Page 20 of Triadic

"I heard you say the word 'leave,'" Marit tried. "Don't even think of it, Peter. Stay the winter with us. Recuperate, regain your health, and the training I can give you will help you no matter what path in life you take afterward."

"Why don't all three of us strike out together?" I asked, giving him a squeeze. "I'm readily employable in any town that has a business that's short on shop-keep labor. Corbi could be a traveling doctor, and you could work as a tutor. I could do scribe work for you and train to be Corbi's medical assistant. We could go anywhere, or find a place that suited us and settle down, or come back here. We could even visit your Wren."

Marit thought about that a long moment, our footsteps the only sounds punctuating the silence.

"I'll talk to Corbi about it," he offered softly. "It sounds nice."

I nodded, grateful he was willing to consider it.

Chapter Ten: Peter

One month later—December 21, 2448

Fritz wrapped the blessing candle in thin cheese cloth and tied it with string, then handed it to the customer and dropped the coins in my waiting hand. I noted the transaction on our ledger, Fritz watching me closely. Although the elderly monk looked like he was about two hundred years old, his mind was still sharp, and his body was hanging in there. I was careful not to make any mistakes on the ledger, lest he eject me from the monastery's market stall. At first I had been hyper vigilant around others at the market, suspicious they might take advantage of the old man, but so far it seemed Fritz had a handle on things, and people weren't willing to cross the monastery.

Fritz and I had immediately bonded over our similar backgrounds: he'd been raised by a merchant further west, closer to the ancient Helvetican capital of Genf. But as thesecond son, he had been discarded, to make sure he didn't grow up to compete with his older brother for the family fortune. It seemed a common story for those who came to the monastery: unwanted sons viewed as disposable or potentially a threat to the family heir.

Others had fled their families on their own accord as teens upon learning they were likely to be sold to a local militia and trained to be soldiers. While the monastery certainly had strict training, I didn't envy anyone forced into constant warfare and bloodshed and could see how even a vow of poverty would be preferable, considering they gained relative security and a community in exchange. Not to mention the spiritual and magical practices that truly meant something to them, though I myself had only scratched the surface of those.

Marit wanted me to begin practicing the monastery's daily invocation and banishing ritual as soon as possible. Corbi was having me hold off, citing that the ritual involved deep diaphragmatic breathing and funneling energy through the solar plexus. My poor tummy had nearly burned a hole in itself during my accidental poisoning, though with every day of deep rest and eating boring gruel, it seemed to slowly be getting better.

I scanned the stall, arranging a couple of things so the shelves didn't have any empty spaces. This was the third week since the Advent market had begun, and while tonight was the solstice and a huge holiday at the monastery, for the local community that was largely some form of Christian aside from a few Jewish families, themarkets culminated the night of the 23rdand then shut down on Christmas Eve so everyone could celebrate.

The Diana Monastery market stall sold an eclectic inventory, but all of the items had the same characteristic that drew customers: their magical and spiritual components. Candles dedicated to certain saints, angels, or deities had been carefully poured and then blessed by monks who had a close relationship with said patrons or matrons.

Corbi oversaw the making of salves and balms that contained herbs harvested according to the phases of the moon. One of my duties was taking orders for more specific medical remedies, making us into a veritable pop-up apothecary. Rosaries and carved figurines of the Alpine Christ or the saints sold well, along with pagan deities slowly and mostly quietly being revived in this area. Small paintings for one's altar or dedicated space within one's home were also on offer. Bags of herbs to hang over a crib that would help a baby sleep were available.

Marit hand-bound books that sold as calendars, ledgers, and other forms of record-keeping. One book was open at the front and available to anyone who came by and asked for prayer requests: note what you need, and Fritz would pray to the Christ of a Thousand Ages on your behalf for three days. If anyone had a longer request, they could come back and renew it. The prayers came at no cost and were a gesture of goodwill. All kinds of things were offered at Fritz's stand.

I could see also how closely the monastery was connected to the local economy of the town. Vendors, farmers,weavers, and other tradesmen came by to wish FritzFrohe Weihnachten, a very Merry Christmas. We bartered and traded with nearly everyone. On some occasions we used money, such as in our medical services, though Corbi had explained they were sometimes willing to barter even then.

I leaned over and ducked my head out of our stall, checking how busy the lane was this evening.

Everywhere people bustled about, the small path between the opposing rows of stalls nearly full to the brim in some places. Twinkling fairy candlelight danced everywhere, flickering in jars and hung as lanterns on hooks over each stall, swaying in the soft breeze that thankfully refreshed the air among so many bodies.

I could smell the savory scents of hot pumpkin soup, creamed spinach, and even roasted meats, though the last was well out of our price range. Though my poor tummy could not currently handle the divine-smelling tasty treats—I especially ached over the scent of theZimtschneckecinnamon rolls and other pastries from the local bakery—I could still breathe them in and enjoy them in my mind.

"Shall I grab you some punch?" a voice said.

I gasped and looked up to find Ceridor standing there, the wind in his light-brown hair and a mischievous smile on his face. He had his glamour down and thus didn't look like an old man at all. Though his arm was still in a sling, he looked his age, maybe late thirties.

"Ceridor!" I exclaimed.

He laughed as I floundered, nearly vaulting over the stall counter. Fritz waved me on, so I dashed out to meet him. Ceridor motioned with his free arm for a hug, and I carefully gave him one, trying not to jostle the arm in the sling. "It's so good to see you!"

"You as well, Peter. You're almost back to normal?" he asked.

"Almost," I answered. "Corbi still has me eating gruel, but even my stomach is nearly better."

"Excellent," he remarked, then when we parted, he cocked his chin. "Let me buy you a cup of punch, and I'll tell you what I found out."

So hehadmanaged to locate my home village. Though happy and excited to see him, my hands fidgeted with trepidation. Things had been such a mess when I'd left…

Assuming Ceridor would get us cups ofKinderpunsch—the non-alcoholic version for kids—was incorrect. He handed me a steaming cup of mulled wine, and I debated whether my stomach could handle it. In the end I reasoned I wanted to give it a try, and if my tummy hated it, then I'd just let Ceridor drink mine also.

We clinked glasses and drank. "Prost."

The mulled wine soothed my throat and warmed me from within.