Updated 11/16/24

Chapter 21

Sarah

Sarah clasped her hands and watched Hawk and Whitefoot gallop off. A tear ran down her cheek as he disappeared amidst the clatter of wagons and the pressing crowd swallowed him. Would she ever see him again?

J’shua, watch over my valiant knight wherever he goes. Help him on his quest.

As soon as he was gone, Sarah felt J’shua’s warm arms. Hawk was noble, and he would continue doing good. She smiled, imagining Sir Hawk battling a dragon. Da is with him and afterward they all meet Ma in a great hall with candles hanging from a high ceiling. A servant with shining buttons gives her a honey cake.

She wiggled the remaining button on her shift and turned her eyes up to Kennah. “Sir Hawk must go on a quest. What is ours?”

Kennah smiled down at her, bouncing the baby on her knee. “We are going to create a new life in the west where J’shua alone is our lord.”

That was like what Da did on his adventures.

She smiled at Kennah, “Ma’am, how can I help?”

“You are such a sweet child to ask that.” Kennah hugged her. “J’shua will lead us. Take Benjamin, while I help Shaun.”

Sarah sat and pulled Benjamin on her lap. Babbling and cooing, she made the baby gurgle and laugh.

With the wagon loaded, stacked with sacks and boxes, they left River Town for the frontier.

Kennah said, “The untamed lands have been given to no noble. The king decreed that any could settle there and own the land they plowed and the homes they built. So, you see, we have a chance to be free of an overlord, except the king himself. He shall see what free people can do.”

***

Sarah loved playing with Benjamin. The chubby baby laughed as she wiggled her fingers and made faces and sudden sounds. They traveled day and night. As she lay in the wagon, she pretended she was a princess being taken to safety by innocent thieves. Her knight left to save the king and queen, who were hunted by an evil wizard. She prayed for them often as her hero proceeded through many challenges and quests.

Shaun touched her knee and pointed. “We’re passing Caswell.”

Gray castle turrets poked up above the trees. She hummed, imagining beautiful ladies in silken dresses and their suitors twirling to a minstrel’s lively music and the brimming tables of a grand feast surrounded by colorful nobles.

The food would be glorious. Never would the bread be stale.

The bumpy road made it hard to sleep. The wagon wasn’t rhythmic like Whitefoot had been. She squirmed, shoving bags of oats and peas around to get more comfortable.

Many days later, mountains appeared in the distance. Da had taught her that the Shining Mountains protected the southern border of Freislicht, and it was always a safe place to go when in danger. She was happy they were doing as her da would.

She wrinkled her brow.

J’shua, keep Ma and Da safe.

Da told her stories of his adventures in strange countries. She wondered how she would tell her story when they sat by the fire together again.

After many days of jostling, Shaun pointed. “See our new home?”

Sarah rubbed her eyes.

Hammering and the distant crack of axes filled the air. Not a single person was idle.

Joyful laughter and snippets of lighthearted conversation floated by. Men toted rocks and logs. Women carried food to a long table.

As they passed it, the smell of cooking made her mouth water. She licked her lips and prayed she could have some, frowning as they continued onward. Her thoughts of rabbit stew and fresh bread made her sigh. She watched it vanish until the laughter of children brought her back.

“Always call me Ma,” Mother Decker reminded as the wagon slowed. “It will keep us safe.”

“Yes, Ma, I will.”

Her real ma wouldn’t mind. David sometimes called her Sir Sarahad. She called him the Blue Knight.

Her new Ma smiled, and Sarah was glad of it. A young woman ran toward them, her arms spread wide in greeting as she exclaimed, “Sister Kennah, we didn’t know you were coming so soon.”

Ma accepted the warm embrace. “Sister Berenda, we had to. It’s grown worse in Lorness. Come. I want you to meet Sarah, a sweet girl who lost her parents. She’s been a great help with Benjamin.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mother Berenda.” Sarah gave a bow.

“Aren’t you a bold child?” The new woman lifted Sarah’s chin. “I am sure J’shua has amazing things ahead for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope so.” Sarah returned the woman’s smile.

Sister Berenda turned back to Ma. “I am glad that you’ve arrived early. We have a newcomer that is expecting a babe any day now. We sent a request for Midwife Matilda in Lexandria, but she has several mothers on the verge of delivery there. The God of Truth has provided our own midwife. I’ll introduce you to them at circle tonight.”

Shaun and several men unloaded the wagon while talking about debt collections and war.

Sarah jumped to the ground, watching the pack of children playing on the other side of the clearing. She beamed up at Ma, with arched eyebrows.

Ma tossed her head toward them. “Go on.”

Sarah ran off.

***

Excitement bubbled up as the children, big and small, called to her as she approached. Laughter echoed through the air. The girl who was “it” discovered the others one by one in their game of hide-and-seek. Sarah was good at this game.

One girl in a pretty flowered shift pointed at her and whispered to her friends, laughing. Sarah looked down at her dirty, torn clothes. She scowled at them. Then they ran away to hide again.

Her new ma and da said that the untamed lands, promised freedom and a chance to create a new life. Not that she wanted a new life, but her old one seemed far, far away. She would have to wait for her real ma or da to find her, like a long, long game of hide-and-seek.

The unfamiliar sights and sounds of scraggly trees, spiky red and blue wildflowers, and strange bird calls filled her senses, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the lively atmosphere. A big boy shut his eyes and counted slow, loud enough to hear over every other sound, “One… Two… Three…” All the other children scattered into the nearby brush to hide. Sarah looked all around to find the perfect spot. Branches wiggled and twigs cracked as she saw where all the others had gone.

She stopped, noticing a brown-haired boy, maybe her age, squatting on the ground, moving small stones into a line. Curious, she traipsed forward and squatted beside him.

“Hallo! I’m Sarah. What’s your name?”

The boy looked up from his game, a playful glint in his eyes. “Hallo.” He returned to his work, his hands moving stones into intricate patterns, his tongue probing along his teeth in concentration.

Sarah bent closer analyzing his activity. What was he doing?

The boy let out a short sigh. “Perfect.” Then he looked up at her again. “I’m Ned. Wanna play with me?”

