be the only one in all of Christendom... no, all the world, who can do this! You can't go throwing your life away being stupid. If you die, millions may follow!"

Giradin closed his mouth and sunk down onto the edge of his bed again. Shlomo released his shoulder. Giradin sighed. "You're right, Fulk... my life's not something I should be so quick to throw away. I have a purpose now."

"If it makes you feel better," said Mu, "I can go on patrol tonight. I'll take some Holy Water and a silver dagger with me. Maybe one of those will work."

"Don't go alone," Giradin warned, his face expressing a suppressed dread.

"Of course not," said Mu. "I'll see if I can take a militiaman or one of the other doctors with me. Don't worry about me, my holy friend." Mu patted Giradin's knee, then turned and left the room. Fulk followed.

Shlomo gently closed the door, pulled up a stool, and sat close to Giradin's bed. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Giradin's smile faded at the dire tone in Shlomo's voice. "What is it?"

"The Catholic Church is going to send someone to see if you really are a saint." Shlomo wrung his hands. "I hope you understand what this means. If they decide you are not a saint, for any reason, they'll burn you at the stake for witchcraft."

"I thank you for your concern," said Giradin. "But I'm confident God is watching out for me."

"He may be," said Shlomo. "You may very well be a saint, Giradin. I don't know. But, what I do know is this: even if the Church does declare you a saint you won't be safe."

"And why is that?" asked Giradin.

"Most saints were also martyrs, and the Catholic Church uses their remains as magical relics. Think about it."