Updated 8/25/24

Chapter 5

Owakar

Growls and shouts from next door made Owakar frown, but the redheaded barber standing behind him banged his fist on the wall.

“Quiet over there!”

Wedged between a gaming hall and a tavern, the one-chair barber shop found itself pummeled by the cacophony of laughter, banter, and muted arguments from either side.

Implements in hand, the barber’s well-manicured eyebrows arched in question as he turned his attention back to Owakar. “Right, sorry about that. What will it be today?”

Owakar relaxed back into the hand-carved barber’s chair. It bled his anxiety away with its familiar creak and comfort of soft leather; the earthy scents of herbal dyes and therapies, escaping from a dozen clay pots.

Owakar brushed his curly brown hair out of his eyes, “Let’s do something different, Cranik.”

“Perhaps a—snip over here?” Cranik pointed to the crown of Owakar’s head with the tip of his scissors.

Owakar makes a face. “No, no. I’m no longer just a messenger, scurrying about at the drop of a feather, informing angels of higher orders, providing humans with words of wisdom they are likely to ignore, dolling out knowledge that others do not think they need anymore, rising—”

“Ah yes, I see, quite right you are on all accounts. What about I take this off the back and sides then?” The barber toys with the guardian’s locks, using his fingers to display where he’d like to cut.

“Mmm … Perhaps, but—No, I need something that says I’m in a league all my own. I’m reporting directly to J’shua, now. He has me on a special mission.”

“Right, a most important role indeed. How about I sculpt your curls like so?” Cranik asked, lifting up a bit of hair with both hands.

Owakar’s face pinched in the mirror. “Surely you jest? I’m a Watcher over the Province of Lorness!”

“Fine, cripple my art. We can keep it short but leave prominent sideburns. Modest enough for you?” The redhead pulled all Owakar’s hair tightly away from his face with one hand and pulled his bangs down in front of his ears with the other.

Owakar’s frown deepened. “No. I need to look more respectable.”

Cranik’s lips pursed, before he released it with a sigh. “So, the same trim as last time?”

Owakar smiled. “If you think it best, you’re the barber after all.”

Why can’t I make a simple decision about my hair—or anything? He closed his eyes as the barber released his long hair from its tie, a common length for the successful sort regardless of the realm. These new responsibilities, perhaps they will not always plague me with such indecisiveness. A sigh escaped him when the barber began the scalp massage with scented water.

“All’s well?” asked Cranik.

“Yes, yes, carry on.”

Hair grows back after all.

Hair wet, the scissors were waved this way and that, the stylist sticking out his tongue ever slightly in concentration as he trimmed an errant strand or two. “So, Sir Owakar, what do you have planned for the day?”

“Just the usual, watching, writing, and more writing.” Owakar said, not about to say anything that might get back to the Warrior or some other disobedient brother.”

Cranik swiveled the chair a bit. His white tunic snug across his broad chest. His big hands dancing gracefully to and fro like hummingbirds.

 “Hmm, I heard that as the people in the Density change, we in the Celestial Sea change with them.” The barber continued trimming with a pull through his comb there and a snip here.

“I’ve heard that as well. But I haven’t been a watcher long, so can’t say I can comment on the pattern just yet.”

“Hmm,” Cranik murmured again.

Comb. Snip. Snip. Comb. Snip.

Cranik added, “Well, it just makes me wonder if most angels consider humans an annoying reminder of the secret the God of Truth kept from them, why then are they still infatuated with everything human, always trying to imitate their ways?”

“Perhaps because like a moth to the flame, that which they hate, fear, or admire draws them in.” Owakar trusted his creator, the God of Truth, so he neither hated nor feared humans. He too was besotted with those in his charge.

CRASH!

Glass tinkled in the aftermath.

They turned toward the window, peering through the inverted words painted across the glass.

Something flew through the air, a wicker basket impaled with a—sword?

Big, brawny guardians dragged a skinny messenger from the gaming room. “Teach you to spread rumors about the trial of the Serpent, the God of Truth, and J’shua Ha Mashiach!”

“Hey now, come on, it was just an opinion, we’re free to that?” The scrawny one gave a defiant jerk to no avail, “Come on, let me go. I was just speaking my mind!” the struggling messenger cried, but his plea fell on deaf ears as he was pulled past the window out of Cranik and Owakar’s sight.

Owakar gave a hmph turning his mind away from the scene as the barber went back to his work. “As much as the God of Truth loves individuality and free will, I wonder if we were controlled by instincts like animals, would we be better off for it?”

“Oh my, no.” The barber leaned in closer inspecting an unruly strand. “Then the only thing to break up my day would be picking lice out of my brother’s hair.”

“I suppose it would be a boring life.” Owakar chuckled.

The redhead snipped more brown locks off. “It’s been unusually quiet recently.”

Another hmph came from Owakar. “That ruckus is what you call quiet?”

Cranik shrugged. “Oh that? That’s nothing, you know how fast we heal. I’m sure that messenger will be back to zipping about in no time.”

“True,” Owakar agreed, enjoying the sensations and sounds of Cranik’s work about his head.

“I’m just saying it used to be an all-day affair, the brawling, the vandalism. Hey, given the third heaven is secured by God’s Seraphim, His Throne Warriors, constantly patrolling—there is peace or some semblance of it there.” Cranik tousled Owakar’s head and bits of brown fluff sifted to the floor. “It would be nice if we had a few of those Throne Warriors here. They could do more than Guardians, like throw troublemakers into the sheol, give them time to think about their actions given how much a bore the place is. Then again, I suppose most prisons are, at least here. Have the …”

Owakar caught sight of the guardians as they returned to the game room, their punching bag no doubt having taken flight after a sound beating. Bystanding angels, including himself couldn’t help but take measure of their presence, though he refrained from finger pointing and whispers that some of the patrons demonstrated, before they too returned to their own amusements.

 “… Any news of the trial of the Serpent? Everyone here has an opinion about it,” Cranik said.

“Not me, I don’t care to be involved in that conversation.” Owakar said.

“Oh, why’s that?”

Owakar sighed, but then shrugged. “Because no one knows how much longer the pretrial motions will take, could be another millennium. In the meantime, more angels are deposed by one side or the other, weakening us when we must remain a united front.”

Comb. Snip. Comb. Snip. Snip.

 “My friend says that everyone is unsettled by the addition of humans to our society, even those loyal to the God of Truth and his son J’shua are saying there might be trouble.”

“Agreed, looks like the lesson wasn’t learned when we had two of them in the Garden. Why not invite these other 450 million?” Owakar sighed. “And it’s not like they won’t keep breeding. It does seem they’re good at that.”

 Cranik sheers stilled, and the snips ceased. “You don’t think they’ll be allowed into the renewed heaven and earth? We’ll be overrun, we’ll be the minority. It’ll be a plague!”

Owakar turned about in the barber’s chair and looked Cranik in the eyes.

Everyone’s unease is so easily pricked, thanks to the Serpent’s followers sowing constant chaos throughout. Where is their faith? I know I have mine.

A small smile curved Owakar lips. “Fear not, friend. I’m sure the God of Truth has a plan for that.”

Cranik let out a breath, turned Owakar’s head back to the front, and continued cutting. “You’re right, you’re right.”

***

After leaving the barber and with it the Celestial Sea, Owakar waited while sitting on his favorite bench, imperceptible to human eyes, as they walked near the castle. The special project J’shua gave him today allowed him to appoint assistants to provide better overwatch for the Otuals.

Four family members, all in different directions. I thought I understood, but only managed to predict the choices of one of them.

Owakar sighed.