Sarah nodded, clapping her hands in glee, as Ned demonstrated his game. He pulled a small, bunched fabric from his belt, opening it with care to reveal a handful of roly-poly bugs. Ned held the cloth over the center of a square of stones, and shook them onto the ground, trapping them. He chose one and rolled it until the tiny crustacean curled up tight, into a flawless ball. Holding it low to the ground with one hand, he flicked it with a finger of his other toward the line of stones. The small living ball hit one and ricocheted back at him. “See, it’s fun. Try it.”

Sarah hesitated but then gave it a go, making one of the bugs roll up. “Oh, my. They are amazing.” She held the hard-shelled roly-poly near the ground and flicked, shooting the bug between the stones. She missed.

Ned grinned, proud of his roly-poly game. “You’ll get better.”

She tried again, and again, eventually hitting her mark. But as the projected bugs unrolled and tried to escape, Sarah’s expression changed.

“Um, Ned, do you think they like being rolled up like that?”

Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a game.”

Sarah watched the bugs, her nose only inches away, her concern growing. “What if we, um, played something else? Maybe they don’t like being rolled up and flicked into rocks.”

Ned considered her words for a moment. “Okay, what do you want to do?”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled with a new idea. “What if we make a little bug village instead? The stones can become homes. Let’s see how they like that.”

Ned grinned. “I have these skipping stones for roofs. Let’s give them mansions,” he said as he pulled out five flat, smooth river rocks. They worked while the echoes of the hide-and-seek game continued behind them.

“Have you ever seen a mansion, Ned?” Sarah asked.

“Yes! The Duke of Lexandria built a hunting lodge on the other side of those woods. It is as big as a palace. Want to see it?”

Sarah jumped up, grinning. “Yes!”

Ned grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the trees. After only a few minutes, they came to a building that was two stories high, with windows above them. She dragged her hand over the milled wooden planks as they walked toward the front. There was a high portico attached to the front, and beyond this building there was a barn. One horse tied to a post munched on sedge grass, snorting as they paraded into the yard. A man appeared from the open barn door, smacking dust and hay off his clothes.

The man’s eyes widened and he stepped toward them. “Hallo, young ones! What brings you here?”

Sarah pointed at her new friend. “Ned here said this is a mansion. Is it?”

The man chuckled. “Oh, I suppose that is relative. It would seem so to most people.”

“Do you live here?” Sarah asked.

“Well, yes, but in a room over the barn, and only when the Lockes are here. I’m Lyster, I work for Duke Locke. This is his hunting cabin. They’ll be coming to hunt in a few moons. I’m here to take stock of what must be done before they arrive. If you want to see how big it is, come.” He gestured for them to follow.

Standing in front of the big house with ten windows on each floor, she counted twenty steps up to the porch and at least ten steps across to the big double door. Gaping at the spectacle, Sarah wondered what it was like inside.

She noticed long shadows pouring from the tree line and the sun just about to hide behind them. Her stomach grumbled, too. Sarah gasped. “We have to go, Ned. I can’t miss the meal that’s been cooking all afternoon. I haven’t eaten real food for weeks.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him. “Thank you for showing us your mansion, Mister Lyster. Can we visit you again?”

“Of course. You’ll hear a big ruckus of wagons and horses when the Lockes show up. Look for us on the first half-moon of summer.” Lyster waved as he turned toward the barn again.

Sarah and Ned ran back to the settlement to find all the children stood with their families in line for the feast or sat on blankets. The smell of cooking wafted through the air, drawing Sarah’s attention to the long table where women were dishing up plate after plate. Her stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma that promised a bounty of fresh bread, rabbit stew, and other delights.

Amid this happy scene, Ned ran off as she spotted Ma chatting with Sister Berenda. Ma smiled at Sarah and pulled her close as the two women continued talking of marriages and babies Ma had missed. Their circle had chosen to move west moons before, but they relocated in stages to lessen the burden of building many homes at once.

Ma pointed to a waving man who held a baby. “Sarah, Da has a plate made up for you over there.”

“Thank you, Ma. I’m so hungry. It smells like a royal banquet.” Sarah bounded across the field just as Shaun set Benjamin on the blanket.

“I was worried about you until Ned’s mother told me you were with him. His sisters keep watch over him,” Shaun said as he handed her the plate overflowing with rabbit, and greens, and onions, and mushrooms, and more underneath. She was quiet for an hour, savoring the best meal she’d had in weeks.

So much was lost and wrong, but she refused to be sad with such a feast before her. She was a princess after all. She couldn’t slouch. Her people needed her to be strong. She would cry later, in the dark, and J’shua would comfort her.

Chapter 22

Jonathan

Jonathan traversed an ever-widening circuit from the ruins of his home. It was all he could think to do. Most of the homes were empty, a landscape of sorrow and despair.

Three miles to the west, green fields surrounded a well-maintained cottage, an illusion of peace amidst the chaos. A glimpse of life flickered behind a window, a woman peeked out, but as he approached, the curtain dropped. Undeterred, he called out, “Hallo! Can you help me? I am looking for my family.” No answer. He went closer and called again. “They’re gone.”

A man appeared at the door. “Leave! We don’t want trouble. If the lords’ll take ‘em for a debt, they’ll take ‘em for complainin’ too,” the man warned, his voice laced with fear.

Jonathan hung his head, defeated, and trudged away. Where were they? What would happen to them in the hands of evil men? Men that stole them away. He had to find them.

Having given up on his neighbors, he went from village to village, town to town, stopping in inns and taverns. He hoped to hear information while surveying the streets for Rebekah or Sarah.

The weeks of relentless searching had left him ragged, his appearance mirroring the torment within. His cloak was filthy, he hadn’t washed or trimmed his beard in weeks. Midday found him drowning his sorrows in a bottle, his thoughts adrift.

All he had learned was that Rebekah had stolen a horse. His wife stole a horse. Ha. She would do anything to save Sarah. That was a good reason to steal a horse. Here he was drunk, he mused bitterly, the irony not lost on him. With another swig, his head met the table, lost in the haze of memories. He crooked a smile in his stupor, his head still on the table. The daikon had been cruel to let him worry for the long ride north to High Keep.

***

When he was six, Daikon Crispus took him to the king. Jonathan was a thief, sure to be sentenced to death for stealing so much bread.

