The Fire
of Eden
The Harwood Mysteries
Book 3
Antony Barone Kolenc
Contents
How to Read Historical FictionBefore Reading
During Reading
After Reading
Map: Xan’s World, 12th-Century England
1 The Tallest Branch
2 A Hidden Cross
3 Darkness and Pain
4 An Unwelcome Plan
5 The Messenger Arrives
6 An Unexpected Path
7 Road to Grenton
8 A World Away
9 A Strange Tale
10 An Unappreciated Gift
11 Fire of Eden
12 An Impossible Crime
13 The Investigation Begins
14 The Magician’s Lair
15 The Investigation Continues
16 The Thieves’ Exchange
17 Apollo and Aphrodite
18 The Lady’s Rules
19 The Magician’s Secret
20 The Storm Breaks
21 Scoundrels and Villains
22 Reversal of Fortune
23 A New Path
24 All Good Things
Epilogue
Author’s Historical NoteLife at a Benedictine Monastery
Abbeys and Priories
Bishops, Prince-Bishops, and the Sacrament of Holy Orders
Peasant Children and Feudalism
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Mom
my biggest fan
How to Read Historical Fiction
The Fire of Eden is a work of historical fiction. This type of book differs from nonfiction because the story is imagined by the author and does more than simply tell you “what happened.” Rather, this type of book helps you, the reader, understand what happened in history while drawing you in and entertaining you. The story invites you to make connections with situations and characters and to discover what stays the same for people of any period and also determine what might have changed over time.
Even though the characters and events are imagined, an author of historical fiction tries to be accurate when presenting what it might have been like for a specific group of people to live and work in a particular time and place. That’s why an author might present scenes and dialogue that differ greatly from what we experience today.
These differences are also why some of what you read might feel foreign or even shocking. As you read, remember that in some cases, the characters aren’t doing something “wrong”; they are simply doing what was considered acceptable at that time. As the reader, it’s important for you to read critically throughout. If you’re interested in learning more about the historical context of The Fire of Eden, you’ll find more information in the back of the book, in the Author’s Historical Note.
Here are some tips for making the most of The Fire of Eden.
Before Reading
Do some brief Internet research about life in twelth-century England and in a typical abbey of that time. Watch a video, view illustrations, or read an article to gain some historical context.
During Reading
Ask yourself questions such as the following:
In what ways are the actions and reactions of young characters like those of kids today? In what ways are they different?
God and religion played a significant role in the lives of people during the Middle Ages. What religious terms and ideas in The Fire of Eden seem strange to you, and why? What aspects of religion in the story are more familiar to you, and why?
Xan and his friends have high expectations of monks because they have dedicated their lives to God. How are these expectations challenged? What do you know about how monks live today? Do you think the expectations are the same today? Why or why not?
After Reading
Ask yourself questions such as the following:
In what ways do people now think and act differently from during Xan’s time? Do you think today’s ways are better or not? Why?
People suspected the magician because they feared his powers. Why do you think they believed in magic rather than a logical explanation? How do people view magic today? What are some similarities and differences in viewpoints between the Middle Ages and now?
Xan became too proud while trying to solve the mystery. What could Xan have thought, said, or done to remain humble? When using your own gifts, what can you do to remain humble?
1
The Tallest Branch
Pride. Conquering the giant oak would be a source of fame to the orphan boys at Harwood Abbey. No one had ever dared climb to its tallest branch.
Until now.
Xan stood below the first low-hanging limb, fingers raised and ready. Across from him, John, too, had lifted his hairy arms close to the thick branch, which jutted toward the dirt.
“Ready? And go!” Joshua shouted, holding up a hand above his red hair. He’d insisted that he be the one to start Xan and John on their way.
They jumped to the branch at the same time, grasping it and swinging their legs over the top. Then Xan grabbed the branch to the right of the trunk, while John went left.
The daunting tree’s vast limbs stretched over a ribbon of the woodland stream. Had three of the boys stretched their arms out, they barely could have touched fingers around its hefty trunk.
Xan probably shouldn’t have worn the new green tunic Sister Regina had sent over from the convent yesterday. Though it was softer on his skin, he might rip a hole in it up here.
Above him, John had already gone a branch ahead, his muscular arms moving in near panic to beat Xan at this race. Actually, this wasn’t supposed to be a race at all—just a fun dare.
The dare had been John’s, of course. “I’ll bet we can get to that tallest branch,” he’d said. They had called a truce and had become like friends in the months since Xan had returned from Lincoln, but John still made everything a competition, even when it wasn’t.
David, trying to be a good friend to John, had refused any part in their “addlepated” idea, reminding them again how the prior had declared with authority that this tree was dangerous.
Branch after branch, they pounced and heaved and grunted their way toward the top of the tree. The lower branches were easier to navigate—thick and firm to grab. But as they ascended past the halfway point, they had to choose their limbs more carefully.
