The ridge of the island was crowned by a low wall of unmortared stone, encircling a cluster of timber buildings: a groaning windmill, the sleeping cloisters, the common hall, and a wooden sept for prayer.
Lead-glass windows caught the dying sun, and the heavy doors were carved with the weary faces of the Father and the Mother. Behind the sept, older brothers bent double in the vegetable gardens, plucking weeds with practiced patience. Brother Narbert led the group past a massive chestnut tree to a wooden door set directly into the hillside.
"A cave with a door?" Kevin asked, his eyes wide.
"The Hermit's Hole," Narbert smiled. "The first saint to find this isle dwelt there two thousand years ago. He worked wonders that drew others to the silence. The door is a more recent addition—only a few centuries old."
Inside, the cave was far from the damp, dripping crevice Aldric had expected. It was a warm chamber, the floor layered with thick wool rugs and the walls draped in colorful tapestries. Beeswax candles filled the room with a golden glow, illuminating furniture crafted entirely from polished driftwood. The shapes were strange and organic, twisted boughs turned into chairs and bookcases that shimmered like dark amber.
The Elder was not the withered saint Aldric had imagined. While the brothers in the garden were stooped with age, the Elder was a man in his prime—tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating a vital energy. His head was square and powerful, his eyes sharp as a hawk's, and his nose traced with the red veins of a man who had enjoyed his share of wine in a previous life.
He looks less like a healer and more like a man who could break a man's arm at the joint, Aldric thought. A fine candidate for a Solar Knight.
The Elder crossed the room and pulled Friar Ray into a fierce embrace. "A happy day when Ray visits our shores," he boomed, turning to the others. "And new faces. We see far too few of those lately."
After the ritual pleasantries, the Elder gestured for them to sit on a driftwood bench. Unlike Narbert, the Elder showed no discomfort at Martha's presence. But when the talk turned to Saltpans, his smile vanished.
"You are weary," the Elder said, pouring them cups of sweet apple cider from a driftwood pitcher. "Drink. Wash the dust of the road from your throats."
Aldric admired the craftsmanship of his cup. "You have a gift for the wood, Elder."
"The gods provide, My Lord. Where the river meets the tide, the water brings us many things. Driftwood is the least of it. We have found silver cups, iron pots, bales of wool, and rusted helms. Once, we even found rubies."
"Rhaegar's rubies?" Kevin asked, leaning in.
"Perhaps. Six have been found over the years. We wait for the seventh. But the river gives more than jewels. It gives bones. Drowned kine, bloated deer, and... men."
The Elder sighed heavily. "The gravediggers have not rested. Rivermen, Westermen, Northmen—the tide brings them all. We bury them together. Stark and Lannister, Bracken and Blackwood, Frey and Darry. They are all brothers in the mud. But the children... those are the hardest gifts to receive."
He turned to Ray. "I hope you have the strength for shrift tonight, brother. Since the outlaws murdered old Friar Bennett, we have had no one to hear our confessions."
"I thought your brothers were sworn to silence?" Kevin asked.
"One may break the silence for shrift," the Elder explained. "Sin is hard to convey with a nod and a gesture."
"They burned the sept at Saltpans?" Aldric asked.
The Elder's face darkened. "They burned everything but the castle, for stone does not catch. But the castle was useless as a shield. When the fires died, the fishermen brought the survivors here. There was a woman... she had been used a dozen times. Her flesh... it had been torn away by teeth, as if by beasts. I did what I could, but she died cursing Ser Quincy Cox. He watched his people scream from behind his high stone walls."
"Quincy is an old man," Narbert said softly. "His sons are dead or gone. What could he do against a hundred mummers?"
"He could have died with honor," Aldric snapped. "A Lord who eats the bread of his people but hides when the blade falls is a craven and a thief. He has failed his duty."
"Hard words, but true," the Elder said. "Will you come to the sept with me? We pray for the souls of the town before the dinner bell."
"How many survived?" Aldric asked.
"Six. A girl of twelve, a shopkeeper, a fisherman scarred by a dozen blades, a mother with a shattered leg, and a man half-cooked by the flames. And Brother Clement... but they are all fading. We can only make their end peaceful."
"Take us to them," Aldric said. "Perhaps the Light can do more than provide peace."
The Elder hesitated, looking at Ray, who nodded firmly. "The gods led us here for this moment, Elder."
They entered the infirmary, a timber hut thick with the stench of rotting flesh and the sharp tang of medicinal herbs. It was a sight Aldric knew too well—the same misery he had seen in the medical tents of the North.
Aldric looked at his companions. "Kevin. Martha. Mend them."
"Mend them?" the Elder protested. "They are beyond help. You will only bring them more—"
He stopped. Kevin had already knelt by the man wrapped in scorched linen. With a short prayer and a pulse of Solar Grace, a brilliant gold light filled the room. The man let out a strangled shriek and sat upright.
"I... the pain is gone," the man gasped.
The Elder shoved Kevin aside, reaching for the bandages. "Child, what sorcery is this?" He peeled back the linen, expecting to see charred meat. Instead, he saw fresh, pale skin—pink and new, save for the missing hair.
"Divine Grace," Kevin said simply, moving to the next bed.
Within the hour, the six survivors were standing, weeping and shouting the names of the gods. When the excitement died down, the group attended the evening prayer. Narbert remained in a state of shock; had the brothers not been sworn to silence, the news of the "miracle" would have set the island on fire.
Dinner was simple but hearty: crusty bread, fresh butter, honey from the Isle's hives, and a thick stew of crab and fish. Aldric drank only hot water, while the others enjoyed the famous mead.
As the hall cleared, the Elder and Narbert remained. "You taught the boy this... magic?" the Elder asked Aldric.
"It is not magic," Aldric said. "It is the favor of the Light. Those who walk in its path find the power to mend the world."
"I have heard tales of the Brotherhood and their red priest," the Elder mused. "But this... this is different. You speak of the Seven and this 'Anshe' as one."
"The Light has many names," Aldric said.
The Elder sat in silence for a long time. "If you had come sooner... Saltpans was a fine port once. Now it is a ghost. The lucky fishermen fled to Maidenpool. The mummers wanted a ship to cross the Narrow Sea, and when they found none, they took their rage out on the meat."
"Quincy Cox has no honor," Aldric said. "The town needs a protector. I intend to take the port. I will lease it from him."
"Lease it?" The Elder laughed bitterly. "Quincy is old, but he is not a fool. He will not hand over his only lands to a stranger."
"Ser Quincy is a vassal of the Tullys, and the Tullys are gone," Aldric said, his voice dropping into a register of iron authority. "The Lord of the Trident is now Petyr Baelish, and the Alliance is his future vassal. I will give Ser Quincy a price he cannot refuse—a price that secures his family's comfort while the Dawn secures his people's lives."
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