He and Daikon Crispus had waited and waited in an anteroom outside the enormous doors to the king’s great hall. Countless men dressed much finer than Mister Bander, the miller, who also waited. The miller always sat in front at circle. Jonathan wondered why he was there. It’s a long ride from Lorness. His mind conjured many scenarios, but none made sense.

Perhaps someone had complained about sawdust mixed into his flour. His mother had ground her own grain because of that. But that would be a problem for the earl, not the king. Perhaps the miller wished to court a noblewoman? His wife died last year, and he was the richest man in his village. He might need permission before doing that. Jonathan suppressed a laugh at the thought of a beautiful young noblewoman walking down the aisle toward the fat miller.

Why was Jonathan’s crime worthy of the king’s notice? He hoped they would never see the king. He thought about sneaking away, but he was tired of being cold and hungry, and the daikon fed him.

Instead, he swung his feet and smiled, evaluating the ideas and images that arose about each petitioner.

One by one the big doors swung open, someone went out and the next went in.

Jonathan could tell this one got what he wanted. The man sauntered past them, smiling. The next, trotted by with slumped shoulders, followed by a pair that were laughing, throwing glances at the sad one. Jonathan prayed to the God of Truth for mercy.

When Daikon Crispus was called, Jonathan’s body shook. The daikon’s large hand gave Jonathan’s a gentle squeeze as they entered the throne room. His mouth agape, painted flowers of every color led his eyes up, where birds filled a blue sky, it made him feel like an ant.

When they stopped, he could see that a small, golden-haired boy, a boy his size, sat next to the king on the throne. The prince.

The king leaned toward the prince. “Well, Sagen. Here he is. Shall we interrogate him?”

“Father, he is a boy, must you call it that?”

“No, indeed, we need not. It is an interview, not an interrogation.” The king smiled, pointing to a chair. “Crispus. You may sit.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The daikon whispered into Jonathan’s ear. “Stand tall boy and do as you are told.” Then he eased himself into the chair.

“Come closer, Jonathan,” The king commanded.

Jonathan did not know why it had surprised him to hear the king say his name. Of course, he would know it. He took a deep breath and strode forward, his jaw set, yet his body shook.

King Edal asked him many questions, none of them about his crime. The king nodded to his son who jumped down off the throne and paced back and forth before his father’s throne, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked very important.

The prince stopped and eyed Jonathan. “Do you know how to play chess?”

Jonathan looked down. “No—Your Highness.”

The prince turned back to the king, “May I teach him, Father?”

“Of course, Son. It’s only fair that you should share with him the joys of your life as well as the pains.”

“Can we go?” the prince asked his father.

The king waved him off. Sagen jumped over the three steps of the dais and grabbed Jonathan’s hand.

Jonathan took one glance at the daikon as the young prince yanked him to the side aisle and through a small door. The last thing he saw was his guardian’s nod.

That day he’d become the companion of the prince.

At first, the castle seemed a paradise of gold and glory, even as a servant, but that dream soon soured, and Gaelib Melazera was the serpent in that garden. Jonathan did his best to do as the king had commanded. But overwhelmed by the sudden elevation in station, he never did fit in. And Gaelib had made sure of that.

Before Jonathan's arrival, Gaelib, the earl of Lorness’ son, had been Prince Sagen's shadow. He wielded his wit like a blade, always finding the precise words to make the other noble boys laugh—most times at Jonathan's expense. The other nobles’ sons that visited the castle thought little of him, but Gaelib, who lived there, had been the prince’s constant companion before Jonathan came.

The very first meal made his loathing plain.

“Oh, look,” Gaelib said, lips curled in a smile that never reached his eyes, “our common friend doesn't know which fork to use. Shall we teach him, or watch him eat with his hands?”

The other boys would snicker, and Jonathan would feel his face burn. He'd stare at the array of silverware before him, each piece a potential trap. His callused hands, still bearing the marks of his humble roots, trembled as he reached for what he hoped was the correct utensil.

Prince Sagen never knew of these small cruelties for he ate with the royal family. And when they were all three together, the moment the prince turned away, Gaelib's eyes would find him, dark with promised retribution.

Jonathan learned to watch the shadows, to listen for the whisper of silk that meant Gaelib was approaching. He became a master of the sidelong glance, of weighing every word before he spoke it. But the prince wouldn't let him fade into the background, no matter how much Jonathan wished to disappear.

“Come, Jon!” Sagen would call, waving him over to join some game or discussion. And Jonathan would go, feeling Gaelib's gaze boring into his back, hearing the collective intake of breath from the other noble boys who saw him as an interloper.

As they grew older, the journeys between High Keep and Farr Castle became his rare moments of peace. On horseback, with the wind in his face, Jonathan could almost forget the constant pressure of court life. But each arrival meant a new assessment, a fresh calculation of alliances and enmities as nobles and their sons circled the prince like hungry wolves.

Jonathan never complained to Sagen, whose affable manner often made it worse. Instead, he shaped himself into what the prince needed—reliable, steady, and ever-vigilant. He learned to negotiate the treacherous waters of court protocol, to speak when spoken to, to bow at just the right angle to show respect without servility.

But in quiet moments, when the castle slept and the moon cast long shadows through leaded windows, Jonathan would touch the rough spots on his palms—remnants of his old life—and wonder if the king's command had been a blessing or a curse.

He was the prince's companion, yes. But he was also a stranger in a gilded cage, watching every step, measuring every word, always aware that one misstep could bring the whole fragile edifice crashing down.

And Gaelib was always watching, waiting for that misstep, his smile sharp as a blade.

 Gaelib was clever, the prince never saw it.

The oppressive shadow of Gaelib Melazera cast a pall over all those memories.

He’d not realized how much bondage he was in, until he went to the Knights’ School. Such a weight had been lifted. There he excelled. There he was among equals. With the prince he was the recipient of constant unwanted attention. At the school he was almost anonymous.

***

A bang and loud laughter from tavern guests at the next table caused him to raise his head and take another drink. His thoughts continued to churn.

It was tradition that the king’s royal steward would command Farr Castle, where much of the king’s wealth emanated from the products of its vast forests. The steward ensured they were not overhunted nor the streams overfished. Jonathan frowned at the sour memory. Gaelib Melazera was now the earl of Lorness and the king’s steward, managing the finances of the whole kingdom.