Today was the last half-moon of early autumn in the thirty-third year of the Reign of King Edal and yet Sarah’s location remained a mystery. All references regarding her were from his old reports. The last one being that Blackhawk had given her to a woman who took her south.  This lack of information unnerved him.

Then again, these humans are resourceful, perhaps the little girl will surprise me yet again.

 The luach warmed in his pocket and began to chirp. When he took it out, it glowed as well, a light as pure as the sun’s rays pulsing from it as more passages of the Book of Life appeared. He smiled as he read it.

[But as for you, you thought evil against me; but the God of Truth meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save many people alive.]

[When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the God of Truth shall lift up a standard against him.]

The passages sent always set his mind probing to correlate them with something happening or what he’d seen or done. After all, someone took a lot of time to watch, record, and risk much for such valuable evidence.

Hmm, even when evil is done …

Several moments later, eventually a meaning was gleaned from the passages.

The God of Truth uses evil for good, an ultimate good, which only he can see from the highest heaven—Like Sarah being taken from her family! But her destiny is still a mystery …

The luach whistled again, Owakar looked down hoping for another clue, but it simply brought to his attention that Rebekah rode into his jurisdiction of Lorness Province from the river road. So, he drew near to her.

Though continuing to sit on his favorite bench, an amazing thing about the spiritual dimension, he was now just above her, because he willed it. He listened to her, thankful that she prayed about everything, and in doing so offered him her thoughts and prayers—all of which he could record on his luach to be offered as evidence against the Serpent at his trial.

Owakar had to admit this woman was resourceful and dedicated to J’shua. Sure, he had originally scoffed at her secret group, Licht Gegen.

He shook his head. The name still made him laugh. It meant ‘light against.’

That’s not even a complete thought.

Still Rebekah Otual had successfully woven her way into communities all over Freislicht to help carry out their work, diverting all her profits into the organization. Clever, though he was aware that as Licht Gegen grew, this would become more and more difficult for her, even though she acquired two young assistants; orphans raised by members of Licht Gegen.

Owakar chuckled as he witnessed her baby them, serving them their meals and making sure they were well rested. Not at all like an unrelated man would treat them. She was still a mother at heart, and yet still spontaneous with a maiden’s youth. Although her actions in Lorness did not come danger free, as it was four years ago when she prayed and sang spiritual songs in a cave forged by the Bloody Rocks … If the Warrior had known—it would have been the end of her fate.

But the Warrior hadn’t known, still didn’t know, and as such Owakar planned to keep it that way, follow her movements closely, and shield her from his wicked way and the demons that walked in his shadow.

Rebekah

As she approached the farm, just south of the Bloody Rocks, the stained cliffs loomed in the distance. Tears welled up, breathing deep to keep from retching, Rebekah remembered the evil child sacrifice that she’d discovered there. Casting her eyes away, across the rough landscape, she spotted a figure in the distance. A man was working tirelessly, tending to a patch of scraggly crops, alone. Another doomed to serve the Earl of Lorness.

Must be Eagert.

Mister Eagert was referred to her by a kinsman on the other side of Freislicht. The dusty man approached waving her over, sweat dripping from his tunic.

Glad to be off that blasted hard seat, Rebekah’s feet landed with a crunch in the stony dirt. “Freislicht common” they called this soil, because it easily grew the hardiest common weeds. It’s why the nobles had never claimed the frontier, rough country. The nobles owned all the good land, a perpetual gift from King Weisheit in days gone by. The dregs, which seemed too costly to work, they sold off to hopeful farmers like Eagert here.

The many shades of green in the fields beyond proved that when the God of Truth blesses it, even “Freislicht common” will prosper.

"Eagert, you’ve done well to cultivate anything here," she remarked, admiration in her voice.

He wiped his brow and smiled wearily. "It's hard work, but it's home. What brings you to these parts? You know it’s cursed," he said, pointing to the walls of stone, streaked with rust.

“I have heard that, but you are here so your kinsman sent me; he thought you might like to try our new wheeled plow.”

“Come in, out of that sun. We’ve had some cooler days, but today’s not one of them.” He shielded his eyes, surveying the sky. “Not a cloud in sight.”

Rebekah squinted and wiped sweat from her brow as she followed him into the dark barn; shuttered windows above kept out the harsh light and the overpowering heat. Barely detecting stalls, equipment, and hay until her eyes adjusted. Many stools set about the perimeter, a tabletop laid on its side behind two trestles—not customary furniture in a barn.

A cool breeze fluttered from the front door to the rear one. Rebekah tucked her floppy hat into her belt and pulled a dozen stiff pages of drawings from her pouch. The black ink sketches defined all the pieces, bolts, and pins with dashed lines and labels, the cost of replacements, instructions for assembly, every implement of sales at her command.

She bowed and began her pitch. “Mister Eagert, thank you for allowing me to present the Original Franklin and Sons Wheeled Plow.” She flipped through the drawings as she explained the benefits and cost.

The farmer looked them over. “I can see that this would make the work much easier. I don’t know why I never thought of adding a wheel. I’ll take one.”

“Thank you, sir. You will not be disappointed.”

As she wrote up the order she said, “I was disturbed to see soldiers take an orphan into custody in Dunis Glen. Do you have a problem with orphans here in Lorness?”

The man studied her for a moment, perhaps praying for wisdom as he crafted his answer. He sighed. “Yes, but not in the way you might think. I believe they are sold into slavery—or worse.”

“Or worse?”

“Aye,” The farmer lowered his voice to a whisper, “Rumors of child sacrifice to them old gods. They are being worshiped by some wealthy people. Children have disappeared. My own son disappeared two years ago. I told him to stay home with his ma. I chastised him when he went to the cliffs. But he wouldn’t stay away. One day, he never came back. His mother went looking for him every day for weeks. Then she found his toy, a wooden horse I carved for him when he was a baby.” Eagert took a deep breath to compose himself. “She found it down a steep ravine. Gave up after that. Died that winter.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “That is terrible. I am so sorry for your loss.” She paused. “Why do you stay?”

“Melazera keeps me here. I owe him. I never make enough to leave.” His angry gaze flashed at her. “Besides, I am going to pray against the evil that took my wife and child. Seeing those cliffs is a constant reminder.”

Someone else knew the truth, someone else was fighting. “Oh, my. Do you have a circle?”

Again, the man paused. “Yes, sir. We meet right here.” He motioned toward the stools. “We pray. We don’t know how to stop it. But we know how to pray.”

Rebekah placed her hand on his shoulder. “Ever heard of a group called Licht Gegen? They follow J’shua and are attempting to stop the growing darkness

“Yes, sir. My cousin done mentioned that name, but he don’t know nothing about finding them.”

“I will give my friend your name. It may take some time before they reach out. When does your circle meet?”

Chapter 6

Sarah

Sarah peeled open her eyes as the morning sun winked from behind a blanket of pink clouds. Trees tops danced above her as she lay in the wagon. She was happy to be going back to Locke Castle. She loved Melyssa and couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing without her, but she missed Ned and her friends too. She could forget the pain when she played, but it was the between times that it hurt so bad. She was afraid she would lose them, like she’d lost her parents, and her brother.

Ma had already risen and started a fire that crackled, the hot coals pulsing under the blackened cookpot. The smell of baked clap bread meant they’d be eating as they rode.

Sarah moaned, rolled over and covered her head with her cloak while Benjamin laughed amidst the bursting pinecones he tossed into the fire. It was always her task to watch him.

It wasn’t that Ma didn’t discipline him, she did. But ever since her husband, Shaun, went to South Fort to trade—and hadn’t returned—she’d often ignored Benj, staring off at nothing, lost in thought. They knew there were many hazards on the frontier and as the weeks passed, they had less hope that he was just delayed.

