Updated 8/25/24

Chapter 9

Jonathan

Jonathan prayed in the spirit before he traded his horse for two hundred gold damars to a hunting party he came upon as he traveled east. They promised him the Great Stream would take him to Hampi, the capital of Tarinland. The landscape shifted to lush woodland after he crossed the border. He hoped this was the right river. Jonathan followed the stream as the trees thinned out until a great beast strode out of the water with a single horn in the middle of his face. Its gray hide was like the leather armor of an Esthlani warrior. He backed away, slow and quiet, into the darker forest. The animal’s dark beady eyes tracked his progress with a snort and a low growl.

Then Jonathan ran, over fallen limbs of ancient trees, through stinging underbrush, tunic tearing, mud splashing, on and on.

Did I hear your voice, J’shua? Did you send the hunters to me?

[For your name's sake lead me, and guide me.]

He kept running, heavy breathing and slapping footfalls loud in his ears. Dark furry animals jumped like acrobats high in the canopy, swinging from one branch to another, screaming. He stopped, lungs heaving and surveyed the terrain. A tremendous rumbling proclaimed he was still near the river.

After days of travel through strange forest, he saw signs of people. The vast city, hazy in the distance must be Hampi. He strode on a stony dirt thoroughfare surrounded by travelers, endless shops and carts of wares constraining them on either side. He wove through the colorful river of dark-haired, brown-skinned people, all chattering in Tarin, of which he understood little. His skill with the language was only passable, receiving many sour looks when he spoke.

“J’shua, bring me a teacher for this language,” he whispered.

So many words sounded the same, but meant quite different things. He was relieved whenever someone offered to translate. Each time he practiced new words.

The farming villages welcomed him, but opportunities to spread the Writings had been few because he was unskilled in their language. But some, curious of his fair hair and piercing blue eyes, invited him into their homes. Once they’d fed him as hospitality demanded in Tarin culture, they listened with interest as he combined hand signs and rudimentary words to introduced them to J’shua Ha Mashiach. For many moons, he had stayed in homes when invited and under the stars when not.

Jai, the patriarch of the last family that he stayed with explained that no law prevented anyone from accepting the words of J’shua. However, circles could not include people from different castes. Therefore, to spread the Writings to the upper ranks of Tarin society, he would have to meet individuals of higher status. He prayed for that.

The strict caste system was evident. Everywhere he turned, peasants bowed to their betters. Arriving at the Delami Inn, he marveled at the colorful merchants, revered only moments before, who now lowered their heads to a magistrate all in blue, trimmed in silver, wearing a heavy gold chain who came out of the wide doorway. There was silence until he passed.

The smell of pungent spices wafted over him as oxen grunted and lowed, pulling heavy carts toward the center of the capital city, Hampi. He skirted around the city center, remaining in the outskirts to avoid its crime. Several paths merged onto a wider road, swelling with more noise and jabbering.

Jonathan noticed a few Tarin soldiers, bright blue scarves tied about their waists held large sabers. They separated and began walking toward him on either side of the street.

Has word of the bounty on me spread here?

He blew out a breath and prayed. Relax.

J’shua called me here. Just my strange hair and fair skin.

He wished he knew who set the bounty on his head. Commandant Greysun could have, but how would he afford a personal vendetta on a soldier’s pay?

Another soldier appeared by a shop up ahead. He kept walking.

The strange man in River Town that pretended to be a farmer might be in service to a rich man.

If he had offended anyone with the means, he was not aware of it. He may never know—a shiver ran down his spine—unless they caught him. He battled the worrisome thoughts for a long while and prayed in the spirit. No matter what lay ahead, he was not alone.

One soldier he had seen approaching earlier stopped to speak with the new one. They let him walk past without a glance, or so he thought.

[Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked when it cometh.]

Despite recalling those words from the writings, Jonathan decided to get off the street. He entered the Delami Inn, seeking its dining hall.

A woman draped in loose, bright saffron-colored silk wound about her, greeted him—the proprietor’s wife perhaps. “Welcome to Delami Inn kind sir,” she said in Tarin and pointed to a sign proclaiming, one bowl, one damar.

