Lark had decided not to go to church. Finding the Balance in her life was not her problem right now, and she didn’t need the steward from the chapel in town taking up her morning. Her father never attended a Sunday meeting, and her mother never made him. It was her grandfather who was the most dedicated to the Sunday ritual of hearing the steward’s message and participating in the community gathering. And it was her grandfather’s spirit she was trying to draw inspiration from here on the farm. So, even though she had decided not to go, she found herself dressed and ready early and walking into town. On the way she collected two small stones and put them in her pocket

  It had grown a little cooler today, and she was glad for the extra thick sweater she had pulled on this morning. Her mother’s old garment kept her warm and lightened her steps. The town was up early on Sundays, and she joined the steady stream of people headed to the small chapel just off the green, with a lovely view of the docks and bay below. She found June walking with Martha and Helena and slipped in beside them.

  “You came,” June said as if she knew she’d be here even if Lark didn’t know herself.

  “Grandfather always showed up,” she said.

  “He said it gave him insight and focus for the week,” Grandmother said. “I think he also liked to see his friends.”

  The Chapel of the Balance in Mystic Landing was a lovely building. It was completely symmetrical, with large open double doors with a moon carved into one and a sun on the other. Large windows ran along each wall, sending plenty of morning sun into the stone structure. Wood beams, high above them, supported the peaked roof and supported banners, colorful bunting, and two chandeliers that could be lit for use at night. The back wall featured a large rosette window, and Lark could see the water sparkling beyond. The space was peaceful and welcoming, and she felt her grandfather nod approvingly.

  She took the stones from her pocket and placed them on the large scales in front of the circular window. She placed one in each pan and watched the scale dip and correct until it was level again. Others filed in and placed two items on the scale. June put two pennies. Martha had two seashells.

  They took seats on one of the many benches that filled the space. The benches all faced the middle of the room, forming a large oval able to seat several dozen. More benches lined the walls, creating even more seating. Carpets, mostly old and well worn, covered the floor in a patchwork, and tapetstries softened the stone walls between the windows. Pillows and cushions sat in the middle, and children were already gathered on them. The space hadn’t changed at all in the ten years she had been gone.

  A man in a simple brown robe with a white collar embroidered with a gold geometric design stood in the center. He had a dove on his finger and let the kids touch it gently. He had a black patch over one eye.

  “The new steward is young,” Lark said to June. “How long has he been here.”

  “He’s an old soul,” Martha said. “Came here a couple of years ago. Steward Lang is his name. Another veteran returned to us in pieces,” she said with a touch of anger in her voice.

  Steward Lang returned the bird to a small cage and greeted a few more people until the chapel bell rang the hour. Then he stood in the center of the room, closed his eyes, and started to hum. After a few bars the people joined in until the whole building was full of the vibrations of everyone present.

  Lark noticed Ian and his parents sitting across the room. Mr and Mrs Bly sat hand in hand in the front row. Jessica sat on the cushions with her children around her. Her husband sat behind her, with the oldest on one side of him and his father-in-law, Mr Wheeler, on the other. Penny and Tish sat against the wall, eyes closed, faces upturned. Lark noticed Garrison slip in and lurk near the door, his black coat hiding him in the shadows.

  The steward raised his hands and then lowered them, signaling the group to return to quiet. The hall became still and peaceful.

  “Brothers and sisters, we stand today at the turning point,” the steward began. “The day when the Great Balance sets the sun and moon in equal share of sky. Light and darkness, neither overpowering the other, but each yielding, each rising in its time. This is no small thing. The Balance teaches us that all things have their season. The quiet dark that nourishes the roots and the growing light that stirs the bud to bloom. Each is sacred. Each is needed. As our gardens wake and the sea softens its chill, so too may our hearts stir toward hope. Let us remember that balance is not stillness. It is motion, like the tide, like the wheel. It asks us to walk forward with care, with kindness, and with courage.”