With each moment, more of the countryside, and even parts of the abbey, came into view. The summer sun flamed behind the green forest and lit atop the main abbey church, though the trees still hid the other buildings: the scriptorium, boys’ dorm, girls’ convent, and all the rest.
There were the granges, where wheat grew and the servants labored. Those fields ended at the woodlands: mile after mile of green trees pouring out on all sides. But this was too distant to see Chadwick Manor or even the abbey’s two manors: Penwood and Oakwood.
Xan sniffed at the hot fresh air and crisp green leaves all around him.
“Enjoy the view,” John called down, sweat dripping from the sandy hair that wilted on his head. “I’m going to get there before you.” No doubt John had chosen his branches faster, but it was obvious that his path forward would soon become rough. Maybe Xan could make up some time if he just hurried a bit more.
“Be careful, John,” he said. “Remember, we’re not racing.”
John laughed. “Of course we are, you simpkin.”
They kept climbing. As they neared the top—a dizzying height best handled by not looking down—John’s pace barely let up. He’d taken the riskier route but kept his lead.
Indeed, John was almost to the tallest branch. Xan was go
ing to lose.
“I’m gonna be the first one to ever do it,” John shouted down to the group of boys who’d formed at the base of the tree. Even David was there now. “You’re all my witnesses.”
Xan wasn’t far behind John. It was possible for him to make up the distance between them. John’s next step surely would require at least an ounce of thought to figure out properly. Xan doubled his pace.
He grasped the next bough, but the old oak was full of deception. The dead branch cracked as he trusted his weight to it. He smashed back into the trunk, ripping the green tunic.
The broken limb dropped to the ground, crashing all the way down.
What would Lucy say if she could see him now, putting his life in danger for no good reason? Nothing positive. And her words would likely be followed by a worried prayer.
Christina, on the other hand, might appreciate this kind of competition. She’d probably be telling everyone that the man she was going to marry one day would be the best tree-climber ever.
It didn’t matter, though. Neither one of the girls was here to see this. Christina was probably with Uncle William in Lincoln, helping him restart his merchant business using that emerald Xan had given him—the final gift of the bandit Carlo. Uncle William had promised that one day he would ask Xan to return as his apprentice.
And Lucy was no doubt traveling again with her father and the royal judges. One day soon, the lord of her manor would end his duty with King Henry’s court. Maybe then she’d come back to the abbey to watch Xan climb trees, when she wasn’t in the chapel or doing chores.
John was gazing at him from the heights with uncertain eyes. He must have seen that branch crack and drop. Now he would know the tree couldn’t be trusted. That might give Xan a chance.
“Slow down a little,” Xan said. “Some of these branches are dead.”
John just smiled and shook his head. “Nay, I can do this. You might as well give up.” He pulled himself up two more limbs. The tallest branch was nearer than ever now. Finally, he touched the base of that limb and gave out a cry of victory. “I win!”
Xan stopped climbing. If he hadn’t been distracted by the view and his thoughts, maybe he would have reached the top first. He looked down into an abyss: sheer thin air between him and the ground far below. The tree swayed in the warm breeze and, at this height, felt more perilous than ever.
“Fine enough, John. You win. I’m going to start the climb down now.”
But John wasn’t looking at him. He was peering up the bark of the tallest branch. “I think I can go out a bit farther,” he said.
“Out on it? John, are you—”
But John just flicked his hand rudely and shimmied out on the limb as it drooped beneath him. Even that didn’t deter him. He stopped at midpoint, grinning as the breeze dried his wet hair.
“Look here!” he shouted down. Then, as if coming to his senses, he glanced around him.
That’s when a crackling noise pierced the air and the branch gave way.
As a wild horse rears up to throw its rider, so the tallest branch bent low to drop its climber.
John fell, plummeting headfirst, crashing into branch after branch with heart-wrenching cracks and groans. His body struck the branch where Xan stood and kept falling toward the ribbon of water below, bouncing off each limb like one of the convent girls’ rag dolls.
“John!” David cried from below.
Finally, John plunged from the last great pillar to the water’s edge, striking a stone.
As John had been falling, Xan had been climbing down in a frenzy, faster than he should, but he’d already made it a quarter of the way to the bottom. From this height, the blood on John’s tunic was visible as he lay very still, with David standing over him. Though tall and strong, David was pulling at his dark curly hair in a panic. “Someone help us!” he screamed.
“Run to the abbey, Joshua!” Xan yelled.
Joshua’s freckled face looked up to him. The boy nodded and shot off down the trail.
When Xan made it to the lowest branch, he hopped to the dirt and broke through the circle of boys gawking at John’s body. A pungent odor filled the air, bitter yet sweet: John’s blood.