After he handed her a damar, the smallest of their gold coins, she gave him a glazed ceramic bowl and pointed to the table of deep tureens and colorful dishes.

The crowded hall smelled of cinnamon and roasted spicy meats. Several tables had a dozen patrons already. He smiled at the laughing and hooting men to his right and the old man that announced his daughter’s engagement on his left. The happy couple smiling into each other’s eyes as the man joined their hands and all at the table clapped and raised their cups.

Jonathan ladled a thick savory stew into the bowl, found a seat, and struck up a conversation with a Tarin merchant.

The man’s wiry frame and limbs moved with every word like a marionette; while explaining all he knew of this region. “I have traveled north through Esthlanis and south into the wildlands of the mountains selling my silver wares.”

The two soldiers entered, and spoke to the woman wearing the saffron dress. She bowed and waved them in. One stayed by the door while the other strolled to the back of the room, a hand upon his gleaming saber.

Jonathan continued to pray, slowing his breathing.

[Pray without ceasing.]

The soldier kept his eyes on Jonathan as he passed.

Jonathan swallowed and remained focused on his new friend, Karsh.

“It would be too difficult for a Priest to accept J’shua,” the silver merchant drew swirls in the air with his fork as he spoke, “as they are trained from infancy to teach spiritual things. The man’s family would murder him.” His dark, bushy eyebrows rose. “Reaching the warrior and ruling castes might be possible. Even so, there would be great pressure on the family to kill them. The elite castes do not trust foreigners.” The man shook his head and took another forkful of pigeon.

“Tell me more,” Jonathan said, reclining a bit to keep an eye on both soldiers. They hadn’t moved again. Karsh hadn’t seem to notice them.

“My caste, traders and merchants, is most open. To expand our routes and bring in goods from afar, we must deal with foreigners and their strange ideas. This makes us curious.” He took another bite. “I acquired a Book of J’shua with silver fasteners traveling through Esthlanis. I’ve shown it to customers as just another product. I’ve not had an offer for it yet. What can I tell them about the book that might entice them? Perhaps an exotic story from it?”

The soldier by the door changed his stance, placing a hand on the hilt of his saber.

“Ah, yes.” Jonathan chuckled nervously, then turned serious and leaned in. “Once, long ago, Daniel, a slave since his youth, had been elevated for his virtue and wisdom to be an advisor to the king. This made many jealous and angry. Years passed and their anger only grew. As an old man, his enemies tricked the king who had become his ally and he was entrapped by the king’s law which could not be changed. He did not despair but prayed. Even as they lowered him into a pit by a rope tied to his wrists, Daniel prayed. A—”

 Karsh’s eyes narrowed. “This story will not sell well.”

Jonathan motioned to him. “A little patience. A dozen starving lions, whose shoulders were taller than your hips, snarled. Not fed for many days, they circled the pit, step by slow step, eyes fixed on his warm flesh, their saliva dripping from the panting tongues that lay between their sharp teeth.”

“Oh, my! This is in your holy book?” the man asked with wide eyes.

Jonathan’s lips quirked. “As Daniel’s feet came to rest upon the muddy floor, he watched the circling beasts growling and baring their teeth. His captors rolled a large stone over the opening, so no one could save him. Daniel thought this was the end, but still, he refused to beg his captors and continued to pray.”

“This could have promise,” the merchant said.

Jonathan winked. “In the morning, they rolled away the stone. Instead of finding a bloody, broken corpse, Daniel stood in the center looking up at them, saying, ‘My God sent his angel and shut the mouths of the lions.’ All around him, the creatures were fast asleep on the floor, soothed by the God of Truth. Then the king commanded, and they brought those men which had accused Daniel, and they cast them into the den of lions; and the lions had the mastery of them.”

“I did not see that coming. Yes, that has merit. Are there other such stories of your god’s power?”

Jonathan spent the next two hours sharing more stories about the God of Truth and his son, J’shua Ha Mashiach.

The soldiers never moved from their posts.

He pushed down his growing anxiety.

The silver merchant emptied his mug. “Thank you, Jonathan. I have enjoyed this immensely.”

