That pale peace of the early morning is the most beautiful thing. When the sun has not yet risen, but there is light enough to see, the world has a softness to it. Colors are subdued, few creatures stir to make noise, the air is fresh with the dampness of dew. Everything is at rest, save for me.
I rise from my bed, don my vestments, and open the narrow cabinet in the corner of my dorm. As a monk, I have few material possessions. I have no need for much, but resting in the back of the cabinet is an item I care deeply about. It is a fishing rod. Though not as expensively crafted as those from Helia, I would not trade this rod for another. This one was made in my home village and that is enough.
A deep sense of calm, the kind that does not even come to me in prayer, fills my body as my fingers wrap around the soft willow wood of the rod. I am a monk. I know my duties are of great service to the Isles and that I fulfill them with grace, but I also know that a part of my soul still yearns to be by the shore.
It is on days like this, when my services are not required until midday, that I indulge that homesick part of my soul. Without further hesitation, I collect my tackle box from the cabinet and turn to leave my dorm. This peace of the early morning is fleeting, and I intend to spend every moment of it I can by the sea.
My footsteps on the stone floor are the only sound I hear. Most of my Brothers are still asleep, and those that are awake are in the healing wards, tending to the ill on the far side of the monastery, so nobody stops me as I make my way through the halls. Even if I had met one of my Brothers though, I doubt he would have stopped to speak with me. Many of them do not know how to view me or my gift, but they know enough not to completely ostracize me so they remain courteous, but distant. It no longer bothers me.
As I step outside, the cool air caresses my cheeks, beckoning me on into the morning. I go. My gaze turns briefly towards Helia and I can see the gilded spires of the city's many sanctums of learning, but that is not where I am headed today. The city is too crowded. It is not as though I dislike being around other people and in the rare moments when I am with others, I actually enjoy it. But if there are too many people around, it creates competition for the fish. I turn away from the city. Recently, after traveling to a nearby village to collect medicinal herbs from their botanist, I had discovered a secluded cove not far from it. It is to here that I travel.
The verdant landscape glistens with the morning dew as I walk past fields. Out here in the countryside, the world is beginning to wake and I am no longer alone. Farmers are out in their fields preparing for another day of labor. They raise their hands in a silent greeting as I pass, a gesture which I return. Birds however, are not silent, and they banish the stillness with their songs, bright, chirping, and clear, as they fly overhead and bounce along the ground. One thing I have learned is that no matter how early I rise, there will always be at least one bird that is already singing.
Soon, I can smell salt on the air. I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill me and soothe my mind. A few minutes later and the sea comes into view. The first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, turning the waves into a sea of silver with its light. My eyes ache at the sudden brightness, but I choose to squint through the pain rather than look away. I don't get to see the sunrise over the ocean as much as I used to and I want to savor it.
It does not take long for my eyes to adjust. The sight is worth the momentary discomfort. White fog billows upwards in a feathery spiral, shining waves carrying sunlight roll towards the shore at a steady pace, a lone ship from a neighboring island makes its way towards Helia, and above me, a seagull flies towards the ocean, laughing as it goes.
It invigorates me and I feel my pace quicken as I continue to the cove. The cliffs around the secluded spot are rocky and steep, but stairs circling the cove provide an easy path down. The steps are even, likely carved by a mason mage, so that even a young child could make the descent without much difficulty. Step by step, I plod my way down before pausing at the final stair to remove my boots. Then, I step down into the sand.
As the soft grit touches my skin, I curl my toes down deeper into it. The grains are cold, not yet warmed by the day, and mixed among them I feel pebbles chipped from the cliff's side and rendered smooth from years of the waves' work. This softness in a welcome break from the heaviness of grave dirt. A sigh, long and deep, flows from me.
I walk across the small beach and step up onto the dock. Beneath my weight, the wood creaks and I hear the sound of sand falling between the boards and into the water below. It is such a soft sound, but it is quiet here. The water is still and the rowboats tied to the dock don't even bob up and down.
At the end of the dock, I sit down and let my feet hang over the edge. I've always been a large man, so despite the dock's height my toes still dip down into the water. The feeling is brisk, as one would expect it to be, but I am unbothered by the chill. The mausoleums and charnel houses I am expected to tend to are far colder than this, but more than that, the water just feels nice.
I open my tackle box next to me and begin the process of preparing my rod. These movements are so practiced that I don't even need to think to perform them, but out of a childhood habit, I hum the rhyme my father would recite when he was teaching me this task. When it is complete, I take out my lure; a wooden fish I carved and set with iridescent pieces of crushed shells. It is prideful, I know, but I admire my craftsmanship as I turn the false fish over in my hands.