Sarah groaned. She couldn’t go back to sleep, feeling guilty for lying around while Benj caused mischief.

Throwing the covers aside, she rose still wearing her wrinkled homespun clothes from yesterday. “Benjamin,” she whispered.

Ma turned to her sharp whisper, but Sarah continued pointing at a praying mantis that crept up a tall stalk in the brush.

Once Benji had become enamored by the bug, Sarah turned and smiled as Ma gave her a nod of thanks.

***

When they arrived at Locke castle, they were escorted into a parlor.

She thought she’d seen all the rooms, but this one was magnificent. The chandeliers twinkled above; crystal vases, perched on each table, overflowed with blooms of every color; but all the walls closed in on her with expressionless faces of family members, long dead. All of them staring at her with beady eyes and bulky jewels.

Her eyes grew wider and she had to stifle a gasp, when the duchess entered the opulent room. The woman’s blue velvet gown was embroidered with bright green leaves that vined up her bodice and down her skirts, stemming from her waist as gold leaves dripped from her necklace.

She’s dressed like a queen. Sarah’s eyes dropped down to her own plain homespun before looking back to the duchess.

Sarah’s heart thumped.

Duchess Ellyth Locke was not smiling. In fact, when the duchess spoke, her words were pointed, “All day Gregory and I have been receiving the nobles and landholders of Lexandria to hear their oaths. It has me thinking of my promise to you. It’s been two years and Sarah has not acquired sufficient grace. Gregory enjoys her unique antics, but that will not bring about the future we both seek for her.”

Sarah gulped.

The duchess continued, “Mistress Decker, from now on, you must leave Sarah here to keep her mind on learning to become a lady.”

Sarah had never seen the kind and noble lady so stern. She shifted closer to Ma as the duchess’s eyes bore into each of them.

“Everyone here has duties and responsibilities. When you are here, Sarah, you will assist Mistress Decker. Do I make myself clear?”

Sarah felt her ma curtsey beside her and rushed to do the same, trembling. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Sarah echoed her ma. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I will speak with Gregory. He has not yet made her his ward, but he will if I encourage him to make a decision. I think it is the only way. Don’t you agree, Mistress Decker?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It is in alignment with our agreement. Thank you, for the blessings you have bestowed already. For Sarah to be your ward—is beyond words.”

Sarah’s eyes swung from Ma to the duchess and back.

Ma had been reluctant to replace Matilda as the Locke’s midwife. She was devoted to the people of their village of Carington, but Duchess Ellyth Locke offered Ma the position, in addition to the prestige of First Midwife with high remuneration, to train Sarah as a lady. The prospect of elevating Sarah’s status, was certainly hard to refuse.

“Fetch all your things from your home in Carington. The next visit will be your last.” Sarah felt the weight of the duchess's words settle in her chest, and weigh down her knees as she curtsied, her eyes fixed on the ground, trying to keep the tears from falling as the duchess’ rustling silks signaled the noble woman’s departure from the room.

***

Three moons and two births later, they were returning to Carrington.

So this is it.

The next time she saw the village, she would be saying goodbye forever. Goodbye to the small cottage, to the paths she knew by heart—to Ned.

Ned, who had been her closest friend for as long as she could remember. How could she leave him behind? Who would she talk to, laugh with, play with in the fields? The thought of not seeing him again made her chest tighten.

And what about Melyssa? Melyssa was different—she was a lady.  Oh yes, she was kind, and Sarah liked her, but could they ever be as close as she was with Ned? Would the young lady still want to be friends when she found out how much Sarah missed running wild in the fields, getting dirt on her clothes, and climbing trees? What if Melyssa didn’t understand, and Sarah ended up all alone?

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirts as she bit her lip.

Ma hugged her tight, patting her back. “It will be well. You will see.”

She had to be brave. She would have to make Locke Castle her home, find a way to belong, and hope Melyssa would still want to be her friend—but it wasn’t just fear or sadness she felt. There was a spark of determination, too. If she had to leave everything behind, she would do it with her head held high. She would make her ma proud, even if it hurt so much that she thought her heart might break.

They traveled away from Locke Castle driving the wagon through the bustling streets of Lexandria. It was a maze of changing colors, sounds, and smells, individuals merging into crowds, until the population thinned beyond the low wall surrounding it.

They could have taken the Lexandria-South Fort Road, a smoother thoroughfare, but Ma feared patrols of soldiers, wary of them ever since the debt collections caused them to move south years ago. And there was still the question of what had happened to her husband, Shaun.

So, it was five bumpy days, and although the wagon jerked and creaked along the rugged path, the journey was filled with bird calls and cricket songs. A patchwork of green and gold squares from scattered farms sprung up on their right, misty in the distance. Most days they continued in the shadow of the forest that skirted the base of the Shining Mountain, which remained a stalwart companion on their left.

The giant, twisted oak marked the last turn in the road leading to their cottage. Her face could not hold a bigger smile as they drew close. She planned to visit all her friends and learn all she’d missed while away. Except when the wagon stopped beside their home, Sarah could do no more than pour herself out of the wagon. Her body felt jostled, even standing on the solid ground.

Ma took the bag of flour into the cottage, and soon white smoke drifted from the chimney.

Sarah handed Benjamin a bag he could carry, while she brought in their clothes.

As soon as the wagon was unloaded, Sarah ran inside to get her practice sword.

“Take Benjamin with you. I have many visits to make, and it will help if he’s not underfoot.”

Sarah scowled. “Yes, Ma.”

Ma handed her a carefully tied bundle, the aroma of warm honey cakes tickled her nose.

“Be back by mid-day. There are many things to pack before you move to the castle.”

“I will, Ma,” Sarah said before turning to the four-year-old, cocking her head and smiling at him. “Come on Benj. You can be the horse.” Her hand extended to the small boy.

“Ney. Ney,” Benjamin whinnied as he toddled beside her.

She took his hand and they skipped out the door, brandishing her wooden sword in her other hand, the sack of goodies under her arm.

Ned must have been watching for her because when they passed his cottage, he dashed out the door, sword in hand.  “The tree?”

Sarah nodded, quickening her pace. “Yes, the castle needs our protection, King Ned.”

“Our land must remain free, Sir Sarahad,” he said.

Sarah bowed to him and scampered into the highest branches like a squirrel. From the treetop castle, she pretended she was a Knight of J’shua, Sir Sarahad, scanning the horizon from the tower, seeking signs of the approaching horde.

When she saw them, she yelled, her gleaming sword pointing to the heavens. “Ned, the horde is coming! I’ll protect the people!”

From her tower perch, the door sprang open, three ugly hordes-men storming in. Their toothless sneers stretched across pock-marked faces half-hidden by stringy black hair.

“Sir Sarahad, what do you see?”

“Ned, behind you, the tall one, pierce him with your sword! I got these two.” Sarah jumped down from her nest within the tall limbs and slashed and parried just as they’d practiced. “Alas, evildoers. You’ll not harm anyone here. I shall cut you down.” She dodged, aiming her sword at the attackers. “Prepare to sleep until you meet the God of Truth.”

The horde growled and lunged.

Sir Sarahad danced amongst them with precise strikes and parries. The horde poked their crude spears at her as they retreated in fear.

Ned’s clashing sword struck. “This one is mine…”

Dealing each of them a last thrust, they fell with wretched screams.

“Sir Sarahad, we killed them all!”

Having vanquished them, Sir Sarahad lifted her sword again. “Long live the king!”

Ned’s voice called from over Benjamin’s side who was trying to eat fistfuls of clumps of grass. “Sarah, you should be the queen, because Benjamin wants to be the baby, not a horse.”

