Chapter 7.3.4

Christians are a strange people, often inviting personal assault so that they can demonstrate their faith by not fighting back, yet killing if they think their god has been insulted. It is a strange logic to think that their god would demand violent justice when they may not, but people are rarely logical. Why should we expect more of the gods?

So it was that I, standing beside a devoted follower of the faith and wearing his trappings as a disguise, felt myself to be in grave danger. On the other hand, Silent Monks are sworn to do good by all.

And the way back led me into the hands of Sharp.

We stopped before an old, cracked screen, its brittle frame propped up by a heavy trunk. The monk handed me his candle, then stooped and shoved the trunk away. He pulled back the screen, exposing a crevice in the wall. Taking back his candle, he motioned for me to enter.
Nervously, I stepped in – and my heart slammed in my chest when I heard the screen move back. I turned as a loud scrape announced that the trunk was back in place. Through the cracks in the screen I could see his candlelight, and how it faded as he walked away.

I was trapped, quite alone, and no one knew I was there. For so many years I had prayed for such obscurity and loneliness, yet now I wanted to give it back. I had met a wonderful woman, and I did not want to die without her ever knowing what had become of me. Yet it seemed I had no choice, for I was trapped in a tunnel of rock, in silence, and when my flickering candle burned down, I would not even see death come.

Flickering candle. Candles do not flicker when there is no draft. The flame bent away from the depths of the tunnel; fresh air came from below. This wasn’t a trap, but an escape. I thanked the strange monk for his generosity, and took the path before me.