  Steward Lang looked out across at his audience, turning as he spoke so that he could look at each person, if only for a moment. “This week, tend something small: a seed, a wound, a friendship. Restore what was broken, or gently dismantle what no longer serves. In that, we walk the path of both sun and moon. May the Balance bless you and keep you turning true.”

  The group clapped, and a few people raised their voices in agreement. Beside her Martha said, “I am the sun and the moon.” She heard various other affirmations around her. Without thinking, the mantra she had spoken in medical tents and over bleeding soldiers came to her lips. “Healing comes not in haste, but in harmony.”

  June’s hand came gently around hers and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Like the tide, all things grow, and all things die,” June said, and it was as if Elliot Truedale was sitting beside her now. Those were the words he always said. She was glad she had come today.

  The steward invited others to speak if they felt called. Then, anyone with community announcements was encouraged to speak as well. June stood and welcomed Lark and Garrison home. The steward then led them in a few moments of meditation and thoughts for those who had not come home from the war. After that, he raised his hands and said, “Walk in Balance, my friends.”

  The group began to rise, and some left while others stayed to talk. Several people came up to Lark to welcome her home. Garrison had slipped out quietly.

  A tall woman a few years younger than Lark greeted her with a handshake. “Welcome home,” she said. “We haven’t met yet, but my name is Letty Frame.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Letty is Mr Frame, the tavernkeeper’s niece,” June said. “She works there most evenings.”

  Letty did not look like a waitress or a bartender. Her crisp dress was spotless, and her hair was pulled back into a braid, not a hair out of place, and a pair of silver glasses sat on her freckled nose.

  “Oh good, you’ve met Letty,” Ian said as he joined them.

  “Mr Jacobson,” Letty said with enthusiasm. I’m glad to find you this morning. Please tell your father that the leather book cover he fashioned for me is perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Letty turned to Lark, “I often have a book with me in the tavern, and several times I’ve gotten it a bit wet, which is just awful. One such time Mr Jacobson, the older, saw me trying to wipe up some beer from the cover of a collection of poems and offered to make me a jacket of sorts for my books in my pocket while I work. I like to read during the slow times or when I am allowed a break. He didn’t even charge me.” She grinned and pulled out a book from an ample pocket in her skirt. It was covered by a simple brown leather book cover with a bit of decorative stitching around the edges.

  “Your father is observant and kind,” Lark said with a smile.

  “He and my mother are just over there if you want to thank him yourself,” Ian said.

  Letty’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, thank you. And I hope to see you both in the tavern sometime!” She called as she headed towards the Jacobsons.

  “I see that both Jacobson men have a soft spot. Should I worry that no one in town is paying for leathergoods?”

  “Nonsense, I sold a pair of work boots to Harold Triburg at full price just yesterday.”

  “I’m impressed that Mr Triburg would need workboots,” Lark said as she watched Jessica’s older husband nod at whatever she was saying to him across the room.

  “He said his son wanted to learn to shoot and his wife said he had to stop getting his oxfords muddy. They are an interesting couple.”

  “He was hunting in his oxfords?” Lark said with a chuckle.

  “Perhaps he makes her laugh,” Ian said.

  “I hope so,” Lark said. “My mother always said that was important in a relationship.”

  “I think it’s true,” Ian said. “Although I have no experience, my parents seem to laugh a lot.”

  “I’m glad,” Lark said as she watched Letty smiling and happy thanking the Jacobsons.

  “Speaking of your parents, I have a lovely bouquet of tulips just about ready to bloom.”

  “Perfect timing. Her birthday is tomorrow. Can I accompany you home and get them?”

  “Only if you let me work a bit on your arm. I promise to be more prudent with my energy from now on.”

  As they made their way out, the steward stopped them. “Miss Truedale,” he said. “Can I have a word?”

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Ian said with a nod to the steward.

  Lark squirmed a bit inside. She was hoping to avoid getting cornered by the steward. The last thing she needed was to get roped into serving on a committee or guilted into coming every Sunday.