“Not a horse,” Benjamin declared as he spat out the grass, “Yuck, I’m the baby.”

“I’m coming, Ned. Benj, you wanted to be the horse.” Sarah went to pick up Benjamin and cradled him in her arms, rocking him back and forth.

“Wah!” Benjamin smiled, his tunic was already dirty. “I wanna cake.”

“You are one heavy baby.” She set him back down on the grass and untied the muslin package of honey cakes.

Ned huffed and sat against the tree, stretching out. “Sarah, let’s go fish in the river.”

She handed him a cake. Then Ned snagged Benjamin, who was about to run off, by his tunic, she gave him a cake too. “I can’t. I have to watch Benjamin until Ma returns. I should go home. I still have chores to finish.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ned said with a frown.

Benjamin turned to them with a toothy grin, his face covered in crumbs.

Sarah watched as Ned stuffed the last bit of honey cake into his mouth, then wiped the crumbs off his hands. He leaned back against the tree, looking up at the sky through the leaves. "Do you think we’ll ever fight real hordesmen, Sarah?"

Sarah smiled wistfully, still cradling Benjamin, who was now trying to squirm out of her lap. "Maybe. But not for a long time. We have to grow up first, be trained like real knights. And besides…" Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the ground.

Ned noticed the change in her tone and turned his head to look at her. “What is it, Sarah?”

She took a deep breath, feeling a lump form in her throat. “Ned, I have to tell you something.” She shifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m moving away. As soon as Mother Gimbal has her baby.” She inhaled a ragged breath. “The duke and duchess are making me their ward. It’s like being adopted—almost.”

Ned’s face fell. He sat up quickly, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re leaving? But… but what about our tree? And the horde? And King Ned and Sir Sarahad?”

“I know,” Sarah whispered, her heart aching at the sight of his devastated expression. “I don’t want to go, but I have to. Ma says it’s important. I don’t know when I’ll be back, if ever.”

Benjamin, noticed the change in the conversation, “Sarah, don’t make Ned sad.”

Sarah glanced at him, then back at Ned, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ll write to you, Ned. And we can still be Sir Sarahad and King Ned in our letters. We’ll protect the kingdom no matter where we are.”

Ned swallowed hard, trying to be brave like the knights they pretended to be. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Sarah said, giving him a sad smile. “We’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Ned nodded, though his heart wasn’t fully in it. “Then, I guess I’ll be waiting for your letters, Sir Sarahad.”

“And I’ll be waiting to hear how you defend our land, King Ned,” Sarah replied, blinking back tears. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m not leaving for weeks. And maybe Mother Gimbal will go really late.”

They sat in silence, the weight of the future pressing down on them both. The sound of Benjamin’s giggles was the only thing that broke the quiet, but even that felt distant.

“I better go,” Sarah said as she stood, grasping Benjamin’s hand. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yes. We cannot be slack in our duties.” Ned answered as he extended his sword.

Sarah tapped his blade with hers as they always ended their bouts.

***

It was time. They’d been home for two moons. Sarah played with Ned every day after chores until the sun touched the horizon and turned the clouds orange and red.

Ma was packing the wagon with a few final items, while Sarah sat against a rain barrel, pouting.

Will they forget me. Or worse, hate me. They’ll think that I think I’m too good for them.

Her cheeks moistened with tears, a sniffle soon following.

Benjamin kept throwing rocks at the side of the wagon.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Stop it, Benj.” Sarah scowled at him, making his lip tremble.

She felt bad, but only looked away, wiping a tear from her cheek. She didn’t want to leave. Ned, the Cofke girls, Edna, and Banda. It had taken a year to get them to talk to her, to even acknowledge she existed, but now they were friends. Not best like Ned, but second best.

Ned won’t hold this against me. Ned will be my friend forever.

It wasn’t too bad when she would be away for a few moons; as soon as she returned, they played as if she’d never been away. However, now she would be gone for years, maybe forever. What if she never saw them again?

More tears, more sniffles, the sort that blurred her vision and choked her up, like the kind she had last night until she fell asleep. Snot ran down onto her upper lip. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she had to stop.

Crying’s for babies. Besides J’shua with me, right?...Right?

Darker fears crept forward, and another wave of emotion crashed over her; she couldn’t stop.

There was a tug at her elbow.

“Sawah? Don’t cwy. Please.” Benjamin said with a hitch in his voice. His face shone wet with tears too.

She hugged him tight. “I love you, little man.”

They held each other for a long time, until he pushed himself away. “I pwayed fow you. So…we can play stones in the wagon?” His big smile made her laugh and she wiped the last tear away.

“Yes, but you have to practice saying your “r”s. Rah, rah, rah!

“Wah, wah, wah!”

The creaking door caused Sarah to look up. Ma gave her a compassionate smile. “Let’s mount up while we have the whole day ahead of us.”

“Yes, Ma,” Benjamin replied as he pulled Sarah toward him.

Sarah laughed as she stood and let him drag her to the wagon where she picked him up and set him on a soft pile of sheepskins, then she climbed in. She was almost smiling as they left the yard, until Ned appeared on the road a ways off.

This afternoon he had parried her blows with bold moves and she his. They danced around the yard in a fierce battle, even jumping from log to log on the woodpile. He was her best friend. Now, he stood frowning with his wooden sword raised in the air.

Her face collapsed as she waved goodbye to him, unable to turn away until he disappeared back behind the trees.

Ma patted her back. “You will see him again.”

When? How? She could see no way forward.

After a long pause Ma said, “I will take him letters and return with what he sends.”

Sarah brightened. “Oh, would you, Ma?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, already thinking of what she could write him. He always asked questions about Locke Castle and the town of Lexandria. She would give him a full report of all she experienced. “I will need paper and ink. Do you suppose the duchess would give me some?”

“We will ask as soon as we see her. I expect you to learn much from the Lockes. There will come a day when you will be thankful for them.”

“I suppose,” she said without conviction.

“Let’s talk about your friend, Melyssa. What do you like to do with her?”

Sarah sighed, turning her thoughts to her future. In Lexandria, she had Melyssa.

***

The very night they arrived back at Locke Castle, Ma woke her before dawn, whispering, “Sarah, a baby’s coming.”

Sarah’s shift rippled around her legs as she clamored out of bed in the dark, only one candle held high in Ma’s hand flickered over her things, still in piles on the floor. She rubbed her eyes as she followed the dancing candlelight out of her room and down the hall.

The cries of a mother in labor haunted the vacant corridor that grew every busier with servants bustling about as the time drew nearer.

Lit only by candles and the glowing fireplace, Lady Mysha’s bed chamber was warm and dim. Sage and lavender oil filled the air. Each of the women whispered their encouragements, while the expecting mother kept time with prayer-like low moans. The child was coming very early.

Sarah brought her ma what she needed and watched everything she did.

Matylda toddled about with a dark knobby cane, wearing the deep mahogany-colored shift and muslin apron that all the midwives did. She could no longer crouch and lift as a midwife must, but reassured each of the kinswomen in attendance.

Ma had said the other apprentices lacked confidence though, which made the duchess nervous. That’s why she chose Ma to succeed Matylda at Locke Castle and not one of the other women.

Candles burned. Incense waned. Sheets dirtied. The used were replaced by the fresh as the night’s hours piled on. It felt like forever before the woman, Mysha, delivered a tiny baby. The girl arrived in the world all red and wrinkled. Not a squawk. Not a cry. But she did whimper, and she was breathing.

That’s good right?

The placenta came soon after—white, like cooked fish. Sarah poked it and whispered to her ma, “It feels like leather.”