“I have likewise. I am glad to have met you. Can you tell me of other merchants that might wish to learn of J’shua?”

The Tarin smiled. “In the inner-city marketplace, there’s a bookseller. He’ll be interested in speaking with you and, perhaps, acquiring copies of the Book of J’shua. His family name, Padhyay, is above the shop’s entrance on the main road.”

“Thank you, Karsh. I will visit him. The Lord J’shua be with you. I will look for you this time next year.”

Jonathan forced himself to remain calm, following the merchant out. Hoping no one could hear his pounding heart or see him sweat, he did not look back. He passed the soldier that stood beside the door like a statue, without making eye contact, and headed deeper into Hampi. Nor did he run, even though every fiber in him wished to.

***

The multitude of people gracefully squeezed around each other as each navigated the river of white tunics and silk dresses of every color. After being buffeted on all sides by the throng as he hunted for the bookshop, Jonathan found it exactly where he had been instructed.

Jonathan stepped into the shop; his eyes wide with awe at the vast collection. The bookseller, a thin, short man of middle-age, stood, surrounded by shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls.

The shop was a modest space, with low wooden beams and walls lined with books from floor to ceiling. The scent of old paper and leather bindings filled the air.

Omari was a middle-aged man with a thick, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that contrasted with his warm, brown eyes. He wore a simple, flowing tunic over loose fabric that wrapped around his legs, sensible for a hot dry climate.

“Hallo, Kind sir,” Jonathan said with a thick Freis accent.

He pressed his palms together in greeting and bowed. “Welcome to my humble store, my friend. I am Omari Padhyay,” he said in Freis, displaying a warm smile, his voice rich and melodic. “You look like a man with a thirst for knowledge. How can I assist you today?”

Relief flooded over Jonathan, thankful that so many of the merchants in Tarinland spoke his language. He returned the smile, his gaze sweeping across the room. “This is an incredible place, sir. I’ve never seen such a collection.” Jonathan returned his bow. “I am Jonathan Otual. I was sent to you by your friend, Karsh, whom I met at the Delami Inn. He said I should visit you.”

Omari’s face brightened. “Oh, yes. Karsh is married to my wife’s cousin’s sister-in-law. Please call me Omari.”

“I’m looking for something that can tell me about the history of this land.”

Omari nodded, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “Ah, you have come to the right place! We have many texts that speak of the old kingdoms and the great heroes of our past. Let me show you.”

He led Jonathan to a shelf where several ornate books were neatly arranged. Omari picked one up and handed it to him. The cover was made of faded red leather, embossed with intricate designs.

“This is a chronicle of the rulers of Tarin, written by the poet Kafani many hundreds of years ago. It’s a fascinating read, filled with tales of valor and wisdom.”

Jonathan carefully opened the book, the pages yellowed with age. “This is beautiful. However, I am a novice with your language. Do you have something for a beginner?”

“Karsh thought you might like to buy a few copies of the Writings of J’shua to sell here.”

“Yes, I would.” Omari, stroked his beard. “What do you charge for your holy book?”

“I can sell you the three I have remaining for ten damars.”

Omari’s eyes widened. “Ten damars!”

“Is it too much? This will allow me to buy more for my next journey. What do you think is fair?”

“No. I am surprised. Our holy writings cost much more.”

“I see. Are yours illustrated or gilded?”

“They are expensive to show their value. So, they will be respected.”

 “I can understand that. Some of the nobles in Freislicht have much more expensive copies. Finer paper, better ink. Gilded edges. But the knights print as economically as possible so that we may give them away. We want everyone to read the words of the God of Truth.”

He took the three books out of his pack and gave them to Omari.

The bell above the door tinkled.

An older man entered dressed in a flowing satin tunic woven in intricate patterns of blue, green, red, and yellow. A matching blue scarf wound around his waist and draped over his shoulder. This and the large red ruby pinned at the peak of a blue turban, proclaimed his high status. Omari rushed to him and bowed low; his palms placed together. “The peace within me recognizes the peace within you, Thapa Raju. How can I help this fine day?”

