Ethel (working)

 

Chapter 1

"Brother Tomasz," he heard from behind the door, "Brother Tomasz.

" "Yes?" "Brother, why aren't you leaving yet? It's already noon." Brother Tomasz sat on his bunk. He rubbed his face with his right hand.

"Come in, brother." A short old man in a monastic habit entered the modest cell. The clothes gave the impression of having been worn for centuries.

"What's wrong, brother?" I was worried when I noticed you were gone.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel well," he said in a choked voice, pain evident on his face.

"Are you sick, brother?"

"No, I'm not. You see, brother, it seems to me that my time is coming.

" "Do you want to confess?"

"Thank you. However, I think I'll still be in time for High Mass." Brother Tomasz smiled a little crookedly at his companion.

"If... I mean, if..." he paused for a moment, "I wanted to say that you can always count on me, brother." You can count on all of us.

"Thank you. Right now," he said, settling into his bed, "all I need is a little peace." The last words were almost a whisper. Brother Marek left, carefully closing the door, and headed toward the chapel. As soon as the footsteps in the corridor faded, the monk opened his eyes. He listened for a moment longer, then quickly rose from his bunk and knelt by the door, pressing his ear to it. For a moment, he froze. After making sure no one was in the corridor, he went to the chest that served as his wardrobe and took out his keys and a package wrapped in rags. He opened the door a crack and peered cautiously into the corridor. He put on his hood and strode purposefully out of the cell. He passed several cells similar to his own, stopped at the double doors, listening for a moment. A child's voice could be heard from within.

"Oh no! What are you doing? How dare you attack me, you bandit? Don't you know who I am?" I am a powerful priest. I have power, the abbot said. And you have it! And again!

Brother Thomas entered just as the boy was attacking the wall with his stick. But he had already taken a step towards him when the boy began to explain.

"I'm sorry, Brother Thomas, I just... I didn't mean it..." Brother Thomas's face turned stern.

"Now is not the time for fooling around! What are you thinking? We've been preparing for this for so long! Do you think this is a game?" The boy, dropping the stick limply to the ground, seemed to shrink under the old man's scolding whisper. "Another game?! No! This isn't a game. And even though we've worked so hard, you're not ready for this yet!

" "...stem, brother," he whispered to the floor

, "what did you say?

" "...stem

—what are you whispering, kid?" The boy slowly raised his head. He looked at the old man with tear-filled eyes. Seeing his face, Thomas trembled; there was so much determination and will to fight in it. Only those tears gave him away.

"I'm ready," the boy said firmly, still staring at the priest.

"You should be. Do you remember everything?" The boy only nodded

. "Focus. And steady your breathing... now you better run, there's no time to waste!" The hour struck. The boy ran from the chamber at such a speed that he almost bounced off the opposite wall and ran down the corridor without a break. He ran as fast as he could, past every door in the corridor, into the last one, leading to the inner balcony that surrounded the entire courtyard. He ran to the edge and slid down a pole to the ground. He ran to the gate and jumped into a barrel standing nearby. Tomasz watched the child's final actions from the top of the walls, then turned, stood on tiptoe, and peeked between the battlements on the rampart. For a moment, he stared into the void, as if searching for something, until he finally caught sight of movement in the wall of trees. He turned and ran along the walls to the other side of the monastery. Just as he climbed the tower above the gate, where the boy was hiding, he heard the crunch of metal. Terrified, he leaned out the window and saw a shadow struggling with the gate below. He quickly ran downstairs, waited for the attackers to open the gate and enter the courtyard, then slowly, never taking his eyes off them, entered the center and faced them. Seeing the old man, the three figures who had slipped inside seemed surprised, frozen in place, and none of them even moved.

"What are you looking for here?" the old man asked. "Do you know what the penalty for such a blatant break-in is?" They were standing almost at the gate, and only a hundred meters of the courtyard separated them from the old man. They stood in full sunlight, yet they seemed shrouded in shadow. They began to slowly move toward the old man, who never took his eyes off them. They approached closer. They walked confidently now, striking even more terror into Tomasz's heart because, instead of dissipating, the shadow seemed to thicken and spread around them. Behind them, the old man saw a boy slowly emerging from the barrel. The child stepped out and looked at the shadows, and they froze. Terror flashed in the old man's eyes; he seemed to hesitate for a moment, then ran.

"Gate, you fool!" he shouted, running toward the main gate. The boy, snapping out of his stupor, leaped toward the exit. A moment later, he was outside, stopped, and glanced through the gate into the courtyard. Just as the boy started to move, the old man realized the main gate was ajar. He leaped forward in a half-turn, falling on his back, shouting a spell. Dozens of sparkling rays shot from his outstretched hands. In the blink of an eye, they reached their target, intertwining like vines. Unfortunately, they shattered, hitting one of the figures, who was only stopped in his tracks by the shockwave. When the old man fell on his back, he didn't even have a moment to get up, as more shadows immediately leaped from behind the toolshed behind him, wielding blades. The boy watched the scene, transfixed, when suddenly the gaze of one shadow fell on him. He turned and ran as fast as he could to the spot where the horse had been hidden the day before. He barely clambered onto his overweight steed and spurred it into a gallop. He was barely holding on to his saddle when, looking back, he spotted a figure seemingly gliding right behind him, silently raising only the blade of a crooked dagger. Frightened by the apparition, he couldn't hold on to the saddle any longer, falling onto the grass and losing consciousness. ...Darkness...Silence...Suddenly he found himself in a clearing, the wind playing in his ears, completely alone. He felt something was wrong, too quiet, too still... and that constant wind...played its hiss in his ears, louder and louder... He woke up, lying head down against a tree. Oh God, it was just a dream. But the hissing continued, even intensifying. He sat up. Oh no. O slowly turned his head and saw the shadow that had been chasing him standing not far behind him. He stood there with a dagger in his hand, the boy just waiting for the blow.