Her ma nodded, examining it. “That is a good observation, Sarah. It is a miracle of God that the child was born alive. You are a reliable assistant.” Her ma gave Sarah’s shoulder a squeeze.

Matylda hobbled over, smiling. She patted Sarah’s head and said, “You did fine work tonight. Both of you. I can rest easy. All my girls will be in capable hands, when I am gone.”

Ma gave the old woman a sad smile.

Chapter 6.2

Jonathan

Jonathan rode from the Knights’ School eager to descend the mountain near Lexandria. He knew this dark forest well, and it offered him comfort in its familiarity. As an apprentice knight he had foraged and hunted here with his friends. The cool moist breeze filled with the murmurs of living creatures ensured his seclusion and safety. Every squeeze of his calves, he urged his horse, over and around twigs and brush, allowing them to flow soundlessly through the trees. Keeping himself hidden and away from prying eyes. The nagging reality that there was a bounty on his head combined with the attack on the school gave Jonathan reason to stay away from people until he arrived in Mestelina. There he had spent his earliest missions and knew the Mestels could be trusted.

His lips upturned, and his mind eased a little with thoughts of times past, when life was simply about obedience and action. However, more recent memories intruded, causing his eyes to well up. He tried to push such thoughts away by meditating on the Writings, by prayer, but his head still drooped with the weight as every loss he experienced during the last four years pressed in on him. Still, no matter how much he might endure, he knew the secret the world was blind to—the promises and hope that came with his teachings. The messages of the Writings that would carry him through and anyone else that was open to receiving it.

[And all things are of God, who reconciled us to himself by J'shua Ha Mashiach, and has given to us the administration of reconciliation; To know, that God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not reckoning their trespasses unto them; and has committed unto us the word of reconciliation.]

The next day he crossed the meadow marking the border of the frontier. The untamed lands here promised freedom and an opportunity for anyone to create a new life. After weeks of riding hard and sleeping on the ground, he began thinking about finding a settlement near South Fort.

Jonathan sighed. Moment by moment the choice was always his. Yet he argued with himself as he vacillated over sleeping in a barn or spending another night on the cold hard ground. The idea soured his mood.

I am a knight. Shouldn’t I proceed boldly, proclaiming the word of God? 

[And for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the secret of the gospel.]

But surely those hunting me would find me. J’shua, do you wish me to be caught?

[See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise.]

As soon as he saw smoke wandering up from a chimney in the distance, the idea of sleeping under a roof eased a bit of his weariness. His decision was made. He nudged his horse into a trot.

Better to be alert than regretful.

He was never sure if the signs were from the holy spirit or his mind playing tricks, but he always tried to pay attention to the signals and ask the God of Truth for wisdom. As in the holy spirit’s way, Jonathan was thankful for the signs that alerted him with prickles on the back of his neck, a foul smell, or a turn of his stomach. Once the holy spirit made his body feel ice cold, a chilling warning he never forgot.

Jonathan approached with caution at first, but he sensed no warning in his spirit telling him to go, so he proceeded with careful steps, feeling more at ease when the cottage came into view.

As he came closer, Jonathan spotted a brown-haired boy glancing his way, before stepping over the cottage’s threshold with an armload of wood.

 An older man with similar, gray-dusted chestnut locks stepped out of the house as Jonathan slowed his horse to a walk.

 The lad reappeared behind the elder man, peering out from within the man’s shadow. The elder waved, soothing Jonathan’s nerves even more.

“Greetings, friends,” Jonathan shouted as he cantered up to them.

“The two men stood waiting for him. “Welcome sir. I am Patrick Garvey.” Reaching for the young man, he tousled the boy’s hair. “This is my son, Ned.”

Jonathan dismounted and approached them, leading his horse by the reins.

He gave them a bow. “Patrick, Ned. I’m Jonathan Otual.” He extended his hand, which Patrick shook firmly. Jonathan immediately felt the goodness in the man and all his unease fell away. “Can an honest man buy a good meal here?”

Patrick smiled warmly, glancing at his son before replying, “You’re welcome to share our table, sir. We don't often see strangers out this way.”

Ned nodded eagerly; his eyes wide with curiosity. “Ma’s got stew on the fire and fresh bread from this morning,” he added.

“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Jonathan pulled his pack down, sword and bow tied to the outside. “May I leave these by the door?”

“Set them inside, it might rain before we’re done.” Patrick pointed to the door.

Ned extended his hand. “I’ll take care of your horse, sir.” He took the reins Jonathan offered and led it to the barn.

“Your cloak is the color of a Knight’s.” Patrick said as his eyes widened slightly. “Are you a Knight of J'shua? We've known a few Knights in years gone by. And you are old enough to have a circle. Your presence here must be for an important reason.”

Jonathan nodded, a serious expression settling on his face. “Indeed. I’m seeking my family that disappeared during a debt collection in Lorness. I am also learning all I can of the evil that plagues our land. Lies have replaced truth. Our rulers do not uphold the law.”

Patrick's face darkened with concern. “Well, you've come to a place of rest. Our community follows J’shua. Come inside, warm yourself by the fire, and tell us more.”

As they walked toward the house, Ned returned, rushing past to hold open the door.

Jonathan enjoyed the boy's enthusiasm. He remembered feeling that way as a lad. Every encounter, exciting. Each day an adventure.

Patrick chuckled. “It's simple fare, but it keeps us going.” He motioned for the woman inside. “This is my wife, Katherine.” He gazed up at her. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

The woman laughed, giving his shoulder a little push. “You’d be playing cards and lazing about, you would.” She returned to the larder; more shuffling noises followed.

The warmth of the fire and the smell of the stew wrapped him in comfort. Bay leaf, thyme, chives, sage. His nose swiftly catalogued the flavors as his stomach growled in anticipation. It was a small cottage; one room with a curtain dividing it. Above there was a loft, piled high with bundles of provisions for the cold moons ahead.

A clattering of dishes heralded the return of the short, woman, who burst into the room, carrying a board with bread and a knife, setting it on the table. A linen cap covered most of her brown and white streaked hair. “Please, please sit,” the woman said, motioning to the wooden chair by the hearth. “Jonathan, would you lead us in prayer.”

“Certainly,” Jonathan bowed his head, “Our gracious, heavenly Father, we thank you for your blessings, which show your arms are always about us. We thank you for the bountifulness of this earth and all the good things it yields to us to feed and nourish us. We thank you for the beauty of the world and the light that continues to shine even in the darkness that surrounds us. We thank you for the hands that prepared this food, and for your peace in this dwelling and in each of our hearts. We thank you for all of these things in the name of our Lord and savior, J’shua Ha Mashiach. Amen.”

There was a chorus of “Amens.”

Ned fetched a bowl and filled it with stew, placing it in front of Jonathan. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thank you, Ned.” Jonathan took a spoonful, savoring the taste. “This is excellent. Your wife is a skilled cook.”

The woman beamed, scuttling about the room, straightening this, tweaking that.

Ned brought his father a bowl and then spooned one for himself.

“Ned, Sir Otual is a Knight of J’shua.”

Ned’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Really, have you fought battles?”

“A few.” Jonathan blew on a spoonful of soup before enjoying each flavor as he swallowed. “This is thick and savory, Katherine. Reminds me of my wife’s.” Then he set down his spoon and gazed at the boy who he knew wanted an exciting story. It didn’t feel right though. Instead, he said, “There are some people in this world who think they are gods over everyone else. Sometimes another person is moved to stop them. The results are always mixed. But they always contain a lesson. The battles of the heart and mind are often the hardest.”

Ned, having lost some of his previous excitement, began eating the rich soup.

