When they entered Brother Nicolas’s chambers, he sat behind a desk stacked on either side with books. He was an older man with hardly any hair on his head. He grasped the table for support with a frail, wrinkled hand as he stood. His back hunched beneath the brown monk’s robe he wore as he embraced each one of them.
Willow liked him immediately.
He clung to Sage’s shoulder as he finished, using it as a brace to return to his chair. He sat down with a heavy sigh.
His blue eyes were wise, and intelligence showed from them. The corners of his lips had deep laugh lines. “It’s so good to see you girls, although I would never have recognized you,” Brother Nicolas admitted.
Sage glanced uncomfortably at Willow.
Willow smiled warmly at Brother Nicolas. He seemed grateful for the company.
“You were this big,” he held out a hand three feet from the floor, “when I last saw you three. And you were a rambunctious lot!” He chuckled richly.
“How long ago was that?” Willow asked.
He pursed his lips in thought. “Neigh on twelve summers.”
“Twelve?” Willow gasped. That would have been right after their mother died.
“Of course, you came back for visits. But not often.” He looked at her through contemplative, narrowed eyes. “You must be Willow.”
Willow nodded, pleased he recognized her out of all of them.
He laughed and swatted his knee. “I remember those golden ringlets. Cried all night for your father. We didn’t know what to do with you! You drove Brother Peter mad.”
“She still drives some people mad,” Raven muttered.
Willow ignored her.
“I’m so pleased you came to visit again,” Brother Nicolas said.
Sage exchanged an intense glance with Willow, silently urging her to tell him about the book.
“Well, actually, we came to ask a favor of you.” Willow untied the pouch and opened it to remove the book. “We would like you to read this to us.” She handed it to him.
Brother Nicolas took it. He angled it toward the light of a candle on his desk, studying it for a moment. He opened it and perused the parchment pages. His merriment vanished, and there was a seriousness in his voice. “Where did you get this?”
Willow hated to lie. Especially to a friend and a monk. “It was a gift.”
“A gift?” Raven echoed, staring at her with a stern look.
Willow didn’t acknowledge her. She would explain later why she had lied about Christian giving it to her.
“Hmmm.” He leaned forward until his nose all but touched the pages. A deep frown etched into his weathered forehead. He looked up at Willow. “Who gave you this book, child?”
“A man,” she answered evasively.
Raven rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Leave this book with me. No good will befall you if you keep it,” Brother Nicolas warned.
Sage and Raven turned to Willow. She felt caught between curiosity and a sense of dread. What could be in that book for him to give such a dire prediction? “Why do you say that?”
He pointed one of his crooked fingers at the first page, moving from one figure in the text to another. “I’ve been around for far too long. I’ve seen every kind of book there is. You can’t read this. It is babble.”
“Babble?” Sage echoed, scowling in confusion. “Why would someone write a book that you can’t read?”
“Oh, you can read it. After you figure out the code.”