Jonathan never asked his father-in-law about his debt; he didn’t know who his lender was.

Why had I never asked?

Gaelib’s father might have been Rojer’s lender. That would mean Gaelib inherited the loan. Gaelib, the evil drecksa, would not help since he hated Jonathan

He laid his head back down.

Perhaps he should go to High Keep, talk to the prince. Prince Sagen was Jonathan’s friend long ago.

He groaned as he sat up.

The prince might bring him before the king, who could declare those taken free from the terms of collection. However, if the monarch believed it was a lawful seizure, he wouldn’t do that. Rulers could be well-intentioned, yet hurt people with bad laws. Prince Sagen may have changed. It has been seventeen years since Jonathan lived in the king’s household.

He dropped his head into his hands and whispered a prayer. “Father, please make plain to me where I should go next.” He heard nothing, so he slept.

Chapter 23

Owakar

The golden sunlight bathed his robes in yellow, as Owakar entered the date, the first half-moon of late spring, the twenty-ninth year in the reign of King Edal. He was beginning to feel comfortable in this role and had a coherent routine. Having mastered the luach, he could monitor most of his human charges from a distance.

Owakar hiked up his robe, and sat legs crossed in the Density, enjoying the wonder of the soft clover under him and the warm, shining sun above. Clouds, the clouds edged by ever so slow, casting diffuse shadows across the field. He could stop time and revel for another moment, but that would be an abuse of power. If he wanted to stay here in the Density, he would have to obey the natural laws, unless his orders required otherwise.

He could see how tempting it was for the corrupted ones. Once you disobey, it seems reasonable to disobey again. Owakar knew he had free will, and he had made plenty of mistakes, but he still desired to please his Father. And the many joys that his Father provided were enough for him.

The Density was so vibrant with possibilities.

***

By afternoon, Alocrin appeared for their lesson. They discussed events added to the luach today by other watchers. “See this entry has a lot of good detail, but perhaps more than is required. I don’t think we need to include what the man ate for dinner, unless perhaps it was his neighbor’s sheep.” Alocrin gave him a wink.

Owakar bit his lip, worried that his entries would be critiqued as well. He sighed. I can be so petty.

Then Alocrin began a new topic. “Every entry contributes valuable insights and nuance as the legal battle continues. The Serpent argues that mankind is a plague to be exterminated.” Alocrin shook his head. “Each attempt by the Serpent to prove his case to the Holy Council causes consequences. But much to his consternation…” A slight grin sprouted on Alocrin’s face. “…many opportunities and new possibilities bloom. Try as he might, the Serpent cannot know how humans will respond. He can’t read their minds. No created spirit can.”

Owakar tapped his luach until he read, Entries. “And this is what I should record? His attempts, new opportunities, and their possibilities?”

“Yes, and capture the triumphs of the humans you follow as well. It will take time before you see what is important to capture for the record, but we’d rather see more than less at the beginning.”

“That makes sense. I can do that.”

“After an event happens, write your thoughts about it as well. But put that in the Commentaries section.”

Owakar nodded absentmindedly, thinking of asking… “Doesn’t the Serpent know better? He can’t win.”

“After observing their tendencies for over five millennia, we and they can predict much. And this feeds his pride. But only the God of Truth knows what is in the heart of a man. Even as the Serpent’s followers mold mankind to debauched ideals, the spirit of J’shua can still prick those willing into spontaneous action.”

Owakar nodded to show he was following his mentor. “Yesterday, I instigated a dozen divine appointments within Lorness Province which I could not have done if the humans weren’t willing. I’ve arranged one just below. Come see, tell me how I do.”

Alocrin followed his gaze to the street where two farmers, it appeared by their dress, shook each other with raised voices.

He pointed at the men. “They argue and fight like this all the time. Watch.” Owakar prodded a soldier stationed across the street with his unseen finger to notice the disturbance and whispered into his ear, “That might become trouble. Best to end it.” The soldier sighed and with a wave to the shopkeeper he was conversing with, he started toward the men.

Then Owakar indicated Alocrin should follow and they entered a tavern, still unseen, and padded toward a drunk, who lay in a stupor, as the tavern bustled around him for the midday meal. Only a candle lit a circle on each table. Owakar cleared his head of alcohol with a touch. “Friend, be well. Wake up.”

Jonathan Otual rubbed his hand across his face and stood up. He let out a breath and walked outside, blinking at the brightness. “Father, forgive me. I have wallowed far too long. I have to get moving,” he prayed aloud. “Even my wife has done more than me. Give me skill to use your sword, your living word, for my attempts are feeble. Send me to fight this evil.”

They watched as Jonathan observed the men fighting and noticed the soldier walking in their direction. Owakar grinned when Otual headed toward the wrestling men. “Yes,” he said with a fist pump.

The bigger man shook the smaller as they called each other names. It wasn’t serious; neither had thrown a punch. Still, a noisy crowd formed, and the soldier frowned at them, marching toward them.

Jonathan cleared his throat.

They stopped their aggression momentarily diffused, but didn’t loosen their grips.

“Friends, could you help me?”

The bigger man dropped the other, saying, “How?” He looked Jonathan up and down, taking in his sword and short bow.

Dusting himself off, the smaller chimed in, “What do you need?”

“Can we sit?” Jonathan asked, pointing to the tavern. “I’ll buy you both an ale.”

The big one shrugged. The other raised his eyebrows and smiled. They entered the tavern and Owakar and Alocrin followed, remaining invisible.

Jonathan found an empty table, ordered, and told them of his loss.

“Well,” The small one named Randall said, “I know your pain. We lost our wives and young‘uns too. We’re so frustrated; we started bashing each other over the grief of it.”

“You might be onto something. I have wished to die.” Jonathan donned a half-smile. “A solid thrashing might be a fitting compromise. Are there many who have lost their families hereabout?”

The two shared a pained look.

Randall let out a breath and his shoulders slumped. “At least a dozen.”

“What if we wrote a petition to the king and all signed it?” Jonathan raised his eyebrows.  “I could deliver it to High Keep.”

Randall’s mouth dropped open.

Jonathan looked from one to the other. “What do you think?”

“That’d be brave and very foolish,” the big one, Woodrow, blurted. “Those who appeal to the king languish in a dungeon, or worse, are executed. So, the rumors say.”

