About Forest over Stone
Written by Vic Winter
29 pages / 10000 words
Available file types - html,
lit, pdf, prc
Andreas has had it tough. Orphaned and living in a monastery, working hard for the abusive monks, his only happiness comes from his solitary hours in the forest.
Then one spring day he discovers that the forest holds more than he could ever have imagined and that a friend -- a lover -- has been watching him, waiting for him...
With the shadow of his old life still darkening his new, can Andreas learn to trust Arden before it’s too late?
Sample
Chapter One
The candles blowing out at morning Mass was never a good sign. Especially if there was no wind or breeze. Make it Sunday morning Mass and the sign was that much worse.
Andreas could only imagine what a terrible portent it was when that Sunday happened to also fall on Easter, the day the brothers remembered the resurrection of their Lord.
It was no wonder he was jumpy as he cleaned the chapel, putting away the vestments, the sacred objects, sweeping and changing the used cloths for freshly washed ones. The stone building with its stern-faced saviour upon its cross was not his favorite place to begin with; being the only one left in the dark chapel when no candles would stay lit was almost more than he could bear.
It was with great relief that he crossed himself as he’d been taught to do, and exited the chapel via the small door at the back. He hurried across the courtyard to the kitchen with its high windows and bright hearths, dropping the linens into Frau Vitman’s pile of laundry before presenting himself to Olga so that he could be of service.
Olga looked him over critically, her hair grey and pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes rheumy but still sharp. “Don’t forget it is still the time of silence, Andreas.”
“But I haven’t taken any vows,” he complained. He couldn’t understand why he needed to be silent just because the brothers chose to be.
“Pshaw.” Her wooden spoon hit the table with a loud crack, making him jump. “You will have respect for the brothers, Andreas. They took you in when your parents died."
“Yes, Olga.” It was true. The stone walls were his home and though he had never felt the call to the brothers’ God himself, the brothers had nonetheless allowed him to stay, fed and sheltered him, clothed him, allowed him to earn these gifts in service to them.
Olga handed him the two large platters of bread. “Go help Old Rufus serve.” He nodded and went, her second admonition -- this one yelled -- to remember to stay quiet ringing in his ears.
There were always one or two brothers observing the vow of silence, but when the whole brotherhood indulged, the silence was eerie and strange. The great dining hall held hardly a sound, the monks always trying to keep the silence absolute so even the noises from their eating remained few.
Andreas put his platters down, one on each table, and went to Old Rufus’ side. He didn’t know how old the man was, but Old Rufus had always looked ready to be put in the ground, even when Andreas had first been brought to the monastery as a child of four. Though his hair was as white as the snows and his skin sallow and wrinkled, Old Rufus stood straight and walked with the gait of a much younger man. The monks claimed that it was a gift from their God, in return for the devoted service Old Rufus had performed all his life for them.
Andreas wasn’t sure that he believed it to be all that great a gift. He had no desire to spend so long a time being a servant to the brotherhood. Especially a servant like Old Rufus who never left the walls of the monastery.
Old Rufus acknowledged him with an incline of his head and the passing of the ladle. The brothers, however, did not acknowledge him; not even Petras or Jorgen looked at him. He had asked about it once when they’d been younger after a week’s trial of silence had passed. Apparently, even the eyes were not allowed to speak during the vow.
Andreas filled the rest of the bowls, biting his lip more than once to keep the words from spilling from him. It was just so quiet. The silence was heavy like the stone walls.
“That lip is mine to bite, sweet one.”