B.R. Quinn

Aberforth watched as Evalie walked away, her form disappearing through the grand, vaulted wooden door. He turned toward Priest Sampson, his voice low and pensive. “Do you think she could be sent to the war front?”

Priest Sampson’s brow furrowed as he met Aberforth’s gaze. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Aberforth produced a small, rolled-up parchment from his chest pocket, sealed with the stamp of the Southern Temple of Solara.

“Mother Madrona—Priestess Madrona, as you call her—has made her request. As a gesture of peace, she sent only me to show the Northern Temple that we have no hostile intentions in retrieving the Saintess. Our need is dire, nothing more.”

Priest Sampson glanced between the sealed parchment and the grim set of Aberforth’s features. “You don’t mean to send her to the war front, do you?” he whispered, concern deepening the lines on his face.

Aberforth shook his head. “Nay, but I fear she may already feel the war’s shadow through those who seek refuge at the Temple. I’m not concerned about her physical safety, but does she have the means to guard herself mentally? War weighs on more than just the body.”

Sampson’s expression grew darker. “We’ve taught her many meditations, but she still struggles to get through a day without retreating into herself to purge the emotions she absorbs. She can reach out to others easily, but shutting herself away—that, she has not yet mastered.”

“Aye, that’s what Mother Madrona feared,” Aberforth said quietly. “It’s why she sent me. She thought I might help Evalie learn on the journey south.”

Priest Sampson’s eyes widened in surprise, his voice rising in disbelief. “You can’t be—you’re not Young Abbie, are you?”

Aberforth’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

The priest’s gaze softened as he studied Aberforth’s features, now grown into those of a man—dark hair, a tanned face, and the broad build of a seasoned soldier. Yet, beneath the strength, there lingered a trace of the boy Sampson had known fifteen years ago. Aberforth’s eyes, though outwardly calm, hinted at a deeper turmoil.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Abbie,” Sampson remarked softly.

Aberforth turned away from the door through which Evalie had vanished, his expression hardening once more into a stoic mask. His tone shifted to the formality expected of a soldier in the North, his stance also changing so his feet were shoulders width apart, his fists resting in the small of his back, though one still held the parchment delicately.

“Father Sampson, I come by order of the Southern Temple of Solara. The war is going poorly. These provisions are but a temporary reprieve. We’ve heard of the prosperity in the Northern Territory and the whispers crediting the Saintess with much of it—the fertile fields, the influx of laborers. Can you deny that she has been the cause of these improvements?”

Priest Sampson’s face grew somber. “I cannot deny it. Saintess Evalie has played a crucial role in aiding the Northern Region. But this is not a matter to discuss here in the open. Let me find someone to hold my post, and we can speak more privately.”

As Priest Sampson moved toward the donation table to enlist another priest, Aberforth glanced once again at the door where Evalie had disappeared. Her discomfort around him was apparent. Aberforth frowned, the familiar question returning to his mind—why did people find it so difficult to be around him?

Priest Sampson soon returned with a younger priest. “Priest Garroth has offered to take my place. We’ll speak with the Council of Elders now.”

Aberforth bowed to Priest Garroth as a sign of respect. When he rose, he looked fiercely at Priest Sampson. “I have a formal request to present to the council, but I must also ensure provisions for the Southern Temple this month. Our stock house was ransacked—whether by friend or foe, we do not know. We’ve had to store supplies within the Temple walls for protection, but we are in dire need. I cannot return without full provisions.”

He placed three large, empty sacks on the floor, their weight echoing the burden of his task.

Priest Sampson nodded solemnly. “Even if our discussions take time, we will assist the Southern Temple as best we can. You have my word.”

Aberforth bowed in gratitude. “Thank you, Father Sampson.”

“For now, let us retire to the Chamber of the Council of Elders. I’ve already sent word ahead; they’ll be prepared for us.”

Both men bowed to Priest Garroth before beginning their walk to the council chambers. Once they were out of earshot of Priest Garroth, Priest Sampson spoke under his breath. “Please—observe formality. The elders do not tolerate informal speech lightly. They may look for any reason to dismiss your request, considering how much the Saintess helps the Northern Temple.”

Aberforth nodded in understanding. Mother Madrona had prepared him as such, though when he came to the donation line and saw Evalie again after all these years, he lost his composure. He was lucky that Priest Sampson, originally Father Sampson at the Southern Temple, was the one he had met before he regained his composure.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Father Sampson,” Aberforth said, breaking the silence as they passed through the stone corridors. Then, more quietly, he pressed the priest. “As her guardian, do you believe Evalie is ready for the war front?”

Sampson continued walking as if he hadn’t heard but then replied almost too quietly to hear. “I fear you will not like my answer, young Abbie. But regardless, we must follow the orders we’ve been given.”

Aberforth nodded in understanding. “She didn’t seem to respond well to my presence.”

Priest Sampson sighed deeply. “It’s not that she disliked you, young Aberforth. I think, perhaps, she could not read you. And that perplexed her. She is rarely puzzled by emotions; as an Empath, understanding them comes as naturally as breathing. Yet, around you… something is different.”

“Has she left the Temple much?” Aberforth asked.

Sampson shook his head. “Please hold the rest of your questions for now, lest I tell you something I ought not to. Stick with formality in the Chambers, and I hope we may have the chance to discuss this further. And keep in mind our titles are Priest and Priestess in the Northern Temple, not Father or Mother.”

They continued through the winding hallways, passing meditation rooms and quiet spaces for prayer. Aberforth’s thoughts lingered on Evalie. He wondered which room she was behind, secluded to protect herself from the overwhelming thoughts and emotions of others. Being in such an isolated place must feel rather lonely.

Despite these musings, Aberforth reminded himself of his duty. The Southern Temple had sent him on this mission, and he would not fail. He hoped to convince the elders to release Evalie willingly. But if he could not… he would still bring her to the South. He only hoped his knowledge of Northern customs would suffice, for winning Evalie over herself seemed far more complicated, given her reaction to him today.