“If the king executes me, it will end this torture.”

“That be true,” Woodrow said as Randall nodded.

“Would you ask the others? Then meet me here tomorrow night?”

They agreed and slapped him on the back. Jonathan smiled.

Then Owakar dragged Alocrin outside by the arm. “Wasn’t that amazing!”

“Very good. Very good,” Alocrin said as he shook Owakar’s shoulder. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

Owakar beamed with pride. “Yes, I think I can do this.”

“Well. Keep it up, Owakar. I have to go, someone else needs me.” Alocrin disappeared.

***

While most of Lorness slept, he researched the assignment and wrote his report. He followed every link from the current event to the earliest accounts the luach held. Jonathan Otual came from humble peasant stock. His parents were well acquainted with J’shua’s words and taught him to worship the God of Truth. He taught the same to his wife and children. And the knight oft prayed in the spirit. Jonathan was an upright man, committed to J’shua Ha Mashiach, a man that Owakar should help. All trails pointed to it.

The man intrigued him. Tap-tapping his luach through the recent events and a few linked affairs, he paused. He swiped again, rereading the history. “Oh! Jonathan Otual is the caged girl’s father.”

The luach provided many accounts, showing that Jonathan followed the writings of the Lightbringer Paul who showed his followers to worship God in spirit and in truth. And it was Paul that had been given the revelation of the secret.

[Which none of the princes of this world knew: for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory.]

Rebekah

After another week of practice, Rebekah felt no more competent. The man chuckled, and she gave him a hard shove.

“That’s better!” His grin expanded for a moment and then disappeared. “I am sorry for laughing. I know you’re struggling. It was thoughtless of me.”

Rebekah, playing the role of a down-on-his-luck farmer, had asked Vincent if he had any work. She balled her fists. “Blast! Why is this so hard? I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Rebekah, you can’t pretend. Believe it.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she flopped to the ground. “I have to find her, Vincent. I can’t stay here.”

“You can’t go until you can go safely. You are improving. It will only take a little more time. Then you can confront anyone. At least you carry yourself like a man now.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Every day, you get better. Try again.”

Rebekah rose, hat in hands.

After another hour, she could stand the frustration no more. She walked deep into the woods, thrashing the brush with one of the swords they’d taken from the soldiers, muttering, “Men make no sense.”

Rebekah froze. The sword hung in the air, mid-swing. A twig snapped. More sounds of footsteps came closer.

Ducking behind a tree, she held her breath, listening. She could barely hear them over the pounding of her heart. Children laughed. A mother shushed them.

Rebekah bit her lip and stepped toward them. It was a family with three children. The man carried a large roll over his shoulder. Each child toted a bundle tied up in a scarf. The mother clung to a swaddled infant. They stopped. Silent. Staring at her sword.

Rebekah slid the sword in the scabbard. Their gaunt features and torn clothes told their story.

J’shua did you lead them here?

“Please. Don’t be afraid. I am Rebekah.” Spreading her hands wide, she scampered toward them. “What brought you here?”

The man stood in front of his family. “J’shua said to walk south avoiding towns and villages.” He looked around. “Are you alone?”

Rebekah was wary, but the nobles wouldn’t send people like this to look for her or the Donitoros.

“No. Come. Follow me, we have food and shelter. You are welcome to what we have, such as it is.”

Rebekah led them—back through the green branches she’d cut down—to Vincent, who stirred something in a kettle over a small fire—the last of the soldier’s beans.

Hearing her approach, Vincent said, “Rebekah, perfect timing. I just added the greens that the girls foraged today.”

He turned, smiling. “Who is this?”

“Well, I do not know yet.” She beckoned them closer.

The man bowed. His brown hair fell forward, streaks of blond evident when he brought his head up. “J’shua guided us here. My name is Charles Dugan. This is my wife, Maryam.” He looked at the clothes drying on a line and three shelters made from tying young trees together and weaving branches between them.

Charles was muscular, his face ruddy and unshaven. His wife, Maryam, was petite, her dark brown hair, hidden under a blue scarf. The baby began a wail, which Maryam skillfully silenced with her breast.

Rebekah motioned for them to sit on logs near the fire. “He guided us as well. We praise the God of Truth that you’ve found us.”

During the meal, they shared their stories. Theirs was similar. The Dugan’s had been fishing near their home. Most of the time, they didn’t all go, but they praised J’shua they had that day. As they returned, they saw soldiers leading their horses away. They had already heard of the collections, so they knew what their visit was about.

“That’s when J’shua’s voice told me to head south. After we were sure the collectors had left, we went back for what we could carry.” Charles had tears in his eyes. “We are so grateful to have found you.”

Rebekah wondered why she hadn’t heard any warning. She felt her frown deepen, but she stopped herself. There’ll be time enough to brood in the dark.

When the Donitoros and the Dugans were engrossed in fellowship, and the children were playing together, Rebekah left for the woods again.

She had no book of the Writings to read, so Rebekah recited the passages that came to mind and prayed in the spirit. She came to a creek and knelt in the moss beside it. Water babbled over the rocks. Rebekah cried until she had no more tears.

She spread her arms out to heaven above.

“I bow my knees unto you, Father, God of Truth. You have called me to your family in J’shua’s name. Jonathan, David, and Sarah belong to you as well. Fill me with your peace that passes understanding. Strengthen me and lead me to Sarah. Keep her from evil. Help me bear this trial. In the name of J’shua Ha Mashiach, I pray.”

This became her ritual at every sunrise, and when she fell into despair.

Back in the shelter, as she closed her eyes, she whispered, “Where are you, Jon?”

Chapter 24

Caileagh

Caileagh lounged on a velvet chaise, twirling a goblet of wine. At thirty-one winters, she was no longer the frightened child who'd crossed the border fifteen years ago. “Do you remember when we first arrived in Freislicht, Mother?”

Farina's lips curved into a satisfied smile. “How could I forget? You were such an obedient daughter, playing your part to perfection.”

“Flinching at every touch, avoiding attention—” Caileagh's voice held a note of bitterness. “I never understood why, only that disobedience would not be tolerated.”

