Page 2 of The Warrior and the Monk

The stranger simply stared at them, his expression unchanging. It became clear that he hadn’t understood a word Brother Ellion had said. Wilder, sensing the monk’s growing frustration, muttered, "Brother, they speak a language I’ve never heard before. I don’t think he understands us."

No sooner had Wilder spoken than the man raised his arm and pointed directly at him. Wilder blinked in confusion. "Yes?" he asked, feeling the weight of the warrior’s gaze. "Is there something I can do for you?" Perhaps with enough gesturing, they could bridge the language barrier.

Brother Ellion, ever eager to assert his authority, was quick to interject. "Wilder is merely a novice," he said, dismissively, "He is not yet a full-fledged member of our order."

The warrior’s finger jabbed insistently at the air, pointing straight at Wilder’s chest. Wilder felt a surge of embarrassment. Of course—how foolish of him! The man likelywanted introductions. Smiling hesitantly, Wilder pressed his hand to his heart and said, "Wilder. My name is Wilder." He repeated the gesture for emphasis, "Wilder."

The warrior’s eyes widened at the name. He slowly lowered his arm, and Wilder noticed, with some astonishment, that it was trembling slightly. The man nodded, and for a moment, Wilder thought they were making progress. There was a glimmer of hope. But then, in one swift, fluid motion, the man unsheathed his sword.

Both Wilder and Brother Ellion froze. The blade gleamed in the cold sunlight, its surface scarred with nicks and chips from battles fought long ago. Though worn, it remained a fearsome weapon, and the mere sight of it sent a jolt of fear through Wilder’s heart. The warrior made no further movement, standing perfectly still with the sword in hand, his expression now unreadable. Wilder’s mind raced—had they insulted him? Was this a threat?

Brother Ellion seemed to have his own theory. Clearing his throat, he called out, "Wilder?" His voice wavered, but there was a strange, calculating edge to it.

At the sound of the name, the stranger nodded again. His grip on the sword tightened. Wilder could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck, anxiety gnawing at him as he tried to understand what was happening. Whatever silent exchange was taking place between the warrior and Brother Ellion made no sense to him. Every gesture seemed like a piece of a puzzle he was not privy to.

Then, with excruciating slowness, Brother Ellion began to nod. He stepped toward Wilder, and for a brief moment, Wilder thought the older monk might have a plan. Perhaps he would whisper instructions—give him some insight into how they would deal with the situation. Maybe they would flee together when the time was right.

But instead, Brother Ellion placed a firm hand on Wilder’s back and shoved.

Wilder cried out in surprise as he stumbled forward, arms flailing as he fell to his knees at the warrior’s feet. The cold, hard sand dug into his skin, but the sharp pain was nothing compared to the terror that gripped him. The warrior loomed over him like a giant, his face obscured by the glare of the sun. Wilder squinted up at the man, his heart pounding, convinced this was the end. He could hear his own breath coming in ragged gasps, the world around him narrowing into the immediate danger before him.

Then, with decisive movement, the warrior gripped his sword with both hands—and drove it, point down, into the sand beside him. The steel sunk deep into the earth, standing upright like a monument between them.

Wilder blinked in confusion. What was happening? Was it a surrender? A truce? The warrior’s face remained impassive, giving nothing away.

Before Wilder could process it further, the man bent down, grabbed him roughly by the arm, and hauled him to his feet. Wilder stumbled, his legs weak, but the warrior held him steady, his grip surprisingly gentle. He was close enough now to see the depth of weariness in the man’s eyes—the exhaustion of someone who had seen far too much. Wilder swallowed hard, still trembling but feeling an odd sense of relief that, for now at least, the sword remained buried in the sand.

Brother Ellion, watching the entire exchange in stunned silence, seemed as perplexed as Wilder. He had not expected this outcome. Neither had Wilder, for that matter. The air between them buzzed with unspoken questions.

Then, the warrior grabbed Wilder by the arm and hauled him to his feet, his grip firm but not cruel. Wilder winced, trying to shrug him off, his mind reeling. "What are you doing?" heasked, his voice trembling, betraying the fear gnawing at him. He hated how weak and small he felt in that moment, standing before this giant of a man.

The warrior grimaced in response, as if the question made no sense to him. He shot a confused glance back at Brother Ellion, whose face was twisted with impatience. "Go with him, boy! It's a trade!" the monk spat, his eyes gleaming with something dark and self-serving.

A trade? The words lodged in Wilder's throat like a stone. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. The sword—for himself? Wilder’s heart pounded in his chest. "What does he want with me?" he asked, barely able to keep his voice steady.

The warrior, still unable to comprehend their words, seemed to sense Wilder’s growing unease. His expression darkened, his brow furrowing as he took in Wilder’s hesitation. Maybe it was the fearful tone in Wilder’s voice, or the fact that he was digging his heels stubbornly into the sand. Whatever it was, the warrior’s earlier confidence seemed to waver, replaced by something that startled Wilder—nervousness. He turned to Brother Ellion again, this time with a flicker of frustration.

Brother Ellion, however, was unmoved. His face hardened as he snapped, "Do as I say and go with him! It is a sacrifice—be brave, so that the monastery will be safe!"

Wilder’s mind whirled, trying to process the monk’s words. A sacrifice? Was that what this was? His life traded to secure the safety of the monastery? His eyes darted to the sword still buried in the sand, gleaming like a promise of violence. He thought of the two other warriors down by the beach and of the longship with its monstrous prow—a serpent or dragon, its carved mouth open wide as though ready to devour the land. He imagined fleets of longships like it, full of warriors armed withblades like the one before him, descending upon the monastery with violence in their eyes.

Wilder swallowed, his throat dry. Could Brother Ellion be right? Was this his only option? He looked up at the stranger, whose dark eyes watched him with a mixture of expectation and perhaps, just perhaps, something softer.

"Okay," Wilder said, barely above a whisper.

The warrior’s expression softened ever so slightly, though his grip remained strong as he led Wilder back toward the shore. Wilder stumbled along beside him, his heart racing, every step taking him farther from the monastery and the life he had known.

As they approached the beach, Wilder saw the warrior’s two companions kneeling in the sand, their hands busy sorting through a basket of clams they had gathered from the tide. Wilder blinked. The basket looked familiar—he was almost certain he had woven it himself.

The two companions greeted their friend with shouts of good cheer, holding up their spoils as though they had just returned from some grand hunt. They laughed and gestured to the clams, clearly proud of their haul, but then their eyes fell on Wilder standing awkwardly by their comrade’s side. Their laughter turned to boisterous whoops, and one of them clapped the warrior on the back, making a big show of grabbing the empty sheath hanging from his belt.

The other warrior, a woman with short, sun-bleached hair, strode over to Wilder with a wide grin. Without a word, she grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning his head this way and that as though appraising him like a piece of livestock. Wilder felt a surge of indignation rise in his chest. He fought the urge to bite at her fingers, though the thought did cross his mind.

She said something in their unfamiliar language, her voice lilting with amusement. Wilder had no idea what she was saying, but the teasing tone was unmistakable. He stared at her sullenly, refusing to play along.

His stubbornness only made her laugh louder. She jabbed her finger into his chest and repeated the same words, clearly asking something of him. Wilder felt a fresh wave of confusion and frustration wash over him. What did she want now? And why hadn’t she just asked her companion, the one who had brought him here in the first place?

Then it clicked. She was asking for his name.

---