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When Yoongi was a young novice, he had chafed at some of the restrictions of his order. He didn’t like being told what he had to do when. But as the youngest son of a large family, he knew it was necessary for him to stick it out - otherwise he’d be returned home as a failure, and he’d have an even harder life toiling on the farm. So he bit his tongue and learned the ways of being a monk.
And, over the years, it had paid off. His youthful vinegar had mellowed into something sweeter and more satisfying, and he had found peace and contentment in maintaining the routine of the monastery. He joined the rest in their prayers four times per day, and worked in the garden that fed them, and provided what medicines and treatment he could to the farming village nearby, and gave advice and comfort to those who visited.
And even as the world around them changed, and the older monks in the order went to their final rest, and fewer novices joined, still Yoongi carried on. He was satisfied with his place in the world and his part in keeping things going. And even as the order invariably shrank over the years, still he lived his life as he always had.
By the time Yoongi was forty, there were only three of them left in the monastery. Father Kim, the head of their order, who was at least seventy years old; and Brother Choi, who had been Yoongi’s mentor when he joined and had now just turned sixty-five. And thus Yoongi resigned himself to most probably overseeing the end of this way of life. He would bury Father Kim and Brother Choi in turn, and keep up the monastery alone as best he could, and hope that the village would be able to put their building and gardens to some other use once he was gone too.
However, one chilly Monday in early spring, his expectations were uprooted entirely.
“Brother Min,” Father Kim addressed him after morning prayers were complete. “Please come to my office - I wish to talk to you.”
Yoongi had bowed and gone with him, wondering what could have caused this change to their routine. Normally he would be going out and fetching water for the garden, and then going to the kitchen to cook the morning meal. Instead he was seated on a wooden chair in Father Kim’s office, surrounded by his leather-bound books and hundred year-old tapestries. It looked exactly the same as it had when he’d first come here, nearly twenty-five years ago now. He supposed that Father Kim, still in his same plain brown robe cinched in with a rope and his plain leather shoes, must look older now than he had then - but such gradual changes over the years had eluded Yoongi’s notice. He seemed just as unchanged as the boulders outside that marked the edge of the monastery’s land.
Yoongi wondered if Father Kim had similar thoughts about him. He supposed he had, in some ways, changed much more drastically in those shared years - changing from a stringy, fiery teenager into a calm older man (also much less stringy from the years of manual labor). Which version did Father Kim see, Yoongi wondered - still the fidgety teen, swallowed by his too-large hand me downs, or the steady, mature monk who’d lived by his side all these years?
“I have received an alarming report from the cathedral at Chestnut Ridge,” Father Kim said solemnly, gesturing to a piece of parchment with the remnants of a ripped wax seal on it. “According to the mayor, the priest has abandoned it and it lies empty, and the townspeople claim it is haunted.”
“Haunted?” Yoongi echoed, perplexed. “But Chestnut Ridge is a very prosperous and generous town, and the cathedral is supposed to be one of the finest in the area. How could this happen?”
“That’s what they’ve asked us to find out,” Father Kim informed him grimly. “We are the next nearest religious authorities, and it’s our duty to solve this problem.”
Yoongi nodded.
“So that’s why I’m asking you to go,” he concluded.
Yoongi froze. Startled words were on his tongue - why us? Why me? Why not reach out to the bishop? What can I possibly do? - but long practice (and many lectures in his youth about the importance of obedience) kept him silent.
“I know it is a lot to ask,” Father Kim said with a tinge of regret. “But not only are you the youngest and fittest of those of us who are left, but you’re also brilliant and compassionate. If anyone can untangle whatever happened there, and restore the faith of the people of Chestnut Ridge, it’s you.”
Yoongi felt himself blush. How rarely in his forty years of life had he gotten such a compliment! He bowed his head.
“I will do my best, Father,” he murmured.
“Thank you, Brother,” his superior replied. “Take anything you need. All our supplies are at your disposal though - I suppose I don’t know what one may need for such a journey.”
“Brother Choi was a soldier before he joined our order,” Yoongi suggested. “I will ask his advice.”
He didn’t do that right away, though. The needs of the monastery came first. So he fetched water and tended the garden and cooked a simple porridge for the three of them. He felt a little sad as he prepared it - Father Kim and Brother Choi would need to do everything between the two of them while he was gone. He hoped it wouldn’t be too hard on them. Perhaps he’d ask some of the young people in the village to check in on them from time to time. He hoped that he wouldn’t be gone too long, that he’d unravel whatever the mystery was and convince the priest to come back (or a new priest to come oversee what the other had fled from).
It took just one day longer for Yoongi to be ready to go. The summons had seemed urgent, so it was best to respond quickly in case things were going to get worse. He’d done as much as he could to ensure Father Kim and Brother Choi could withstand his absence. There was nothing to do then but to strap on the bag Brother Choi had helped him pack and point his very plain, worn leather shoes in the direction of Chestnut Ridge.