Chapter 87: Secrets Buried Deep Within the Heart

“My birth was actually quite ordinary,” the Saint said. “My parents were tenant farmers under a baron’s rule. We lived on the lord’s estate, our whole family crowded into one of those little wooden houses, its walls woven from branches and smeared with mud. Just on the other side of the wall were the baron’s chicken and pig pens.”

“You truly came from a tenant farmer’s family?” Vanessa could hardly believe it.

“To be precise, a poor tenant farmer’s family. My parents were not free tenants; they weren’t allowed to leave the baron’s estate. I was their third child, with two older brothers three years my senior, and a younger sister who couldn’t walk. We lived in poverty. Our staple was rye bread, sometimes spread with a little pea paste, a few slices of raw onion and pickled radish. We rarely ate meat—pigs and chickens were the lord’s property.”

“Heavens…” Vanessa, born of nobility, could scarcely imagine such a life.

“From the age of five, I worked with my family. Every month, we labored ten days unpaid for the baron—plowing, road-mending, harvesting. My brothers and father were often conscripted to haul barrels of wine or transport stones for the castle’s construction, all without pay. After every autumn harvest, we surrendered half our grain to the baron and were forced to use his mill to husk and grind the wheat. Even the flour we received was taxed again as a milling fee.”

Vanessa fell silent. She had never known life for tenant farmers was so harsh.

She asked, “When did you meet the Godmother?”

“When I was seven,” the Saint replied. “That year, nuns and priests came to our home. I saw the baron bowing before an old woman with wrinkled hands. The baron, the old woman, and my parents spoke together. They paid my family and handed over a paper covered in writing, on which my parents pressed their handprints.”

She continued, “Then my father and mother took me to the town for a whole day. They bought me new clothes, and honey cakes made from eggs and flour. That night, my mother cooked peas stewed with meat. In the candlelight, I sat with my family at the table, holding my three-year-old sister.”

“They gave me the best meat in my bowl. My sister, her mouth greasy, pressed a sticky handprint on my cheek. My brothers congratulated me. Before bed, my mother bathed me, braided my hair, kissed my forehead, and told me I was about to be given to the embrace of God. The next day, God’s messengers would take me away.”

The Saint described every detail as if those days had happened just yesterday.

“Were you sorrowful, parting from your family?” Vanessa asked.

“Even as a child, I sensed that one day I would have to leave them. When my sister still could not speak, I would often hold her in my arms, sitting before the mill, watching the distant clouds and sky. My parents could not hear her voice, nor see what I saw. I understood that I was somehow different from them.”

“They always said their poverty and suffering were penance, that only after atoning could they ascend to God’s kingdom and find peace and joy,” the Saint said. “But I never believed they bore any guilt. I was only glad for them, that they would finally be freed from such a life.”

“So you were taken away?” Vanessa looked into the Saint’s eyes.

“On the morning of the next day, I rose alone while my family still slept. I embraced my father and mother, hugged my brothers, kissed my sister. When I reached the door, Mother Charlotte was already waiting. She took my hand, and that was how I left that house surrounded by chicken and pig pens, and went to a strange city.”

“Did you ever return?” Vanessa asked.

“No. Before I became the Saint, I followed Mother Charlotte from city to city, crossing borders between nations. It was as if she was hiding me from something. We rarely stayed in one place for more than a year. Sometimes we lived in the countryside, sometimes by the coast, at the foot of mountains, or on the plains. The longest I ever stayed in one place was only two years.”

“Perhaps the Godmother wished to shield you from hidden evil,” Vanessa said. “Until you were grown, you could not be discovered by those who wished you harm.”

“At the time, I knew little of such secrets,” the Saint replied. “There was no time for pondering. Mother Charlotte was extremely strict. Even on carriages or boats, every minute of mine was scheduled. She taught me divine rites, taught me to read, told me the histories of distant times. I had many lessons each day. As soon as we reached another church, new teachers would take over. As I grew, the lessons only increased in number and in weight.”

“Did you grow weary?” Vanessa asked.

“Physical exhaustion was inevitable. But rarely, I could feel at ease.”

“Because the Godmother granted you one day off each month?”

“It was only after I had made some progress in my studies that she permitted me one day of rest each month.”

“How did you spend that day?”

“She would take me to the streets. We wore no nun’s habit, and she simply held my hand—like a grandmother with her granddaughter—and strolled through the city. I loved visiting a bakery tucked away on a little street, where they sold these very cookies.” The Saint picked up a biscuit from the plate before her.

“That was my most relaxing time. I could find a seat in that quiet little shop and drink a cup of warm tea. Sometimes the shopkeeper would give me a small cake for free. Mother Charlotte had lent him some books from the church’s collection as thanks, and he would share with me little storybooks and comic sketches to pass the time as I sipped my tea.”

“Their pages were rough and thin, the drawings odd, and the tales in the books strange, but they were delightful. I would sit alone by the window, and when my tea was finished, the shopkeeper would refill it and share some treats with me. That place was peaceful and cozy. Each visit, I’d stay until dusk, then buy some cookies and pastries to take away.”

Vanessa imagined such moments—truly a rare respite.

“Do you often recall those days?”

“Back then, I was not yet the Saint. I had no need to bear the name of the holy. Inevitably, I miss those afternoons that belonged to me alone.” The Saint picked up the cookie and took a gentle bite. It was no longer crisp—these cookies had sat too long and grown soft and damp.

The taste was far from what she remembered, but she still found a faint echo of it.

“Could you brew me a cup of tea, Vanessa?”

“One moment.” Vanessa rose at once to fetch tea leaves and hot water.

The girl with braided hair silently gazed at the plate of cookies and bread.

Her teacher had told her that history repeats itself. A thousand years ago, five Saints destroyed the Lord of Shadows, ending the age of darkness and ushering in a new era. Now, four Saints had already fallen, and the shadows threatened to return, bringing about another cycle.

It seemed fate was inevitable. Yet even so, she could not give up her struggle. She must protect those behind her.

“Heidi, remember: countless sacrifices have made you who you are. You must shoulder the duties that are yours to bear.” That was what Mother Charlotte had told her on the eve of her ascent to the tower—the last words she ever spoke to her.

She no longer answered to the name Heidi. Now she was called “Serephia.”

But why, then, did she still recall those tranquil afternoons?

She finished chewing the cookie, swallowing the last crumb.

She did not wait for Vanessa’s tea, but still tasted a hint of sweetness.

Later, on her journeys, she returned to that city—returned to Helburg in the Nederlands.

Helburg was still Helburg, but the little shop she had known was gone. She heard the owner had died a few years back, and no one inherited his craft. The old tables and chairs had long since been put away.

She never again tasted the tea of memory, nor ate those remembered cookies. Only the comics and storybooks lived on in her mind.

Perhaps this was the destiny she had to face—that she must forsake all to confront the shadow.

“But still, I thank you, for letting me have such beautiful memories.”

“May the Lord bless your soul.”

She stood, set the holy crown upon her brow once more, and took up the scepter.

Starlight welled in her eyes. In that moment, divine majesty radiated from her. Vanessa, holding the bone china cup of tea, set it before her and knelt on one knee.

She turned to gaze at the cloud-laden sky, her face set with unyielding resolve.

(End of Volume One)