I was so restless when I had first come to the monastery. I carved dozens of these fish during those first few homesick months. By the end of my first season there, I had amassed quite the collection. Most I gave away to any who would take them and there is no doubt in my mind that several of these lures never had hooks attached to them and instead became a child's toy.
"No matter," I mumble to myself as I secure the lure to the line, "so long as they are being used."
There is the whistle of the line whizzing through the air followed by the plunk of the lure hitting the water. Now, there is nothing left to do but wait and enjoy the silence. Peace. For the first time in days, I finally have it because, last night, the spirit finally departed.
Last week, a young man had fallen from scaffolding to his death. The Waters of Life are powerful, but even they cannot mend a broken neck. The man had died on the instant, but this was too sudden for his soul. It lingered, confused and unable to make sense of what had just happened until he found me. I explained to him that he was dead, but he refused to believe it and fled. I did not follow. He needed time to himself.
The next night, he returned to me and listened to what I had to say. And I listened to him. For days we spoke, discussing unrealized dreams, what he had accomplished, and those he left behind. I helped him put his feelings into words so I could deliver them to his loved ones. I didn't sleep much those nights, but it was worth it when I recited to him the prayer I had written for his funerary services. After I had finished, he was silent. Then, he bowed his head, said "thank you," and was gone. Peace.
Suddenly, the feeling of warmth beneath my fingers pulls my thoughts back to the present. As my mind was wandering, my fingers had moved their way to that sacred icon of my order, the vial of the Waters of Life. The waters of the blessed spring are balmy warm, like those prepared for a soothing bath, and even though it has been removed from its source, the healing properties it possesses are no less potent. I still remember the day I was presented with this vial. The sky was gray with rain clouds and the air was heavy with the scent of sodden earth and happy vegetation. The foggy sky only made the light in the vial appear to shine all the brighter.
Before my thoughts can drift further back, I hear a noise behind me and glance over my shoulder. It is a young girl. She is dressed in the clothing of the common people and has rolled up her pants legs to her knees, cinching them in place with a bit of twine, to keep them from getting wet. Her thin, long hair extends nearly to her waist. In her arms, she carried her own fishing equipment. She notices my gaze and speaks.
"Umm, hello."
Her voice is soft and I can hear the unease in it. A monk in dark vestments with a grim face. Yes, I understand how unapproachable I must appear. The monks who had come to collect me as a child had unnerved me as well.
"Hello," I respond, hoping that a pleasant tone may alleviate her fears.
"I'm not bothering you, am I," she asks, "if I fish here too?"
"Not at all."
Without further hesitation, the girl springs across the beach. She splashed into the water before jumping up onto the dock so that her feet are free of sand. I turn my attention back to my line as I hear her footsteps thump along the dock until she takes a seat diagonally from me. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she strings her line, her fingers as practiced as mine. A moment later and her line is cast a respectable distance from mine. The comfortable silence of fellow fishers grows between us, but it lasts only a few minutes.
"My name is Katherine," the girl says, "what's your name?"
"Yorick Mori," I respond.
"It's nice to meet you, Mister Mori."
"Likewise, Katherine, but you need not be so formal with me. You may simply call me Yorick."
She nods.
I never had the gift of conversation, not with the living at least, and soon the silence returns. Fortunately though, conversation is something Katherine appears to be gifted with and she begins to speak.
"I don't think I've seen you fishing here before," she says, "I would have remembered seeing a Monk of Dusk."
"You recognize my order?"
"Nobody else wears necklaces like that."
"Hmm, that is true."
"I thought you all spent your time praying or studying or doing other monk stuff."
"And what do you consider 'other monk stuff' to be?"
"Umm, I don't know, actually. Healing people? Burying them? More praying?"
I chuckle.
"We do have free time occasionally."
"And you like to go fishing with yours?"
"I do. I came from another island. Fishing reminds me of home."
"Another island? Then, how did you get here? I thought the monks were all from here originally. Wouldn't you have joined a monastery closer to home?"
"The Brethren wanted me at their main monastery. I was brought here when I was your age."
"My age? Really? Nothing exciting like that has happened to me," she sighs, "I guess I'm going to just be a fisher forever."
"That does not sound terrible. It sounds peaceful."
"Peaceful, but a little boring. I don't need to travel the world, but I want a little excitement. Maybe I could go and fish on one of those big ships, the ones that go far out into the ocean, right up to the edge of the Mist."
"Perhaps."
