Chapter 2 — Fleeing into Shadows

Anna

The road was a ribbon of shadows threading through the countryside, its edges dissolving into the encroaching black of the evening. The mist that rose from the earth clung to Anna’s thin-soled shoes, muffling her steps but leeching the warmth from her skin. She adjusted the coarse woolen veil draped over her hair, its folds concealing the telltale strands that might betray the absence of a shaved tonsure. The novice’s habit she wore itched against her skin, its seams tugging awkwardly—a constant reminder of the rushed nature of her disguise. Her hands trembled as they clutched the small sack slung over her shoulder, its weight a hollow comfort against the enormity of her escape.

Her breath condensed in the chill air, mingling with the faint scent of damp earth and woodsmoke carried on the wind. Each step felt like a gamble, her movements too loud in the silence of the wilderness. The faint crunch of gravel underfoot was a sound she wanted to banish, but the risk of stopping was greater. She glanced over her shoulder for the tenth time, her pulse quickening at the imagined specter of Bernard’s shadow looming in pursuit. Every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves sent a jolt through her, but she pressed forward, her father’s voice—commanding yet tender—steadying her resolve. Seek the truth. Protect it.

The truth. It felt fragile now, like a thread stretched taut and fraying in the dark. Anna wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, suppressing the shiver that ran through her, though it was not the cold that unsettled her. No matter the cost. The whispered conviction steadied her steps, but doubt still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. How long would her disguise hold? If the monks discovered her deception—or worse, if Bernard caught up with her—the cost could be her life.

Ahead, the outline of the monastery rose against the horizon, its stone walls pale beneath the faint light of the waxing moon. The structure was imposing in its simplicity, its squared towers and peaked roofs stark against the night sky. Anna’s breath caught as her eyes found a lone lantern bobbing in the distance—likely one of the gatekeepers patrolling the entrance. She slowed her pace, her heart hammering in her chest. This was the moment where all could crumble. She forced herself to mimic the measured, deliberate strides she had observed of monks in processions. Submission. Obedience. Humility. These had to cloak her as thoroughly as the borrowed veil.

The gatekeeper was an older monk, his face weathered and shadowed in the lantern’s flickering glow. His lips moved in a murmured prayer, the words indistinct as they mingled with the rustling leaves. He lifted his lantern higher as Anna approached, his gaze narrowing beneath his hood. She dipped her head immediately, keeping her hands folded neatly before her. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“What brings you here at this hour, Sister?” His voice was low, rasping, and carried the weight of suspicion.

“I... I seek shelter,” Anna said softly, pressing the tremor from her words. “I am a novice from the convent at Saint Vivia. My belongings were stolen on the road, and I was separated from my sisters.”

The monk brought the lantern closer, the warm light spilling over her pale face. She inclined her head further, eyes fixed on the ground in what she hoped appeared to be deference. Every muscle in her body tensed under his scrutiny.

“There’s been trouble on the roads,” the monk said, his tone laced with doubt. “Thieves, you say?”

“Yes, Brother,” Anna replied, daring a brief glance upward. Her hazel eyes, catching the lantern’s glow, flicked nervously to the side before dropping again. “I wandered for hours before I found the gates.”

The monk’s frown deepened, his silence stretching long enough for Anna’s knees to weaken. She forced herself to remain still, her breathing shallow and measured. Finally, with a grunt, he stepped aside and reached for the heavy iron latch on the wooden gate. The creak of the hinges was deafening in the quiet night.

“The abbot will decide if you are to stay. Come.”

Anna stepped inside, the gate swinging shut behind her with a finality that made her stomach knot. The air within the monastery walls was different—heavy and still, scented faintly with damp stone and the distant tang of woodsmoke. It felt as though the space itself was holding its breath. Her gaze darted around the courtyard as they passed through, noting the faint trickle of water from a weathered stone fountain at its center. The fountain’s base bore markings—worn carvings that, even in the dim light, struck Anna as vaguely familiar. She averted her eyes quickly, unwilling to linger in her curiosity lest the gatekeeper notice.

The cloisters loomed ahead, their arches casting jagged shadows along the paved walkway. The flickering torchlight from the walls created a shifting interplay of light and dark that seemed almost alive, a fitting reflection of the tension curling in Anna’s stomach. The gatekeeper led her through the corridor in silence, each step echoing faintly against the stone walls.

The abbot’s study was austere, its walls lined with shelves of ledgers and theological texts. A single wooden cross hung above the desk—a stark symbol of authority and judgment. The abbot himself was a tall man with a face carved by age and weariness. His sharp eyes moved over Anna with deliberate care, missing nothing. As the gatekeeper explained her arrival, she kept her gaze low, her hands clasped before her in a gesture of submission.

“You claim to be a novice from Saint Vivia,” the abbot said at last, his voice low and deliberate, as though each word were weighed before being spoken. “Yet, I know of no recent visitors expected from that convent.”

Anna’s mouth went dry. She bowed her head lower, feigning humility. “Forgive me, Father. It was a spur-of-the-moment journey, meant to deliver a missive to a nearby parish. I was not meant to stay long.” She hesitated, her voice softening with feigned discomfort. “I understand if my presence is unwelcome.”

The abbot leaned back in his chair, his scrutiny as palpable as the cold air pressing against her skin. “The roads are not safe,” he said after a pause, his tone neither welcoming nor dismissive. “It would be cruel to turn you away. You may stay for the night. Perhaps longer, if it is deemed necessary. But know this—our way of life is strict. You will follow our rule while you remain here.”

Anna nodded quickly. “Of course, Father. Thank you.”

The abbot’s expression did not soften. He studied her for a lingering moment, then waved a hand to dismiss the gatekeeper. The monk departed with a murmured blessing, leaving Anna alone under the abbot’s watchful gaze. The silence stretched, taut and oppressive, before the abbot exhaled slowly.

“Rest tonight,” he said. “Brother Thomas will show you to the novices’ quarters. You will present yourself at morning prayers.”

“Yes, Father,” Anna whispered, her voice barely carrying. The abbot nodded once, the gesture heavy with finality, and gestured for her to leave.

Brother Thomas’s expression was unreadable as he led her through the narrow corridors, the flame of his torch casting flickering light on the cold stone walls. She stole a glance at him as they walked, catching his stoic profile and the faint furrow of his brow. When they reached the novices’ quarters, his tone was clipped but not unkind.

“Sleep now. Work begins at dawn.”

Anna nodded, murmuring her thanks. The room was sparse, a row of narrow cots lined along the wall, each with a thin blanket folded at its foot. The air smelled faintly of straw and beeswax, mingling with the soft snores of the other novices. She moved toward an empty cot, clutching the sack of her meager belongings.

Once Brother Thomas left, Anna exhaled a shaky breath. Her hands slid under the blanket, fingers brushing against the bundle hidden beneath her robes: her father’s journal. Her chest tightened as her father’s final words echoed in her mind. Seek the truth. Protect it.

The words were a promise, a burden, a lifeline. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep despite the weight of fear and uncertainty pressing down on her. The journey ahead would offer little rest, but for now, she had made it inside the walls. For now, she was safe.