He understood the gist of the conversation, but he looked back to the book he held, not wanting to intrude. Through the window, Jonathan noticed a lavish palanquin and extravagant men to carry it.

“Thapa Raju, you are most learned and a wise truth seeker. You must meet my new friend, Sir Jonathan Otual from Freislicht. He is a Knight of J’shua.” Omari pointed his upturned hand toward Jonathan as if he were an elegant masterpiece.

Jonathan blushed.

Thapa raised his eyebrows, bowing the appropriate amount to an unknown foreigner of a religious sect. “The peace within me recognizes the peace within you, Sir Otual. I have heard of the Knights of J’shua. It is an honor to meet a visitor of such esteemed reputation. Welcome to our humble city. What brings you here?”

Jonathan smiled as he approached, a bit worried his dusty cloak and broken Tarin might offend the old man. He prayed silently before he spoke in Tarin as best he could, “I see the peace, worthy Thapa Raju. Thank you for kind welcome. Please, sorry, bad talking. I travel from far want understand teachings and wisdom of this place. Want learn of Tarinland.”

Thapa eyes raised, bemused. “I understand. Very good. Speaking well. What would you know?”

Jonathan bowed and pointed to himself. “I am truth seeker. Spiritual fulfilment all humans seek. I want catch ideas. Deep water share understanding of the Creator, the God of Truth.” Jonathan mimed pouring from one hand to his other.

Thapa nodded, eyes bright, speaking in short phrases. “Good, very good—you speak Tarin well. Indeed—the pursuit of truth—is a noble endeavor. Our writings—speak of the eternal soul—the cycle of fate—and the path to liberation—Perhaps—you have insights—from your own traditions to share?”

Jonathan thought he understood the man, though some words confused him. “Yes, esteemed one, people of my sect cherish message of J’shua Ha Mashiach. He give words of love, compassion, and redemption. My quest similar. Want talk more with you. Is possible? Perhaps have translator?”

Omari and Thapa exchanged rapid words Jonathan could not understand, but hoped it was about arranging another meeting. The bookseller handed Thapa Raju a package and gave a deep bow. Thapa responded with a lesser bow to Omari and Jonathan, then left.

Omari spoke in Freis, “You did well Sir Jonathan. He invites you to his home. He bids me to bring you tomorrow and translate. Can you be here at the high point of the sun?”

“Yes, this is wonderful, Omari. God bless you, friend.”

“I will take you to the baths and bring you suitable clothes.”

Omari handed him an illustrated alphabet book.

Jonathan accepted the gift and bowed low. “You are very kind, Omari.”

Omari bowed. “Thank you, Jonathan Otual for causing such a great honor. Not many people have been invited into Thapa Raju’s home. I am curious how this will go tomorrow.”

Jonathan stepped into the street, looking side to side, deciding which way to walk.

A soldier down two doors stiffened to attention.

Another across the street continued pacing toward him, unhurried.

Dreck.

He had never seen such a military presence in all his travels. He let out a long sigh and started down the street looking for an inn, forcing a slow gait, greeting people he passed and looking in windows. Each reflection of the crowd of bustling shoppers always contained a soldier, a bright blue scarf and a ready saber.

Chapter 10

Rebekah

Rebekah, dressed as Tommas Bekh, was riding north on the next leg of her circuit. The early thaw caused an unexpected demand for plows. She had taken deposits for six as she left Fairness Crossing for High Keep. A substantial amount of money, it was tucked away in the hidden compartment built into the base of her small wagon. She bit her lip.

Will my contact in Farr be alright?

The sun was low in the sky and the clouds above were darkening. It might soon rain. Perhaps she should have stopped at the inn. Yet that would have delayed her trip northward by an entire day.

No, it was best to push on and trust J’shua that all would be well.

A sentiment that was dampened by a sudden downpour not even half an hour later.

Water streamed off the brim of her hat like a waterfall. Her cloak kept her dry, but the temperature was dropping fast. Stopping at the inn now looked like the better choice, but she couldn’t turn around and go back now. The trail was too narrow.

Her breath was visible in the air when she sighed.

The wagon lurched.