"Then maybe I could catch one of those really big fish, the kind every fisherman tells stories about, or go visit other islands. Maybe I could even visit your old island."
She sighs again, but this time it sounds contented rather than disappointed.
"Okay," she says, "maybe fishing forever doesn't too bad if I can look forward to stuff like that."
I feel my lips turn up into a small grin.
"That all does sound exciting."
I know it is not much I add to this conversation, but I was always a better listener. Katherine does not appear to mind.
"Yeah!" she exclaims before covering her mouth and lowering her voice again so not to startle any fish, "And if you're on a boat, you get to be part of a crew, so you'll always have someone for company. I don't want to be one of those people who go out in their little row boats by themselves all day. Fishing is more fun when you have someone to talk to, so I'm glad you're here Yorick. Usually my sister comes with me but she has to stay home today. Mom is teaching her how to properly pickle herring."
At the mention of the food, I can feel my face reflexively contort as the memory of that harsh, salty taste coats my tongue. I hold no nostalgic memory for that food despite its prevalence in my childhood.
"What about you?" Katherine asks, "Do you prefer fishing by yourself or with others?"
"None of my Brothers enjoy fishing as much as I do, so I have grown accustom to the solitude."
"Do you do anything with your Brothers? I only have one sister, but we spend so much time together. There must be something you do together."
"Prayer and study."
"That's it?"
"And other monk stuff."
"It doesn't sound like you are very close to them."
Her voice sound sad and she lets out a long sigh before immediately gasping.
"Oh, I didn't mean to be rude or sound like I was saying that your Brothers disliked you or – "
"You do not need to apologize," I interrupt, "you are not entirely incorrect. My relationship with my Brothers is far from familial. We are more akin to colleagues. It is also not uncommon for me to travel between different monasteries, so I do not spend as much time some of my Brothers as others would. Next month, I will be traveling to a monastery on the far side of the island. The abbot there has requested my assistance."
"So you're just very busy helping people. They must be grateful to have you. Do you have magic, like a mage?"
"I have a unique ability that is beneficial to our work, but many are unsettled by it."
For a minute, Katherine is quiet, then her eyes go wide in realization.
"Are," she stammers, "are you the one I've heard rumors about? The monk who can talk to ghosts?"
"I am."
I will not lie to her about this. I am not ashamed of my gift and I want to respect her with honesty.
"So it's true?" she whispers.
"It is."
I don't want it to look obvious, but I tilt my head to watch her reaction. It is not what I expect.
"Woah," Katherine gasps softly before launching into a flurry of questions, "so what are they like? The ghosts? I thought those were just more 'big fish' type stories that people were telling, but you say they're real! Ghosts are real! Are they scary? Are they rotting? Do they haunt those who wronged them? What are they like?"
She is so suddenly loud that any fish have probably been startled away. Still, I cannot help but smile before answering her.
"They were frightening at first," I say, "but then I realized that they were frightened as well, or were sad or confused or lonely. I didn't need to be afraid of them."
"That's why you talk to them," she said with an understanding nod, "so that they won't be lonely."
"Yes. I try to help them find peace."
"By becoming their friend?"
"Yes."
"I wish I could be friends with a ghost."
"I am sure that they would appreciate that. The best thing you can do for them would be to visit their graves, tend to them, and speak to them just as you would a living person. Even if you cannot hear their responses or see them, it will soothe them to know they are remembered."
"So, is the graveyard full of ghosts sitting at their graves?"
"No."
"No? I thought you just said you talked to the ghosts there?"
"I do. I help them find peace and once they do, they pass on, going to whatever awaits us in the beyond."
"So all your friends just vanish one day? That, that sounds so lonely."
"It can be, but I would rather have my friends find peace than be forced to linger."
"You're probably right," Katherine somberly agrees, "I don't think I would be able to keep saying good-bye though. You're a good, strong, kind friend to be able to do that over and over again."
She pulls in her line before casting it out again. I follow suit. The longest stretch of silence yet rests between us. A whole quarter of an hour passes before she speaks again.
"Are you lonely, Yorick?"
"Some days I am," I answer, "but I believe everyone has lonely days, even if they are surrounded by people. Today though, is not one of those days. Today I am content. I have all the pleasant company I could ask for."
A shy smile crosses Katherine's face.
"I'm content too."
By now the sun has risen and its warmth brushes my cheeks. The world is awake now. More gulls go laughing out so sea, more ships leave their harbors, more people descend the steps of the cove. That pale beautiful peace of the morning is gone until tomorrow, but I do not mind. There is beauty in the day as well and all the life that comes with it.