  “Your homecoming has made many people in our community happy, Miss Truedale,” he said with a warm smile. She could see a bit of scaring peeking out from under his eyepatch. Had his injury necessitated the removal of his eye completely, or had he lost sight and felt more comfortable covering a unsightly injury.

  “I am glad to be home,” she said.

  “The Great Balance blesses you with magical abilities, I have heard. Did you train with a steward of magic?”

  “I learned much from my grandfather, who was a skilled grow mage. My mother also had healing abilities. But, they did have me train for several years with Steward Pathfinder. He traveled between the villages in the area when I was younger. He also… went to war.”

  Steward Lang nodded. “I knew Bradly Pathfinder. He was a talented Moon mage and a good teacher. You were lucky.” As he smiled, his patch shifted, and more of his scar was visible. The skin looked puckered, like a burn scar.

  “You are curious about my eye,” he said.

  “My apologies,” Lark said. “I did not mean to stare. I saw many eye injuries, and I am trying to leave the healer mindset behind, but it is hard.”

  “It’s alright. We all have trouble leaving things behind. That’s why I became a steward. It was a burn,” he said.

  Lark’s stomach tightened. “You were tortured.”

  He nodded. “It’s an empty socket now. A little alarming for the children, but they like the patch. It makes me mysterious.” He grinned, but Lark saw the pain behind it.

  “Does anyone else here know what you went through?” she asked. Her voice grew quiet out of respect. She had treated men who had been prisoners. Most had lost their minds as well as parts of their bodies. Their enemies had been brutal.

  “They know I fought and was injured. I would tell them if they asked. But most do not want to know.”

  “I don’t blame them,” Lark said. “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “It has brought me here. And here is where I am supposed to be.”

  When she left the chapel, she found Ian and Garrison with a group of men. A farmer from north of her place was upset.

  “I tell you, it was no wolf,” he said. “It was as large as a bear.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a bear then?” Ian said. “They are hungry this time of year.”

  “No, no, no,” the farmer said. “I know what a bear looks like. It is a full moon tonight. It was a werewolf.”

  “Nonsense,” Garrison said. “No such thing. Perhaps a shepherd is missing his dog. George Pittman used to have massive dogs. Perhaps it’s one of them?”

  “George’s dogs are clear across the county,” another man said.

  “Did it kill any livestock?” Lark asked, joining the group.

  “No,” he said, but I found a deer carcass near the road.”

  “Regular old wolves eat deer,” Garrison said.

  “Sun mages, ever the skeptics,” the farmer said. “You should welcome something more dangerous than you haunting our town.”

  Ian had to put a hand on Garrison’s shoulder. Garrison rolled it off and walked away.

  “I’m going to talk to the mayor,” the farmer said. “Something must be done.”

  The group dispersed, and Lark and Ian were left standing in front of the chapel.

  “I don’t like this,” Lark said.

  “Me either,” Ian said. “That farmer is not far from your place.”

  “I’m not scared of a wolf. I’m scared of terrified townspeople looking for a wolf.”

  “Let’s look around the farm when we get there, anyway. Your rooster is no match for a desperate creature like this could be.”

  On the walk home, Lark changed the subject and had Ian tell her how his arm rehabilitation was going. She was happy to hear he was stretching it regularly, but not too much and that he had gained some mobility. Once they got to the farm, she worked a bit on the tendons near his elbow and upper arm muscles. There was much improvement. This was good.

  He insisted on looking around the farm for signs of the animal, and when they found nothing, Ian seemed satisfied.

  “Lock your door tonight, just in case?” he said.

  She thought about making a joke about wolves opening doors, but she knew better. The people of Mystic Landing had seen harmless, everyday magical creatures and heard tales of monsters and dragons, but they had not experienced them like the armies of Belrae had across the oceans.

  “I promise to be safe,” she said. She gave him the tulips for his mom and watched him as he walked down the road. It was nice to have someone worry about her.