Child of Flame

Sorcery.

Shivering, he grabbed hold of Sigfrid’s hand and then Baldwin’s. “Come, friends,” he said, seeing that they had all clasped hands, clinging together in the face of so many things they could not explain. “Truly, I don’t understand what has happened to us except that our friend Gerulf must be right. God has saved us from death at the hands of the Quman, so that we can continue to do Her work here on Earth. Don’t forget the phoenix. Our task is just beginning.”

Hathumod burst into tears again, clutching the rusted nail to her chest as if were a holy relic.

“God be praised,” murmured Gerulf, and the others echoed his words, all except Baldwin, who was looking anxiously around the clearing.

“It’s going to be night soon,” said Baldwin, “and I don’t like to think of sleeping out next to these old grave mounds. I don’t like to think what might crawl out of them once night falls.”

“Nay, I don’t fancy sleeping near these old mounds either,” said Dedi with a nervous laugh, and they all laughed, swept up with relief and the release of all those hours of fear and struggle.

“Is there a path that will lead us to the monastery, Gerulf?” Ivar asked, because he’d had the same thought. Yet shouldn’t he trust in God to protect them from evil spirits and blood-sucking wights, given the miracle that had already happened? Still, it never hurt to help God’s design along when you could.

“It’s been a few years,” said the old Lion, scratching his beard, “but I think…” He pointed toward a narrow gap in the dense wall of trees. “I think that’s the path over there.”

They all stood there, then, waiting, looking at Ivar. Somehow, over the course of the battle and through that long and bitter night trapped underground, he had become their leader.

“We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” he said. “Come on.”