Around the infirmary stood a camp. Most tents appeared to be living spaces for the monks, but there were a few laymen, too. There was little activity besides normal monastery activities, such as copying what remained of records and performing the twenty-one days of prayers and songs to mourn the dead. Most of the cleanup from the battle had been completed days ago, all the dead bodies burned or buried, so there was, thankfully, no carnage to see. The temptation to wander the camp after so long in bed pulled at Eibhlin, but then she saw one of the nurses sitting by a cooking fire, and she hurried away in the direction of the monastery itself.
The garden and well were destroyed, and the building was in shambles. Although most of the stone still stood, gaping holes were clear for all to see. One wall, where the goblins had charged through, was broken down to the ground. Almost none of the windows remained, and the roof and any other wood were charred from the fire. The stones were an empty shell, before which sat the ruins of the Tensilkir tree, the sentinel from the Witch of Hours.
Inside, the building looked much as Eibhlin assumed it would: burnt and black, with holes in the second-floor landing and rubble all over. Still, it was a change of scenery, so Eibhlin began exploring the place. She found the doorway to the cellars, the least destroyed section of the whole place, though already emptied by the townspeople and religious. An intact flight of stone stairs brought her to the second floor, and then to what likely had once been the attic, though which now just held empty space. She found the hall where she had eaten her last meal before en-tering the Fae. Eventually, she found what had once been the chapel. Broken stained glass windows lined the walls, and piles of blackened wood that had once been pews or benches did the same on the floor. Nothing stirred the air.
Eibhlin walked up to the steps leading to what had once been the altar and sat down facing the room. Smatterings of sunlight struck the remains of windows, casting shards of color onto the floor beside the golden glow. The air was quiet and smelled of ash, but lingering scents of incense also floated in the air.
Staring at the strong colors on the floor that resembled the shades of dusk, Eibhlin’s mind turned to memories. Something about this place reminded her of the elves. It was faint, as though someone had tried to scrub it out, but it was there. It also brought to mind Vi’s bell tower. No, it did not have the same fear element that quickened her soul, but it was like two notes separated by an octave, the same note just a different pitch. They somehow felt the same even if the one was cold and high and the other low and warm.
Though Eibhlin was unaware of it, she passed almost an hour in that chapel meditating on the atmosphere. She also had not noticed the time. Her own home was too far south to know that summer sunsets come late in the Northlands and to realize that, what she had thought was lunch was, in fact, dinner, a mistake nurtured by her medically-induced sleep. She did not realize how late the day really was, so she did not notice the moon’s ascent until the symptoms came.
They started as just a slight chill. Then her head began to pulse with dull pain. She thought it strange, but she remained unalarmed, reasoning it was probably just a need for food and water. Deciding to ask for a more substantive meal than soup and tonic, she stood and immediately rocked on her feet as a dizzy spell overcame her. She managed to find her physical balance, but fear now shifted the scales in her mind. While she walked, the dizziness did not return, but the pulsing in her head reminded her to step with caution.
She emerged from the ruins to see the scant camp in a bustle. Another bout of vertigo struck her senses, and she had to hold onto what had once been the front threshold to keep upright. When the spell passed, she continued on toward the busy camp, her ears ringing in confusion and panic bubbling up and making her nauseated. Halfway across the distance, one of the townswomen spotted Eibhlin and gave a cry. The woman ran over, shouting something Eibhlin couldn’t understand, but when the woman noticed the girl’s unsteady feet, her expression transformed into worry, and she rushed to support her. By now, the headache pounded in her brain, and the sickness had Eibhlin slouching so that her hair brushed her cheeks and fell in her eyes.
White. Pure white.
Without complaint, Eibhlin allowed herself to be guided back to bed, accepted the offered cup, and let the medicine send her to sleep. She awoke with the headache gone and her hair back to slate-gray. Beside her bed sat Callum, Melaioni sitting upon his lap. The monk gave Eibhlin the same sad smile as when he had brought her to the camp. Where once had been his bandages he now bore a long scab.