“And look where it got us.” Farina gestured to the opulent chamber around them, decorated with rich satin and velvet draperies and wall hangings that kept in the warmth of a crackling fire. “From the slums of Mandugh to the nobility of Freislicht. Those wealthy merchants back home paid handsomely for you, didn't they? Enough jewels and exotic fabrics to dress us like nobles.”

Caileagh's grip tightened on her goblet. “Yes, then you seduced that bookish diplomat. Tell me, Mother, did you always plan to poison him with your—special teas?”

“Bloody flux, dear. That was the official cause.” Farina's eyes glittered. “And King Edal's courtiers were so sympathetic to the poor widow and her daughter? Even more so after rumors began circulating about the diplomat's ‘odd proclivities.’”

“Rumors you cultivated,” Caileagh observed. “Making yourself the most virtuous of women, saved by J'shua's grace from evil's predations.”

Farina raised her own goblet in a mock toast. “The ladies of the court were so eager to help, weren't they? The more I refused, the more they insisted. people are so predictable.”

“Like Lady Melazera?” Caileagh asked. “Your ‘dear friend’ who died in a similar way, leaving her husband in need of comfort?”

“Now, now, daughter. Earl Melazera needed a new wife, and I needed a title.” Farina's tone grew sharp. “And you secured our position by marrying his son, Gaelib.”

Caileagh stood, fists clenched. “He was a boy, Mother. Only eleven winters.”

“His father was much too controlling. I grew tired of patronizing him. And now we rule an earldom,” Farina snapped. “Or have you forgotten everything I taught you? All those hours watching me from behind screens, learning how to manipulate anyone?”

“Oh, I remember.” Caileagh moved to the window, her back to her mother. “I remember watching you play hundreds of roles. I remember practicing those skills on other children in Mandugh. I remember that twisted wizard and his rituals.”

“Then you know what you must do to keep your husband constrained."

Caileagh turned, her face a mask of compliance. "Of course, Mother. I have more spirit guides than you now."

"Yes, perhaps you do, but I have met their overlord, the Warrior. He is powerful and I serve him, so you will serve me."

"As you say, mother. But Gaelib serves him as well. And I will not be torn apart between you."

“No one wants to tear you apart, my dear. You are too useful.”

Caileagh had already plotted with the wizard as well, learning his teachings in the old Gods' magic, which she cultivated each day. Farina had never shown any interest in learning the art, but Caileagh had become his protégé. And her mother paid no attention to her as she brought forth the Order of the Black Robe.

It was growing and many loyal followers would die for her.

One day, you will bow to me, Mother.

***

As Caileagh entered the lower hall of Lorness Castle where the master docent explained the requirements to the new recruits that had completed their training. As scribes, bookkeepers, and spies, each member now wore the finest black silk tunic and breeches, topped by a black woolen cloak.

The master docent bowed to acknowledge her and continued, “Your black leather boots are to be polished to a high shine at all times. You are to walk with a deliberate, ceremonious gait as you have learned, and always speak at a slow rate. This makes a member of the Order stand out and appear wise. The mystique of the Order of the Black Robe keeps it a topic of conversation and propels its growth.”

The docent paced before them as he continued, “You shall always please everyone, especially, the one to whom you are assigned. Above all, you will remain entertaining, helpful, and complimentary.”

The master docent stopped and bowed to Caileagh, who glided into the center of the room, adorned as the high priestess, in flowing black robes and a silver mask. Every eye to turn toward her.

She indicated with a wave that he should continue, and every head snapped back to the front.

“Approach to receive your assignment.”

One by one, they each received a parchment of introduction, sealed with black wax and a card with the name of the person to receive it in the morning. Then they paraded out in silence.

“Docent Margrave. How did this cohort do?” Caileagh asked.

The docent bowed again. “Well, High Priestess. Soon nobles and merchants everywhere shall be using them for every important task. I have assigned three to the Sparrows to surveil the commoners, four as Ravens to serve the nobles, two will be sent to work in Locke Castle as Eagles, and three are militet and will return to the army as Hawks. Several show promise and may advance further, vowing loyalty to the Order with their blood oath.”

Caileagh breathed deep, pleased to see progress. “The people of Freislicht accept the world we’ve painted for them. Unwittingly, they perpetuate it. No matter what they request from the Order; be it recommendations, coveted placements, power, fame, or wealth, all of it pushes the influence of the Order of the Black Robe deeper throughout the kingdom.” She took his hand. “Docent Margrave, you have done well.” Caileagh’s smile grew. “This is very good to hear. How many novices are pledging their lives to me tonight?”

“Thirty-five have been invited, so I believe thirty-five will come. They know the consequence for desertion.” he returned her smile.

“Delightful. Gaelib and I have several covert missions for their initiation as acolytes.”

“You have done well, Margrave. My birds are everywhere. When they speak, gossipers listen. The intelligence they pass on to me through the docents who manage them is priceless. There is no higher power than information.”

***

Caileagh rode to the Sanctuary of the Alte Regieren.  She entered the cool, dark cave. Petitioners bowed to her as they backed away forming the corridor to the high stone altar. She ruled here.

Her guiding spirits urged her up the carved steps. The smoke of candles and burning incense bit her senses.

She spoke the ancient words. The new acolyte’s voices responded. All was as it should be.

Near the end of the ceremony Caileagh gasped as one of her spirit guides spoke a crystal-clear thought, Beware the veiled maiden shining and adorned in gold.

She felt paralyzed, suspended, unable to breathe.

A glowing sword appeared in a maiden’s hand. She lifted the bridal veil, her tender eyes beckoned Caileagh closer. The bride thrust the sword deep.

Caileagh gasped as the blade impaled her. The exquisite pain spread until she withdrew it. All feeling melted away.

The woman shook her blonde mane, and the vision was gone.

Caileagh fell to her knees. Her followers collapsed in imitation. The revelation had lasted only moments. Gritting her teeth, she rose.

Gaelib will save me.

In a daze, she finished the rituals and gave the new acolytes their instructions. Then she hurried home.

Gaelib’s chamber was dark, except for the coals of the flickering fire.

Chapter 25

Gaelib

The door's creak drew Gaelib from his slumber. His wife's distinctive perfume—roses, frankincense, and cinnamon—drifted into the chamber, both intoxicating and dangerous, a scent that never failed to quicken his pulse. A smile tugged at his lips even as his body tensed with alertness. Caileagh never came to him without purpose, but gods, how he loved her purposes.