Rebekah urged the two horses forward, hearing the strain on the wooden joints. Although, she could not be sure if it was the rear axle or the wheel. “Whoa!” she roared. The horses snorted.

She urged them to reverse, only to hear the same telltale groan.

With no way to light a torch, she got down to see what the problem was. In the shadows under the cart, it was next to impossible to make out anything. She groped around, trying to identify the problem by touch.

Deafening thunder clapped and crackled, another gush fell.

“Need some help?” someone yelled over the storm.

She sucked in a startled breath and ducked out from under the wagon, licking her lips. Still bent over, measuring the massive man that loomed above, her eyes darted to the casket in the cart’s rear. Her breath caught, trying to keep her voice steady as she replied. “It’s stuck.”

The big man didn’t move.

The sky was almost dark as night, but she could tell the stranger was dark skinned, very tall, and had a chest and torso like that of a blacksmith. His oiled leather cape had a deep hood and hung to his elbows. That, and thick leggings kept him dry. Hopping down from his horse, he tied it to the cart. Two more horses, laden with provisions were connected to the man’s mare.

As Rebekah looked up at him, rain drenched her face. She touched her beard, worried it might come adrift. “Thank you for stopping, I’m sure it’s just…” Her hand located a tree root that had somehow lodged between the wheel’s spokes. “Blast! I wish I had more light.”

The man looked at the sky and smiled. “The rain will end soon. It was so sudden that it cannot last long. Then, the moon shall come out. For the moment, it is too dark to travel further. Mind if I wait with you?’

“Tommas Bekh,’ Rebekah stood, holding out her muddy hand.

“Daryl Andrews,” the other man shook without hesitation. “A little dirt and water never hurt anyone,” he added with a grin as he wiped his hand on his cape. “Have you found the problem?”

“It’s stuck on a tree root. Don’t know how I managed that.”

“Luck, good or bad. Or perhaps it was providence that we met. Someone might be guiding our steps.”

Rebekah took note of that comment and smiled, wiping the back of her hand across her dripping forehead, with no effect. She shivered, her wool cloak, itchy and heavy with water, did little to keep her muslin clothes dry, which sucked away the warmth. Bending down again, she patted her lace beard. Would it hold up?

When she looked up again, a face appeared from the curtain of dark rain with a flash of lightning. Then was gone.

Thunder rumbled.

She blinked. Had it been a face?

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she peered into the black.

“Luck was surely guidin’ us,” a gruff voice roared from behind her.

She gasped.

Daryl’s eyes went wide.

The hooves of the man’s horse slopped in the mud. The water running down his grinning face and shabby cloak seemed to be the first water to touch his skin, or clothes, in weeks. Such was the tale the foul odors drifting off him told. His drawn sword suggested a less-than friendly individual.

Another man came beside him, not much more than a lad, but pointing a loaded crossbow.

“This don’t ’ave tah be unpleasant,’ the first thief continued. “Jest hand over yahs baden. All of et.”

“In the small casket,” Rebekah lied. There was a hundred or so baden there, plus something nasty for any thief. “I’ll get it for you.”

Rebekah moved, reaching for it.

“Stay right still,” the first commanded. “Rhaylth, yah get et.”

“You said my name again,” the second thief glared, his voice cracking, as if not yet transitioned to adulthood.

“Shet et, Rhay. Gimme the crossbow.”

Rhaylth dismounted, sloshed over to his partner, and held it up.

The older robber sneered at Rebekah and Daryl. “Don’ try anythin’, fuls.”

Reaching for the weapon, the leader’s eyes shifted away.

Rebekah dashed to the casket in the back of the cart and lifted a pair of loaded hand crossbows.

Daryl turned a shoulder towards Rebekah, his farthest hand thrust—

The leader’s horse shied, throwing him, sword disappearing into the night.

Rhaylth jumped clear, but slipped and fell, the crossbow dropping into the mud with a splash.

Full-sized versions required more strength than she had. Before Rebekah could shoot, the leader’s horse was galloping past her, riderless.

