Page 4 of Triadic

The clinic on the edge of town near the boundary of monastery property had seen an influx of patients, so Corbi went where he was needed, and I tried to occupy myself with work. But there was only so much I could do in a library whose contents I had already memorized. As a spiritual student of the mysteries, there was always more work to be done: more contemplation, discursive meditation, and reading to expand my knowledge. But that involved looking inward, and when I did so, all I found was that deep pool of pain at losing Wren. I could work on copying texts, but spiritual reading inspired reflection and contemplation, which pointed directly at my grief.

An envelope with bold writing, addressed "To Marian and Correy" leapt out at me. Heaven knew this was a monastery—not a convent—and by definition, there were no women here?

But then something pricked my attention, and I stared at those names again. Lightly coded, this letter was addressed to us.

I set it aside and finished going through the rest of the stack. At the very bottom, I found a thin letter with Wren's handwriting on it, and my breath came out in a whoosh of relief.

In a flash I grabbed the two letters and dashed out of the mail room, down to our room, where I grabbed my coat and then sped to the monastery's main entrance.

"Oida, where's thefire, Marit?" called Ceridor, hanging out the doorway of one of the temporary rooms he'd been given.

"A letter from Wren," I answered, slowing to a stop. "I'm taking it over to Corbi so we can read it together."

He smiled his easy smile, dark-brown eyes appraising me. Ceridor sometimes went by Ceredigion, or really any other name that he needed at the time. He was far more than just a bard, though that in and of itself took an insane amount of training. He had trained Awariye, a young bard who had befriended us here, and who had helped save Wren during the harrowing spiritual experience that had brought Wren into our lives at a much deeper level.

Ceridor's hair had been touched with white but was still mostly its regular brown. Though he was only in his late thirties, we all jokingly called him Old Man due to his preferred disguise when he traveled.

That hadn't helped him this last time. He'd arrived back at Diana Monastery with severe injuries, and his arm had been in a sling for weeks. Though Corbi had checked him over and ultimately thought Ceridor would be all right, I didn't envy the traveling bards one bit. The roads were dangerous, not just in the neighboring Danubian region but even here in relatively peaceful Helvetica as well.

"Want me to run get him for you?" he offered.

I laughed. "You'll jump at any opportunity to get out of here!"

It was true. He was under strict orders from Corbi to take it easy, but Ceridor wasn't the type to stay put. He thrived on traveling.Being cooped up, nursing his injuries the last few weeks, was the most I had seen of him in years.

He sent me a look that said I'd seen right through him. "Let me know how Wren is doing."

"I promise."

Ceridor followed me to the door and helped me into snow boots, a quilted coat, mitts, and a thick hat and a muffler. I could tell he just wanted to go outside or at least dream about it. "I'll be right back with news after Corbi and I read these letters."

"And I'll be happy to carry your reply to Wren," he offered.

That gave me pause, the possibility of having a traveling bard shorten that distance so easily and connect us back to our precious person delivered in a simple sentence.Weshould be the ones going to Wren. We should have gone with him to begin with. My heart was torn in so many directions.

"I know you will, Old Man," I answered softly.

He patted my shoulder and closed the thick wooden door behind me.

Living deep in the Alps had certain advantages. We were easily hidden, with more than enough room to string together magical barriers and protections throughout the forest around us. We were next to a little town with whom we traded regularly and who would alert us if there was any trouble brewing.

This far into Helvetican territory, it took a decent ride to get to the eastern border. We had been enjoying arelatively stable existence the last few years, which allowed us to thrive. I certainly did not envy the people in the Central Danubian plains, who had dealt with near constant upheaval and bloodshed from invasions over the decades. Only just recently, with the rise of this warrior king, were some areas able to stabilize.

The frigid air hit me, and I pulled my hat down and muffler up, so only a slit was open for me to see out. We were far enough from civilization that we nearly had to shovel our way out whenever someone left the monastery compound in the winter. I began tromping my way through the snow to the clinic on the edge of town, just on the other side of the monastery's magical protections.

The pines, spruces, and other evergreens were so thick here that it was pretty dark even when the sun was out, and snow dampened all sound such that I could only hear my own breath and thekrimp-krimpingof the cowhide boots.

The small clinic became visible through the trees, and I tromped onward, remembering the fascinating story of how Corbi came to train as a medic at Diana Monastery. His parents noticed his intelligence and originally sold him to a doctor in town. However, strange supernatural instances that regular people unfamiliar with magic wouldn't understand began to happen around Corbi.

When he walked into a room, people who were on the edge of death would immediately die. Conversely, those who were on the edge of recovery and nearly there would breathe Corbi in, and after just a few minutes, be ready to be discharged from the clinic that very day.

Knowledge of the Unseen explained these phenomena easily and didn't ascribe Corbi the role of miracle worker for the healings or grim reaper for the deaths. Any capable healer would do well to train in such a way, to be able to manipulate their own life force in order to guide a patient's etheric life force to move in more healthy flows and patterns. It helped to not just have a strong and vibrant etheric body, but to also train oneself to control it in order to fine-tune healing modalities. Corbi had not only a sharp mind but an openness to learning, which made him a good candidate for such a path.

And thus came the 'miraculous' healings, where Corbi would come close, and the person just on the verge of health would take some of his energy and be able to revive. Therefore also came the deaths. It took energy and power to finally relinquish hold on physical life and step through the veil. This need for energy to finally let go is what lay behind the old traditions of having lit candles and fresh flowers beside someone about to cross into the afterlife, to provide that boost of light and life so the dying person did not have to nip energy from their loved ones.

The largely secular doctor had been disturbed by the rumors of supernatural events around Corbi, and thus had contacted Diana Monastery to see if they would buy him. However, the magical system practiced at the monastery was so potent that it could only be practiced by those who had completed puberty. Poor Corbi'd had to return and live with the parents who had sold him, staying there for a couple of years before moving to the monastery andstarting on this new path of medical healing using magical means.

These terrible events were the scars I tried to soothe in my beloved partner. I loved him fiercely, ferociously, no matter what. I did that every day, all the time, because I could see in his eyes when he truly believed me, and when he still struggled to trust that my love for him was real.

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