“Are you awake, my love?” Caileagh's whisper carried through the darkness, honey and silk.

"For you? Always." He propped himself up, watching as she moved through the firelight. The shadows danced with her, making her seem otherworldly, powerful. Beautiful. Deadly.

She paused at the foot of the bed, her black silk robe rustling softly. "Did I disturb your rest? I could leave—"

"Don't you dare," Gaelib said, his tone playful but his eyes sharp. "Though I wonder - have your spirits sent you with a message, or did you miss your husband?"

Caileagh's laugh was both practiced perfection and genuine warmth. "Can it not be both?" She glided to the bedside, close enough that he could see the calculated fear in her eyes - and beneath it, real vulnerability. "Though I confess, tonight I come bearing troubling news."

He sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. His voice softened. "Tell me."

"A vision," she whispered, reaching for his hand. He caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle, before guiding her hand to his chest, letting her feel his steady heartbeat. "Feel how mine races, even now," she said, placing his other hand on her neck. Indeed, beneath his fingers, her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. Love and wariness mingled in his chest. "What did you see?"

"I saw a woman in a bridal veil, her golden hair gleaming. She carried a sword pointed to the heavens." Caileagh's voice caught. "When she looked at me, I felt as if she could see into my very soul. Then she—she drove the blade through my heart."

Gaelib drew her closer, letting her rest her head on his shoulder even as his mind raced. "And let me guess—this vision means Prince Sagen cannot marry?"

She stiffened in his arms. "You mock me?"

"Never," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I question. There's a difference."

"Because you think I invent these visions?" She pulled back, hurt and indignation warring in her expression. "That I would manipulate you?"

"Wouldn't you?" His thumb brushed her lower lip. "If you thought it would protect us? Protect our future?"

A flash of something—respect, desire, defiance—crossed her face. "Everything I do, I do for us."

"As do I." He caught her chin when she would have turned away. "Which is why Sagen must marry. Must have an heir."

"Then I am doomed." The tears that spilled down her cheeks were real, even if they served her purpose.

Gaelib sighed, a mix of exasperation and admiration. She played her part so well, and yet - and yet he loved her for more than her schemes. "What would you have me do? Change the very foundations of our strategy?"

"Choose me," she pleaded, and for a moment, all pretense fell away. "Choose me over your precious plan."

The rawness in her voice struck him to his core. He tugged her into his embrace, his voice rough with emotion. "I choose you every day, my love. Every moment. But I cannot - will not - abandon what we've worked for."

She was silent for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "Then I am afraid."

"Listen to me," he said, tilting her face up to his. "What if I ensure he cannot choose a blonde bride? Would that ease your mind—and satisfy both your spirits and our plans?"

Hope flickered in her eyes, real and calculated all at once. "You would do that?"

"For you?" He smiled, brushing away her tears. "Anything."

As she settled against him, Gaelib outlined their plan once more—how they would assume control, how they would be welcomed as saviors after King Edal's "tragic accident," how Prince Sagen would be forced to marry and produce an heir before meeting his own unfortunate end.

"And the child?" she murmured. "What of Sagen's heir?"

"We'll raise it as our own," he promised, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Until the people accept me as their true ruler."

"And then?" Her voice was soft, dangerous, loving.

"And then we'll need no other but ourselves."

In the silence that followed, they held each other close, bound together by ambition and desire, trust and suspicion, manipulation and genuine love. As Gaelib drifted off to sleep, he wondered which was more dangerous - that part of their love was a lie, or that part of it was true.

But as Caileagh's breathing evened out beside him, he decided it didn't matter. They were two players in the same game, moving as one. And together, they would reshape the kingdom in their image.

For now, though, the night was theirs alone.

***

Gaelib woke in the morning, happy, surprised she was still in his bed. He watched her shallow breathing. She was beautiful still.

Gaelib smiled at his sleeping wife. Fears over her latest vision and their exertions had exhausted her. After so many years together, he knew those insights often bore only a vague relationship to reality.

She usually departed for her bed chamber, so most mornings he felt empty and alone, as he had when his mother died.

He loved her. Gaelib could see the intricate web the Warrior had woven so that Caileagh would be his. She was the one person would do anything for him. Caileagh inspired him and made him feel powerful, like a king. She was the only one that cared about him. She loved him.

***

He was eleven winters. Following the funeral, he and his father returned to High Keep. Without her arms as a refuge from his father’s torment, he grew sullen. He avoided Sagen, unable to bear the prince’s sympathy, nor his attempts to cheer him.

One fateful day, he sat in the clover, pulling off the purple flower heads. He pelted the pregnant kitchen cat, who sunned herself like royalty, ignoring his attacks.

He brightened, seeing Caileagh. She was sixteen, already a woman, shapely and easy to look upon. Many nights he lay awake thinking of her—long auburn hair that caught the sun and eyes that shone like dark amber gemstones. Her skin was smooth and creamy white. She was old enough to marry. Father had wondered aloud why she hadn’t. Soon after, by command of the king, she’d become his stepsister.

This was the first time she took notice of him.

“What’re you doing?” Her brow furrowed. Her hips swayed back and forth, satin rustling.

“This dragon has ravaged the town. I must repel it to save the people.”

Gaelib pointed at the cat and the many rocks that he’d placed around it to represent the buildings of Castle Lorness. The place he would one day rule as the earl.

“What fun!” She dropped down next to him, part of her skirt covering his lap. Her face close. She smelled like lemon cake. Caileagh smiled at him and picked up a stick, tossing it at the beast. She threw a bigger stick, followed by a rock.

Gaelib gawped, looking at his handful of clover.

She smiled at him, erasing his doubts.

He picked up a stone, garnering another grin from her. Together, they repelled the shrieking cat. After that, Caileagh played with him every day, any game he wanted.

She became his best friend. She saved him.

***

Gaelib Melazera gazed out his window as a black-robed figure knelt behind him. The evening sun cast long shadows across the floor, much like the ones he was spreading across Freislicht.

"Report," he commanded, not turning.

"My Lord Melazera, the Order's recruitment continues to exceed expectations." The spy's voice was neutral. "The festival approach Madame Caileagh suggested has been—most effective."

