Chapter 3: Fantasy Prodigy

The next morning, the orphans are allowed to have their little free time.

Of course, the bed, if that was what it is, remains to be uncomfortable as its poor imitation of cotton. Especially with the hay straws still prickly and sticky on my skin.

Walking around the church grounds, I see some of the devotees paying respect in the early morning, praying for an early bounty before winter settles in and Father Donavic preaching his verses before his audience.

He must have more than one book somewhere if he's versing the bible. That or perhaps he's pulling those words out of his arse and accepting them as god's teachings. Then again, it's not fair for me to judge whether or not the Kingdom of England acquired the bible was authentic, or scammed by their mainland counterparts.

Speaking of, I recall a few mentions about churches being almost everywhere by the king's decree. As to when I ended up, I could only be certain that this was the 10th century when the Kingdom of England was first established after King Æthelstan thwarted the Norse away from the British Isle.

As for the minor details, my head is still in the clouds.

Nevertheless, I reconsidered my options. Sure, I could try to 'borrow' Father Donavic's book, but then I'll come across another problem.

Language.

The old dialect of English closely resembles the Russian's, but it is different regardless. The point is, I don't know either of them, so what makes me think I could translate them?

...

Does anyone know how to read?

I decided to have a quick chat with the other orphans and check to see if any of them knew any Latin or Old English characters.

"You mean the time when Father is reading? It's kinda boring, I think I forgot."

"Nanny said girls shouldn't have to read. She said we should make ourselves pretty and healthy for marriage."

"Reading? Why should we read when we have Father to teach us about god?"

"I'm not sure, I hear it's expensive to buy books and that some of those books are bad."

Great, nobody knows how to read or write. This is the prize I get for winning the birth lottery, being reborn as a peasant, an orphan at that.

Thus, it had me thinking.

During this period, it was nearly impossible to change social status.

One could try to sell themselves in the marriage market to quickly change their social standings, but that's often practiced between the nobility for the sake of legitimacy. Peasants are just flat-out broke to afford such extravagant weddings, not that they can improve their own lives by marrying some rich noble daughter. At best, they will only have their head on a platter.

I could try to enlist in the military. After all, in this period, there was no shortage of demand for troops, especially in this period. Then again, even if the military leaders promise lavish rewards, the likelihood of dying on a battlefield is pretty absolute if the leaders themselves don't have clever tactics other than charging and retreating. Not to mention attrition warfare, with limited access to food or water, and diseases that only exist to make you suffer until you die.

Of course, I can try learning to read in this church. Makes it easier to gain status, especially since I'm here in the first place This period was even more superstitious than the Salem witch trials. What better way to live than when god has your back covered in most things? Then again, the prospect of having to absolutely live a virtuous life in this period is a tough order. Not sure if I really want to be a celibate.

Lastly, I could try to buy my way out of serfdom. Some medicines are always in demand, just as the desire for better swords and armor. With my knowledge from the modern era, I can literally rule the world!

....

What am I saying? Throughout history, there has been enough untold bloodshed that both good and evil have done to the innocent and foes. In this timeline, is there a possibility that I might create a butterfly effect where all of humanity is destined to suffer absolute terror in terms of economic disparities, climate disasters, and perhaps ideology schism? The fact of the matter is that every human has their own desire to shape their destiny. humanity is often more clever than it is taken for granted.

Besides, I'm also broke.

Not a lot of options to create my perfect retirement plan. I walked around, hoping it might get my mind off those things until I stumbled upon what seemed to be a tapestry of some knights and lords. Visually, it supposedly shows humility before the audience, but it's just another way for the rich to show off to their friends.

I stared blankly at the picture. I'm not sure what this art is based on, but what I do know is that people always like to see something new. After all, how did the ancient Greeks, Egyptians, or Hans get their mythology from?

Mythology is also the catalyst of fantasy, bringing the most creative and imaginative world to creation. Enough to move me to tears.

"That's it..."

I live in the church after all, surely they must have some papers around to write.

I quickly snoop into the other rooms, searching for anything that can be a substitute for paper and ink needed to draw as much fantasy before I succumb to the mindless masses. The only things I can gather are a small bottle of ink and a small patch of linin enough to draw a picture.

------------------------------------------

"Where is young Northelm, sister?" Father Donavic asked as a girl started to braid his grey beard.

"I'm not sure, Father. I thought he was with you when you were giving mass." Sister Domne replied.

As far as he knows, all the orphans are outside to play with one another. Being inside all the time is quite boring, so he understands how the children feel. They also know better than to leave the church's grounds, so he could rule that out.

"Has anyone seen Northelm?" He asked to the children.

"No Father, I was here making your beard." The girl playfully replied as she began to tie them.

"Not sure if the skinny kid really that hard to miss... I don't see him."

"I last saw him at the pews, but I think he also got bored."

"You think he went out of the village? I hope the wolves get him so that he be a scared cat. That will be funny."

"I don't think Northelm left outside at all? I'm pretty sure he is inside."

Father Donavic set the girl down gently as he stood up.

Intrigued by curiosity, the children followed him as everyone walked with him. Sister Domne remains outside to make sure the children aren't sneaking out of the church, only to get lost in the village.

As Father Donavic walked the corridors, he could see that his bedroom desk had been ransacked. Nothing of importance had been stolen, but a small vial of ink and his brush left him bewildered.

He then checks each room to see if anything is out of place. Nothing of importance has been taken. He went to the kitchen, but it seemed no one had stolen food. Nothing of significant value has been stolen, other than the ink and linin.

As he quietly mumbled, one of the kids screamed out.

"I found him! He is inside the dorm!"

Sister Domne entered the room.

The moment she approached, I felt my ear being pulled to a twist.

"OW OW OW, WHY! STOP, IT HURTS!"

"You little brat! Those are not toys for you to play with! You're going to sleep without supper, right after giving you a good smack!"

She marched out of the room with my ear in her hand. I tried to keep up, but the yanking and the kids laughing made it difficult to focus.

As the children followed Sister Domne, Father Donavic entered the room. He found his linin papers across the floor, whereas the brush remained on an unfinished picture. The bottle hadn't been knocked over, so he wouldn't worry about buying a new one.

When he picked up a paper, his eyes seemed opened more, staring at the depiction of creatures he never imagined. Not that he could read what had been inscribed in their names nor their nature.

'Orcs', 'Elves', 'Dwarfs', 'Mermaids', and even humans. There are so many other drawings that he hasn't checked, but only these five were enough to understand. Each of these drawings shows such a refined detail, that he couldn't compare them to the fabled frescos and tapestry he know of. Not even those that he had never seen across Europa could match the sublime of terrible ugliness and unmatched beauty.

Yet, only two pictures that he himself couldn't take his eye's off.