The Seer and the Scribe by G.M. Dyrek

beside you.” The young woman hesitated, “and will always be there, he says, to look after you.” She smiled sadly and accepted the footman’s arm as he assisted her into the coach.
    The horses snorted, their warm breath coming out as small trails of smoke in the cool night air. Moments later, Sophie watched as the carriage clambered away down the darkened road leading to the porter’s gate and out from the protected walls of Disibodenberg.

CHAPTER 10: THE DARKEST CORNER
    The Infirmary at Disibodenberg Monastery
    Harvest Festival, After Compline the Same Day
    Paulus’s very black eyes started watering and his cheeks grew red. He smashed his fist down on the table and muttered, “Send for Sophie. She’ll need to know right away.” Brother Paulus was unaccustomed to losing a patient and it took him more than a moment to find his composure.
    Volmar had only just returned from Compline to prepare the patients for bed when he found to his horror that Silas, Sophie’s grandfather, had died in his absence.
    Volmar gently shut the lids of eyes no longer dulled by the confusion of delirium and pulled the sheet up over the old man’s face. He said a prayer for his soul and remarked as if the value of the life suddenlylost needed to be reaffirmed, “Silas was a stone carver in Mainz. He and Sophie worked on a portico at Saint Martin’s Cathedral.”
    Paulus slumped forward, muttering absently, “The bump on Silas’s head merely hastened Death’s arrival. It was just a matter of time, really. When trees grow old they begin to lose their inner greenness. Likewise, when a man ages, his brain shrivels and dies chamber by chamber, eventually leaving the skull a hollow shell.”
    Paulus reached for the poker and used it to stoke the fire. There was such a cold finality to death, he thought, watching as the embers glowed with renewed warmth and life. He put on another log and stood back, watching as the flames devoured it slowly. The intense heat reddened his face even more and finally he drew back, unable to repress an unworthy flash of malice towards God for permitting such suffering. He lowered his head until he was able to conceal his private sentiment, the losing war he waged against God. Still trying to rein in his temper, he asked quietly, “Did you say that Sophie also knows how to carve in stone?”
    â€œOr wood,” Volmar said, genuflecting 41 and making the Sign of the Cross. “She apparently finished the portico when her Grandfather’s hands started shaking.”
    â€œIt takes skill, patience, and a great deal of artistic talent to sculpt in stone. I wonder . . . does Sophie have any other family?” Paulus queried, straightening his shoulders, gathering his resolve to help the living, rather than grieve over the dead.
    â€œI am alone,” a small voice answered him from the darkest corner.
    Brother Paulus blinked in momentary confusion, and saw in the shadows how very pale Sophie had become. “I am so sorry, my dear child. Your grandfather passed on a short while ago.” Paulus motioned with his head for Volmar to go to her. “She’s still afraid of me,” he said.
    Paulus stood back as Volmar approached Sophie. Both were surprised by her reaction. At first, Sophie gave Volmar her hand and a scowl that trembled very slightly. She then wrapped her arms around the young monk and held him snug to her small frame as if such an action made possible her desire to squeeze the life from one to nourish the other.
    Volmar whispered to her, blinking back his tears. “Sophie, do not let this grief steal your dream.”

CHAPTER 11: A REMEMBRANCE CANDLE
    Saint Peter’s Altar at Disibodenberg Monastery
    Before Matins the Next Morning
    Uppermost in Sophie’s mind was the need to burn a remembrance candle and to say a prayer for Grandda’s soul. It troubled her how his illness and injury made him curse and say