As I knew it would be, Gaelib thought, allowing himself a small smile. My Caileagh knows how to make a spectacle, how to draw them in with bright colors and sweet promises.

"Tell me of the numbers," he said aloud.

"The line stretches beyond sight, my lord. Parents bring their children, desperate for the free education, the promise of a trade." The spy paused. "They never suspect the web they're walking into."

No, they wouldn't. The greatest trap is the one lined with silver. "And our—special recruits?"

"Identified and separated as per your instructions. The bureaucrats hungry for power, the military officers seeking advancement—all are being evaluated."

Gaelib turned, studying the kneeling figure. Tools assessing tools. How fitting. "And what do they whisper of the king?"

"Whatever you wish them to whisper, my lord."

A genuine smile crossed Gaelib's face. Perfect. My own chorus of voices, singing whatever tune I compose. "Rise. Tell me of the nobles."

The spy stood, keeping his eyes downcast. "Many have pledged their support, should—circumstances change."

Should I decide to light the flame of civil war. Gaelib walked to a side table, pouring two glasses of wine. "A war would be messy, wouldn't it?" He offered one glass to the spy, who took it with barely concealed surprise.

"Indeed, my lord. Costly. Damaging to Freislicht's prestige."

Why damage what will soon be mine? "Precisely. We must think of the kingdom's future." He sipped his wine, savoring its rich taste. A future with me on the throne.

"The prince continues to speak of you with favor, my lord."

Gaelib's mind drifted to Sagen, his "friend" since childhood. So easy to guide, to shape. He never sees the hand pulling his strings. "Sagen and I have a—special relationship. When the time comes, he will look to me for direction."

"And if he doesn't?"

A cold glint entered Gaelib's eyes. Then he will join his father in the grave or whatever dark hole I decide to put him in. "There are ways to ensure cooperation. Speaking of which, how goes the elimination of his—other influences?"

"Well, my lord. One by one, they fall from favor or meet with unfortunate accidents."

Gaelib nodded, moving back to the window. The sun had descended, darkness crept across the land. Soon it will be time. Sagen will take the throne, produce an heir, and then—"Have you ever considered how pleasant 'King Gaelib the First' sounds?"

The spy stiffened almost imperceptibly. "It has a—majestic ring, my lord."

"Indeed, it does." Gaelib's mind filled with visions of his coronation—the crowds cheering, the nobles bowing, the delicious feasts and even more delicious entertainments that would follow. All in good time.

He dismissed the spy with a wave, turning back to the darkening sky. In the glass, he could see his own reflection, and for a moment, he imagined a crown upon his head.

Just a little more time. A bit more patience. And then...

Gaelib smiled, and in the reflection, it looked almost like a snarl.

Being merry, he recalled the happiest time in his life, the day he’d first met the prince.

***

During Gaelib’s first visit to High Keep twenty years earlier, when he was only six, King Edal had summoned his father to a great council.

His father, the Eighth Earl of Lorness, had stood at breakfast and declared it time for his son to be amongst men, not at home with women.

It thrilled him to travel with his father. Yet he feared the man. The earl often struck those who displeased him, especially his mother.

Upon their arrival, servants ushered them into the Great Hall. King Edal sat on an ancient throne covered in carvings and bright, colored jewels.

The prince wore a long, navy velvet jacket. Beneath were gray breeches and a light blue satin vest embroidered with silver leaves. His boots were dark brown embossed leather. Bright blue eyes and a sweet smile beamed forth, framed by golden blond curls. His small hand rested on his father’s knee. The young royal was beautiful.

Later that day, Gaelib was in the garden watching his father talk with a group of old men. His father had pointed and told him to stay. So, he had.

He looked at the vibrant flowers and the elaborate, pruned trees. He watched nobles, dressed in their finery, flit from one cluster of jabbering men to the next. Boredom tempted him to sit, but one look at his father’s furrowed brow stopped him.

A small tug on his sleeve made him jump.

“Hallo,” a cheerful, small voice beside him piped. “I’m Sagen. Who are you?”

“Gaelib,” he said, turning to face whoever had spoken. “My lord.”

He gasped, his heart abuzz with fear. “Y-Y-Your Highness, I’m sorry.” He bowed low.

Sagen shrugged. “I don’t like titles. Rise. Follow me.”

Gaelib glanced toward his father, who gave him a nod with a smile he’d rarely ever seen.

The Earl’s first-ever, and very public show of approval, had him floating on clouds. Warmth flooded through him as if the sun had risen, shining just upon him.

He attended Sagen for the rest of the day. Sagen treated him as an equal. He often asked Gaelib what he would like to do. Gaelib felt significant. No one dare gainsay him if the prince did not. He skipped back to his father’s rooms.

The next morning, his father gripped his shoulders as Gaelib stared up with a tight smile. His father gave him a shake. “It is very important that you please the prince. Being his closest companion will give us significant advantages.”

Gaelib played with Prince Sagen every day. They were inseparable. Sometimes the nanny dragged the prince away for some royal requirement, but Sagen would soon find him again. However, every night after dinner, Gaelib had to tell some worthwhile bit of information to his father. He couldn’t just say how they played. Sometimes the earl smiled.

One day, when Gaelib came to where they met each morning, a new boy, the same age as he and the prince, sat across a chessboard from Sagen. The prince showed the pale-haired commoner how the pieces moved.

Gaelib bristled, his eyes narrowed. Even servants wore better.

“Who’re you?” Gaelib yelled, running up to them, scowling.

The new boy stood and bowed.

Sagen smiled. “This is Jonathan Otual, my new companion. Father said he must make sure I learn my lessons. We’re studying everything in the Royal Library with a master teacher.”

“Oh,” Gaelib said, gritting his teeth to hide his anger. He glued a smile on his face. “Why’re you dressed like a peasant?”

Sagen’s eyes widened.

Jonathan bit his lip, looking at his feet. “My circle says we should be adorned inwardly, not outwardly. Others may. I may not.”

Gaelib scrunched up his face. He didn’t understand. That made no sense.

Then he slapped Jonathan’s back as hard as he could, with a loud laugh, flashing his brightest grin at the prince. “At least you aren’t hedge-born.”

Sagen smiled back.

Gaelib’s father had reminded him at every turn, he’d been supplanted by a filthy commoner.

Jonathan Otual has ruined everything.