There was David, crouching over his friend. Blood seemed to ooze from John’s every limb; a white bone poked out from his leg, like a cracked blade of wheat; his matted hair was dyed red as a sunset.
David moved aside as Xan rushed in and checked for the breath of life.
“Is he dead?” David said.
“Not dead. He still lives.” Yet John’s breaths were fast and shallow. Xan ripped a piece of his torn green tunic and soaked it in the stream’s cool water. He washed the bloody grime from John’s forehead and pressed it against the wound on his arm.
Please, God. Don’t let John die.
Footsteps approached along the trail. “They’re over here!” Joshua’s voice. A moment later he bounded through the clearing, followed by Father Clement, the prior of Harwood Abbey, along with four other black-robed monks whose tonsures dripped with sweat. One was Brother Lucius, the abbey’s healer—they called him a “leech” because he used the slimy creatures to treat the ill—holding a leather pouch of herbs.
“Out of the way!” the prior ordered the circle of boys. “Back to the dormitory!”
Xan and David stepped aside as the other boys dispersed.
Brother Lucius bent to John and touched a hand to his forehead. The leech’s hooded cowl slid to his shoulders. It folded over the sleeveless scapular on top of his robe as he examined John’s wounds and the green cloth pressed upon his arm. The back of the monk’s head—no tonsure, since he was bald—bore an almond-shaped birthmark.
“Pray for him, boys,” Brother Lucius said, his black robe and scapular now soiled with dirt and blood and muddy water. He put some herbs on John’s wounds and made the Sign of the Cross.
“How is the child?” Father Clement asked, picking at his well-groomed white beard.
Brother Lucius glanced back with worried eyes. “He is wounded in so many places, Prior. You should anoint him now with the oil of the sick. His soul could depart at any time.”
The prior nodded. “That may help bring him healing.”
So, John’s condition was truly as bad as it looked. But how could it not be? He’d fallen past Xan so fast, striking the branches with such force and from such a great height.
Father Clement pulled a white cloth and small cask of sacred oil from the belt around his black robe, which bulged out from his round belly. Then the priest spoke prayers of healing and blessed John’s hands with oil: “Through this holy anointing, child, may the Lord pardon whatever sins you have committed with these hands.”
The prior did the same on John’s forehead and feet.
The leech then directed the other three monks to ease John up by his shoulders and waist. They did so and solemnly carried his body along the path through the trees that led back to the abbey.
Xan, Joshua, and David followed behind them, the tragedy shocking them into silence.
Poor John! Why did suffering seem to strike people when they least expected it? Like when the bandits attacked Hardonbury, burning it to the ground and killing Mother and Father. Or with Uncle William. He’d been a successful merchant in Lincoln until two tragedies at sea ruined him, making him a beggar—deeply in debt to the Master and afraid for his very life.
Yet Sister Regina would say that tragedy gave God the chance to work good from evil. And with the emerald from Mother and Father’s killer, Xan had done good, giving Uncle William a chance to redeem his business and his life in Lincoln. God had turned bad into good.
How might God work good from John’s tragedy today? Where would it all lead?
“Why was that boy up there?” the prior said to the leech as they walked. “’Tis dangerous!”
“You told them, Clement,” Brother Lucius agreed. “I heard you say so myself.”
David had also reminded them. Still, Xan had agreed to John
’s foolish plan. He should have known better. Even Mother and Father used to warn about climbing too high into trees.
“The abbot counts on me to keep order here,” the prior said. “I have failed him again.”
The leech placed a hand on the priest’s arm. “You are doing all you can, Prior. Our sick abbot knows this well. He would not have placed you in authority if he had doubted your heart.”
Father Clement’s head drooped. “In all truth, Lucius, I doubt my heart.”
Xan walked a few paces slower. The prior’s downcast mood seemed too personal to share with the orphan boys. The priest probably had forgotten they were within earshot.
As they fell further back from the monks, David’s face grew redder and redder until he finally seemed to burst. “This is all your fault, Xan! That’s why John was in that tree.”
“Wait, what did Xan do?” Joshua said, stepping in front of Xan like a shield.
“Really, David,” Xan said. “’Twas John’s idea that—”
“Nay!” David’s voice trembled. “You’re always trying to outdo John all the time; always have to be the best. You act like you’re his friend, but you’re not. Now he might die!” He stormed off down the trail, leaving Xan and Joshua stunned and still.
Nay, this couldn’t be his fault. He hadn’t done anything to John except try to keep peace. Of course, he’d humored John’s competitive streak for the sake of harmony. Certainly, he might have suggested a few harmless contests: races and games of strength and such. But it had always been in the most good-natured way possible, and it had never been dangerous.
This tree disaster was entirely John’s idea. Xan hadn’t encouraged it all, had he?
Blame didn’t matter, anyhow—not when John’s life hung on the edge of a cliff.
2
A Hidden Cross
The Fire of Eden Page 1