“Jonathan, you mentioned threats in our land,” Patrick said. “What news do you bring?”

Jonathan took a deep breath. “Soldiers attacked the Knights’ School, burning it to the ground. Many died. I fear for the safety of our people and the stability of Freislicht.”

Patrick's expression grew serious. “That’s troubling indeed. We’ve had our share of bandit problems and some of our settlement’s members had fled here from debt collections, but nothing so organized as an attack by soldiers. Do you suspect someone specific behind these attacks?”

Jonathan nodded, his gaze steady. “I do. There are dark forces at work. The attack was led by a commandant named Greysun. He is relentless and more powerful than I previously knew, but there are others much higher supporting him from the shadows. I only wish I knew who.”

Patrick exchanged a worried glance with Ned. “Do you think that is related to the stories of trouble with the Mestels? We’ve heard they are attacking settlements along the border.”

“I do not know how yet, but I think they must be. I have lived with the Mestels. They mostly live in the high country in the summer, coming down to the plains in the cold season. Their homes are temporary lodges, built in a day. They are tribal, but have a council that each clan leader joins as an equal. They only meet when necessary to fight an enemy or overcome a disaster. I do not believe they have initiated this trouble.”

Katherine left and returned with cheese and more bread and sat with them, adding to the conversation. “What can we do to help, Jonathan?” she said, as she glanced at her husband and son, who nodded in agreement.

“Thank you. That is most kind.” Jonathan’s breath caught, holding back a flood of unexpected anger, fear, regret, and emptiness. Even jealousy, that these people had their family, they could smile and laugh. He could not. Then shame, made him look away. Not many he’d approached offered more than words of sympathy. He composed himself again. “At this time, prayer is the most help anyone can give me. But you could keep watch for a blond girl, my daughter, Sarah, who was taken during a debt collection. She escaped. I have no idea how. She was only six at the time. She’s ten now. I am still looking for her everywhere I go. My wife, Rebekah, is also looking for her.” He looked down. “I cannot find either of them.”

“Well, there are a lot of blond girls around here, being so close to Lexandria. You have our support and our prayers. We’ll keep watch for anyone like that and spread the word among our neighbors.” Patrick said with resolve.

“That would be a great blessing. I will try to return again, but I do not know when.” He picked up his spoon.

Ned leaned forward, his eyes shining with determination. “I’d like to be a knight. My friend, her name is Sarah too. We used to practice with wooden swords every day.” He frowned. “But her ma took her to Lexandria to become a lady in Locke Castle.”

Jonathan’s eyes grew wider at the mention of the name Sarah. He turned hopeful toward Patrick.

“That cannot be your Sarah, for she is not adopted. Her mother is our neighbor, Kennah Decker, the community midwife. Sarah and Ned used to play together, but her mother made an arrangement with the duchess of Lexandria in exchange for her midwife skills, that her daughter would become a lady in the duke’s household. She’ll have a brighter future than she would have.”

Jonathan was not surprised to be disappointed again. There were a lot of blonde girls in Lexandria. He noticed Ned was still sad and placed a hand on his shoulder. He wished he could tell him the truth. But student knights must be led to Shining Mountain by their daikon or the spirit of J’shua. “Are you eleven?”

“I just turned ten.”

“When you are eleven, if you can find a daikon to sponsor you, they can send you to the Knights’ School, if it still exists. I do not know when the Knights will again fill the land, but you can be a knight here, defending your family. For now, stay close to your family and keep them safe. There may come a time when our country needs brave young men like you.”

Ned brightened, “What are the Mestels like?”

As they continued to talk, Jonathan felt a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead was uncertain, but with allies like the Garvey’s, he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Sir Otual, would you share something from the Writings?” asked Patrick.

“I would love to,” he replied. He went to his pack and opened the baldric that held the Book of the Writings.

“The God of Truth surely has blessed me in all ways, even in these dark times,” Jonathan began, expounding on the writings as they came to him. He brought them to life, making them practical and simple, and yet still powerful and supernatural. He paged through the book, speaking of God’s love and joy and peace, of His grace and mercy, and of His desire to have children who freely loved Him, whom He could provide for. And of J’shua’s sacrifice that made it all possible.

[Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you.]

[Wherein in time past you walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now works in the children of disobedience.]

Ned looked puzzled and interrupted, “Sir Otual, why do knights carry swords? Since they teach the people, doesn’t J’shua protect them?”

“This world is a dark place and seems to be growing darker. There is so much we do not know. Some are delivered miraculously and others die in the struggle. A knight’s most important duty is to teach. J’shua did not send me to kill but to heal. I fight only because of the darkness of the days, to protect myself or another.”

Jonathan followed the words in the book with his finger.

[That in the ages to come he could show the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us through J'shua Ha Mashiach.]

“One day we will meet J’shua in the air, then everything will be made new.”

He flipped more pages.

“Someday if enough of the people return to the God of Truth and his son, J’shua, we will stand upon the Writings, make the people free, and rid our land of the evil that now feeds upon it. Then the knights might carry the book but not the sword. But it will take men and women like your parents and you to learn the Writings, be led by them, and stand through much pressure to bring those things to pass. Do you think you could do that?”

The boy nodded. “I will.”

“Thank you, Ned. Your words give me hope.”

“Ned,” his mother called from the yard. “Come help me with the milking.”

The boy brightened, running to help her.

Patrick rose. “Come Jonathan, sit with me on the porch while Katherine makes you a bed.”

“Thank you, Patrick, that is very considerate,” Jonathan replied as he followed him outside. The sun was setting behind the trees; golden pink light shone on the treetops and on the meadow. The occasional bleating of a goat came from the barn and a few chickens pecked about the yard. An occasional bird called in the trees. The crescent moon began to rise, but no stars yet shone in the darkening sky. He spoke to God within his heart, words that no man, not even himself, could understand. He pictured his wife, his daughter, and his son, sitting together as they had done so many years ago, in peace and love. He knew that somehow it could be once more.

Katherine joined them on the porch. “I’ve placed a pitcher of fresh water in Ned’s room. He’s sleeping in the loft. That’s where he slept until his older sisters married and moved out.”

“You are very kind. I’ve been sleeping under the stars so long; I don’t know what a real bed feels like any more.”

“It is nothing, you might be an angel sent to bless us.”

[Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.]

“I assure you I am as human as you are.” Jonathan bowed. “But I thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Do you have a change of clothes?”

Oh, yes. They are worn, but I try to keep one set clean.” He blushed.

Leave the dirty ones outside your door when you change into your night clothes. I will wash them.”

He slept that night like a baby, not aware of anything until the late morning light finally brought him out of his sleep. He found his clothes folded on the table, cleaned and smelling fresh. His boots, freshly oiled, sat at the end of the bed. He washed and dressed and strode out to the dining room.

Katherine met him, fresh and smiling, “I see the journey you’ve made must have been hard. It is already late, and Patrick has already set to work. What would you like to eat?”

“Oh, nothing special, whatever you have will be wonderful,” he replied.

She ushered him to a seat at the head of the table and set about bringing him a meal fit for a king. Fresh bread, sweet and yeasty, steaming from the oven. Bowls of butter, preserves, and nuts clapped onto the table. Next, she brought porridge dotted with raisins and a pitcher of cream.

After his astonishment abated, he ate again as if famished, and appreciated every bite of the simple, nourishing food. At last, he arose and thanked her and went outside.

He could hear his new friend sharpening something in the barn. When Jonathan found him, their eyes met.

Patrick gave a joyous laugh and set down the axe. “Ah, I see you’ve risen; I trust that your sleep was sweet?” He arose from his work, and came toward him.

