A light scratching sang from the front of the room. Nicholas perked his ears, pried his reluctant lids open, and followed the tune.
It was late afternoon, by the light shining through the window. He hadn’t slept long. So he went ahead and sat up with a grunt, palm bending his wrist back painfully against the mattress as his dagger dropped to his side. There he found Sanctus sitting at the desk he had spotted earlier.
“What are you doing?” he heard his voice crack.
The monk twisted in the seat and offered him a smile that stretched into his muddy brown eyes. “Writing to your father. Would you like to add anything? Maybe write something yourself on the back?”
Nicholas crossed his legs as he looked down into his lap, regretting not taking the risk to see his father before he ran off. But writing didn’t seem like a good idea if his father was under house arrest. Owls would eventually be intercepted if too many kept flying into Haven in the direction of their home.
“It might ease your conscience.”
“He has only received one so far…” Nicholas returned to look back up at the dark-skinned monk. “… correct?”
“Yes.” And curiosity sparked in Sanctus’ eyes as he cocked his head. “Why?”
“I just don’t want to make things worse for anyone, particularly my father.” He looked back into his lap with that, taking in the shades of red and gold in the kasaya he wore. I’m not even dressed like myself anymore. Not even close.
“Here,” Sanctus replied as the chair screeched backward, and then he walked across the room. He sat on the side of the bed, positioned to face Nicholas. That smile was still on his face. Finally he held out the sheet he was writing on and a quill. “Write what you would have said that day had things gone as planned.”
With a sniffle, Nicholas accepted the items, taking in Sanctus’ old-style scrawl, and flipped to the blank side.
Then a knock intruded.
“Come in,” Sanctus hollered for him.
The door creaked open and Salbatzaile stepped inside, Ángelo on his tail.
“Good afternoon,” Salbatzaile began, and Nicholas noted his eyes scan him over. “Are ye feelin’ better?”
That was a debate. It was hard to say, so Nicholas just stared down at the blank side of the sheet and thought about what he wanted to write.
“His heart is torn between writing to his father or not,” Sanctus replied.
“Ah. I see.”
That was when Sanctus gripped his knee and squeezed. “I am sure he wants to hear from you at least once to know you are thinking of him as much as he is thinking of you.”
Nicholas nodded and prepared the quill, which drew his attention to the realization he was trembling. That and his wrist was stiff and didn’t want to bend properly as he worked his way slowly across the paper.
“I hope you don’t mind…” Ángelo chirped at last.
Nicholas paused on the greeting and shifted his gaze enough to see Ángelo step forward. Both Sanctus and Salbatzaile gave the other monk a look at the same time that he caught from his peripheral.
“… but I brought something for Nicholas.”
Nicholas gratefully put the quill and paper aside and examined this third monk who had not once expressed kindness toward him. His hands appeared empty, and he was taking the space across the room strangely cautious. Then Ángelo slipped in on Nicholas’ other side and extended an open palm to reveal a hair tie.
“You can call it a peace offering. Plus, it is too hot to keep your hair down.”
A few blinks passed by, and then Nicholas accepted the peculiar peace offering. “Thank you.” He looked over at the other two monks after that, wondering what they thought about this as he took in their features once more. Do they want me to tie my hair back? Is that a thing here? Tie hair or shave it?
But they both held blank expressions.
Nicholas mentally shrugged, not wanting to be offensive, and went ahead and proceeded to awkwardly pull back his hair. The strands were as stiff as his wrist, and his face scrunched as he tied it off at the nape of his neck. It was the last twist, though, that sent the jolt that made him cringe.
Then Sanctus’ smile came back. Even Salbatzaile smiled. Ángelo, though, looked a bit confused.
“What?” he asked self-consciously, wanting to reach for his hair that no longer sat on his shoulders.
“Ye truly look like a yooehng man now,” Salbatzaile answered, but it appeared a lot like he was holding back laughter.
Nicholas grabbed the end of his ponytail at last and pulled it to the side, his fingers running along the ends.
“You do look good, Nicholas,” Sanctus confirmed. “But if you don’t like it, you can keep your hair down.”
He breathed in as he shook his head. “No. I like it this way.” It was the honest truth. Having his hair back made him feel better. Gave him a connection with his father. So he picked up the paper and quill once more and continued to write through the now throbbing pain in his wrist.
“Well it is good to see ye are lookin’ better,” Salbatzaile resumed. “Which reminds me, I am curious as to yer visit.”
Oh! His hand jerked, mussing a letter. He had completely forgotten. “I, uh…” Now he truly felt embarrassed. “I came for lessons.” He didn’t want to say enlightenment lessons. It was one thing to say it in his head or to other people, but here, at this moment with the monks, it sounded ridiculous.
“Meditation lessons?” Sanctus inquired.
Nicholas didn’t look up, though he was trying. Meditation was something he had read about in that book as well. It was a path to enlightenment. So he just nodded and went back to writing.
“We can definitely do dat,” Salbatzaile concluded. “Ye shall find it beneficial. For controllin’ yer temper…”
“I don’t have a temper.” He continued to write as he said that.
“Den to ease yer mind and soul and keep ye calm as ye work drough changin’ yer life. Would ye agree wit’ dat?”
Nicholas nodded, focusing on his final words rather than the fact it wasn’t necessarily change he was looking for. He wanted to find himself again, whether that was the old him or a new him he wasn’t sure.
Then he signed the letter,
With all my love,
Nicholas