“It was,” Jon replied, looking about for the boy. Where is your son? I wanted to thank him for cleaning my boots.”

“He’s about somewhere, fetching for his ma. Can you stay another day?”

“No, in fact, I should be off by now.”

“I’ll have Katherine prepare you some food for your journey, and you can pack while I ready your horse.”

“What do I owe you for your hospitality?” Jonathan asked.

“Nothing. I’ll accept not a coin. In fact, if you need money, it’s yours for the asking,” replied Patrick. “I know that whatever you are up to can bode no good for those behind this trouble and I do not mind being a part of such a movement,” he smiled placing a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Thank you, your kindness is overwhelming and I will never forget it,” he replied, placing his hand on Pat’s shoulder also, “We must remove the evil that lurks in the land. Pray for the King and the nobles and for the wisdom to remove the evil.”

Jonathan packed quickly and Katherine brought him a shoulder bag packed with fruit, bread, nuts, and dried meats.

Jonathan arranged his gear upon the saddle as he turned to shake his new friend’s hand, Patrick said, his eyes sparkling, “There are fifty baden with the food,”

“I was only too happy to be given the opportunity to share the writings again with people such as yourselves who want to know God and walk with Him.”

Then Jonathan said, “Today is a new day, all of our words will not bring back the Knights, the upholding of laws, or reunite me with my wife and daughter.” He spoke resolutely, “We must begin again building communities like yours with the foundation of the Writings and a personal relationship with the God of Truth, our Father, and his Son, J’shua.”

Jonathan shook his hand. “Fear no man, Patrick, no man; God bears His mighty arm for those who stand upon His promises and do not bend in heart.”

Jonathan felt better than he had in moons. The road before him seemed a little straighter and his burdens lighter. The West River and Mestelina were just two days away.

 Chapter 6.3

Sarah

A few weeks after Sarah moved into Locke castle, she stood on the balcony, watching the magnificent influx of many relatives from near and far arrive in splendid carriages. After the noble guests descended, colorful servants poured over each coach, removing boxes and bundles conveying them into the castle like ants after a rain. Within the halls, laughter echoed as the duchess welcomed guests to a lavish reception.

“Sarah!”

Sarah turned to the sound of her name, smiling when she saw her ma beckoning from below. She scampered through the crowds, wide eyed, her heart full of wonder.

“Isn’t this beautiful, I never imagined—” Sarah said to her ma, as she ran up beside the woman.

“Stand with me while we greet the guests,” Her ma said talking her hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

Sarah bent forward seeing the line of guests extending out of her sight.

A scowl flickered across Sarah’s face for just a breath, “All of them?”

Ma, gave her hand another squeeze.

Ladies, dressed in exotic, bright colored silks approached and curtseyed.

Sarah replaced the scowl with a smile, feeling her mother’s reassuring touch at her side. 

“Aren’t you a sweet thing,” one large woman said, her blue wimple rippling as she spoke.

A few patted her on the head, as they flocked about her Ma, babbling about the difficult birth.

Sarah had struggled to learn the names of all the usual family and staff, but this great flood of ruffles and lace caused her to give up on the mental exercise entirely in exchange for enjoying the spectacle before her. However, when she got tired of their gossip she longed for the latter of the line, the commoners in their simple linen shifts, like her friends back home.

As the last of the line dwindled, Sarah looked down at her fingernails. Oh, no. She forgot to scrub them after climbing trees in the garden. She held her hands clasped so that the dirt was hidden. As soon as the receiving line finished, she would find water and a brush.

Sarah’s gaze fell upon Melyssa, the duchess’ young daughter, who ambled toward her with a warm smile. Her friend had light brown hair that curved over her shoulders, and kind blue eyes, which matched her light blue dress, covered by a lacey white surcoat. Melyssa was always kind and always made Sarah feel less homesick.

“Hallo, Sarah!” Melyssa greeted, her voice musical like the tinkling of bells. “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

Sarah nodded and clapped her hands as her cheeks flushed with excitement. She followed Melyssa to a cozy alcove adorned with plush cushions and delicate lace curtains.

“Melyssa,” she said as she showed her the dirt under her nails. “I need water,”

Melyssa looked from Sarah’s nails to a servant boy who had followed them. “Bring us water and a nail brush.”

Melyssa then pointed to a chair beside a table full of rich cakes and colorful fruit, and Sarah sat.

When the freckled boy returned, he bowed his blond head and motioned for Sarah to place her hands into the bowl of warm water. He furrowed his brows in concentration as he proceeded to take each finger in turn and brush away the dirt with gentle strokes.

To have someone else do this task felt pleasing, but strangely wrong. Sarah pulled her hand away, giving the servant a sheepish glance before looking at her friend, she said, “I’m sorry, but may I do it myself?”

Melyssa nodded, waving the boy away. He backed up several paces to wait for another command.

Sarah took the little brush and scrubbed her fingers with brisk swipes, rinsing them in the water. As soon as she set the brush down, the boy retrieved it and the water bowl, disappearing out the door.

Seated at the small table, Melyssa served Sarah a sweet cake. When the boy reappeared, he poured fragrant tea into each cup. Sarah marveled at the translucent porcelain dishes and shiny silver platters, feeling as though she had stepped into a fairy tale.

Melyssa took up a lidded jar and spooned thick golden honey into her tea before she offered it to Sarah. “Honey?”

“Yes, please,” Sarah said, relaxing under Melyssa’s warm smile.

As they sipped tea and nibbled on the sweet treats, Sarah and Melyssa told each other stories and giggled. Their friendship had blossomed over the last two years.

“Sarah, what’s it like in the village?” Melyssa asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“Everything is simple and plain, but full of warmth and love,” Sarah replied, her voice soft. “We may not have grand feasts or fancy gowns, but we have each other. That is what matters. We all have many chores to do that fill the time. We often eat meals together outside, when the weather is warm.”

Melyssa listened, with intense interest. Despite their different upbringings, Sarah felt drawn to her gentle spirit and genuine kindness. She told Melyssa of the chickens, each of whom she had named, and Ned, her best friend. He was the one she missed most of all.

“Would you like more tea, Sarah?”

“Yes, please.” Sarah fidgeted in the tall chair; her feet tucked behind the spindle between the legs. “This is lovely, Melyssa.” She pressed her palms together. “Thank you for inviting me.”

With a graceful turn of her hand Melyssa indicated they required more tea from the attentive boy standing in wait. She turned back to Sarah saying, “I was so excited when Mother said you were going to live here all the time.” Melyssa took her hand. “I always wanted a sister my age, one that would play with me, and now it feels like I have one.”

“Me too. I play with Benjamin a lot, but he's a baby. Oh, and Ned is my best friend, well, in Carington that is. We pretend he is a king, and I am a queen sometimes. Benjamin is always the baby, or a horse. Most often we pretend to be Knights of J'shua and practice sword fighting. We have a special tree, we call our castle,” Sarah said, beaming with the warmth of the past memory.

“That sounds fun. Maybe we can have our own adventures here, in a real castle.” Melyssa said, her eyes widened at the thought. “There are so many hidden places to discover here.”

“I'd love that. And you can teach me more about being a lady. I want to learn everything.”

“Of course. We'll learn together. Will you show me how to be brave like a knight?” asked Melyssa.

“Oh, yes. We'll have great fun.”

“Definitely. Here, try one of these pink cakes. They're my favorite.” Melyssa said pushing the plate with multicolored cakes toward Sarah.

“Mmm, delicious,” Sarah said, through a mouthful of sweet cake.

“I'm so glad we're friends, Sarah.”

“Me too. To friendship and many more tea parties.”

They clinked the teacups together.

“It's nice to have someone to talk to and share things with.”

The afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the castle grounds, as Sarah and Melyssa promised they would be friends forever.

***

Ma left, returning to Carington without her.

Lying in her bed, a glorious bed, with fluffy feather mattresses and quilts that felt as soft as rose petals, Sarah bit her trembling lip. She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been away from Ma. Not since—her first ma told her to run and hide—an older boy wearing red put her in a cage—but he became the knight that saved her—and then she lived with Ma.

Sarah remembered a passage of the Writings.

[And we know that all things work together for good to them that love the God of Truth, to them who are called according to his purpose.]

J’shua, that doesn’t mean I will like it. I’m afraid. Help me.

Two slow knocks and two rapid ones sounded at her door.

Melyssa!

Sarah leaped from the bed, her nightgown dragging across the lush green carpet. She scrunched her toes against the cold stone floor. When she stopped at the door to fling it open, she saw Melyssa’s smiling face. Her constant companion.

They were inseparable, doing everything together. Sarah didn’t mind—it was great fun. Their days were filled with reading books and scrolls about historical events or letters written by famous Lockes, and there was a different tutor for each subject.

They made up names for each one. The history tutor, Mister Guise, they named Iron Tooth for he always picked at his teeth with a nail he kept in his pocket and was very strict, growling at her if she made a funny comment or even giggled.  Stone Man was the math tutor, Mister Koch, because he entertained them with small square stones while doing calculations with them. He had no sense of humor, but he wasn’t mean. Their favorite, Mister Bangor, taught them poetry. He waltzed about them holding his book in the air, gazing at it like a lover. They called him The Dancer. Of course, the ladies were the ones that taught her actually how to dance. It was wonderful to follow, tripping along with Melyssa as her partner. Fighting with Ned was like dancing, though she had traded in her sword for a flute.

Now that she was settled, she kept the flute she was learning to play hidden in the pocket of her cloak. The instrument was smaller than her sword, and she could take it anywhere. It was a great comfort when she traveled with the Lockes throughout Lexandria.

Sarah’s thoughts wavered, Is Ned playing in their tree? Will he take Edna and Banda there? Her stomach turned sour and she almost cried. It was their secret castle. She had to stop, thinking about her old life.

She started to shift her thoughts to a different chore, like naming all the Lockes she had met so far.

While studying the Locke family tree, Sarah noticed, that every noble line contained Locke daughters, so Lockes were everywhere, even though the Lockes had trouble producing boys.

Melyssa was the youngest at ten years old, like Sarah. Her older siblings were each two years apart, Saryssa and Deryca, with Rodyn being the youngest boy at sixteen. Then Neryssa, Lyrena, and Danyth, the eldest boy, who was twenty-two, and the heir of the Locke fortune.

“Sarah, now that you are a ward of my father, you will never be common again. Just think in a few years you could marry Rodyn.”

“Rodyn! Eww.”

She’d rather marry Ned. He knew how to have fun, and he never stuck his tongue out at her.

***

Today was Meeting Day, the day when the duchess taught Sarah how to manage a household. How boring. It happened on the first day of every week; the new moon, the first half-moon, the full moon, and the last half-moon. These mornings, every department head in the castle reported to the head of house, the duchess.

After breakfast, the duchess left her chair and touched Sarah’s hand as she passed. “Good morning, my dear. Ready for our meeting?”

Sarah rose from her chair and curtseyed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess departed the dining hall, and Sarah followed after her, remaining a few steps behind… walk, skip, wait… She was trying hard to match the noble woman’s elegant gait. All the department heads waited by the door to her office. The cook being the first in line.

“Come in, Betess. How goes the kitchen?”

“The grain I received last week was not dried properly, it sprouted, but don’t worry, I made cockets with all of it. None went to waste.” The cook was always gregarious.

How clever you are Betess to turn a bad situation into something useful.

She imagined the kitchen as a place of magic, where Betess could turn spoiled grain into delicious treats.

Sarah listened, keeping track of details she knew the duchess would quiz her about afterward. Like the fact that the kitchen was the best run of all, because the cook had a system; she had to have one. Mistakes in the kitchen could cause illness, a fire, or any number of other problems for the whole castle.

The duchess sighed. “Very well, Betess. That was good thinking. Procure grain from a few new sources, so we’ll have bread while we investigate the problem. Thank you.” She paused for a moment. “Send most of the crackers to the city watch. If that is all, you are dismissed.”

“Consider it done, your Grace,” Betess said with a curt bow and fleeting feet.

The gardener approached with his floppy wool hat in his hands. His leathery, tanned face held deep furrows over bright blue eyes; his shoulders tensed to his ears.

The duchess gave a warm smile. “How are you, Joff? Is your leg mended? I don’t see a limp anymore.”

Sarah wanted to ask how he had hurt his leg, but she stopped herself.

“I am whole again, Your Grace. Thank you for asking. I warned the cook that the beans are flowering already, so to expect an early harvest.” Joff glanced at the door to make sure Betess was gone. “She doesn’t like it when she has to change her plans. I told her, I’d very much like to control the growing things, but I haven’t managed it yet.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

The duchess inclined her head adding a warm smile indicating him to continue.

“I’ve been seeing loopers, you know, inchworms on the cabbage so I was hoping you’d ask the children to help with a green caterpillar picking in the morning.” Joff’s eyes pleaded.

He had the hardest job, because so many things affected his chores—storms, heat, drought, and bugs.

The duchess laughed, “Oh, they will enjoy that.” Ellyth winked at Sarah. “We will invite all the cousins, too. Sunrise, Joff? In the North Field?”

“Yes, Your Grace, that will be a good time to start. Thank you.” Joff bowed. When he left, his shoulders resumed a relaxed slump.

Turning to Sarah, the duchess said, “Have you ever picked caterpillars?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace, more times than I can remember. Can Melyssa and I help?”

“Of course. We’ll make it a competition. The children will all receive a reward, and those that gather the most, a prize.”

What will she make the prize? Bet I could win it. I am good at catching the little green monsters that eat the kingdom’s food.

Next the housekeeper, Gretchin entered. “Good morning, Your Grace.” She curtseyed but didn’t hesitate. “A few blankets were found to be moth eaten. I sent them to the stable. Lyster thought he could use them. We are washing all the others in the cabinet.”

The duchess nodded. “Good.”

Rocking back and forth from heel to toe, Sarah thought of Lyster draping each horse in a blanket of lace.

Then she started.

She didn’t hear the last thing the housekeeper said.

Stop daydreaming.

Gretchin continued, “A maid reported that Rodyn didn’t sleep in his bed two nights ago. You’ll have to watch that one. She thinks he might have a miss he’s seeing in town. I’m just saying what I heard, knew you would want to know.”

“Thank you, Gretchin, I do. Whether he’s up to no good or not, I will speak to him.”

“There’s also talk of a romance blooming between Lyster’s stable boy and the new kitchen maid.”

“I will look into that as well.” The duchess chuckled. “Ah, young love. Let them have their secret for now. But keep an eye on them. Anything else?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Very well, my dear. Thank you for your diligence. Until next week then.”

Once the others were interviewed—the master of the wardrobe, the steward, the groundskeeper—the duchess asked Sarah what she understood.

Sarah did her best to quote them each or at least say something about what each of them had offered. Every week it was something different. One time the cook mentioned the quality of the food or the fruit, another the greens or the rabbits. Then the gardener talked about weather and bugs. However, Sarah enjoyed the housekeeper, for she told all the gossip, which was very entertaining and informative. The duchess never scolded the housekeeper, probably because it was important to know all about the undercurrents in her home.

It is much harder to be a noble lady than pretending to be one.