Daryl, sword in hand, had its point at the leader’s throat. “For the inconvenience, I shall keep this horse and the crossbow. As I am a peaceful man at heart, I shall not kill you. Despite your intention to kill us. But I am also a practical man.’ His blade flicked twice, drawing blood from both men’s calves. “Those wounds will not kill unless you let them fester. But they will prevent you from following us. Go!” He pointed out into the night, in the direction the running horse.

The two men rose to their feet, hissed in pain, and snarled. But they said nothing as they supported each other and limped off into the darkness.

The rain weakened and the moon shared some light as Daryl walked to the trapped wheel and bent. After standing, he slashed once with his sword. “Your wheel is free. For both our safety, we should leave. Where are you headed?”

“High Keep,” Rebekah replied.

“Too far in this mud, and you’re way off the most traveled path north. We are a mile or two from the Lion and Tiger Inn. There’s lodging there, plus hot food and a warming fire. The path widens just up ahead so you can turn around.”

“I…” One last drop of rain struck her cheek and then nothing.

Rebekah paused. I have appointments.

The light played over the hooded man’s brown cloak as the clouds passed between them and the moon.

Will they wait for me?

Then moonlight shone down, bright, making the water dripping off leaves sparkle. Accepting the display as a sign from J’shua, she changed her mind. She had been going to reject the offer. “Will we be welcome this late at night? Won’t they think us fools to be traveling in such weather?”

“I cannot say what they’ll think of you, but they already know I’m a fool. Then again, they have to put up with me, since it’s my inn.”

The way he spoke…his handy sword play. Too much had gone wrong tonight. But something niggled at her mind.

***

Rebekah shouldered her pack and followed Daryl who barked orders to stable boys who appeared from nowhere and took charge of the horses and wagon.

Daryl threw open the door and a sweet, savory aroma filled her first breath. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. She gasped. Ginger. She hadn’t had spice cookies since… The thought of making them with Sarah came to mind and she fought back tears. “Smells good in here.”

“You hungry? Missy, get my new friend here a bowl.”

A flash of green and gold flew out of another room, a girl with pale skin and red hair wearing an emerald dress. Could not be more than ten.

Now that she could get a good look at him, Daryl was a presence. Outside, she’d guessed he was dark skinned, but in the light with his cloak off, she could see he was ebony black. His hair was black as well, like sheep’s wool, twisted into dreadlocks. Her own, meanwhile, was slicked against her scalp and dripping wet.

“This is my daughter, Missy…”

“Your daughter?” Rebekah looked from one to the other.

“You don’t see the resemblance?” His straight face broke into a chuckle. “She was an orphan brought to me six years ago. A friend saved her from apprehension by collectors in Lorness.” Daryl laughed. “He’d heard me complain I needed more help. Brought her to me. She was only four then and a great blessing. My own daughter is a quiet, thoughtful soul. But Missy…she’s a whirlwind and a sprite.”

The hopping, skipping, dancing girl brought a smile to Rebekah’s lips.

Rebekah looked down to the puddle forming at her feet. “May I set some of my things to drying by the fire?”

“Yes, yes. Charmaine, bring the drying rack!”

A demure, young lady, lighter skinned than her father, walked in carrying a bundle of sticks. She dropped them on the floor in front of the roaring fire. Her hands flew this way and that with sticks until a rack appeared with ten dowels on which to hang things.

“My, this will help much.” Rebekah smiled, dropping her pack to the floor. She rummaged about testing the dampness of each item. Pulling out all the wet things, she spread them over the dowels.

Rebekah took in the layout of the room. There were square tables scattered around the perimeter and two long ones in the back half of the room. It was by far the quietest inn she’d ever seen. There were at least twenty customers, but the conversations were soft. No one looked at her. She’d expected everyone inside would want to know about the wet rat Daryl had dragged in.

She sighed. She felt anonymous. How long had it been since she’d felt that?

Missy set a heaping bowl of stew on the table by the fire, and flashed a broad grin, eyes twinkling, then gave a cockeyed curtsey and ran out.

All the while, Daryl’s older daughter placed a warm blanket around her shoulders and motioned to the chair.

Rebekah sat, melting into the soft leather and yawned.

Charmaine crossed her arms and looked Rebekah up and down, hands on her hips. “I think you should stay the night, sir. Sleep is the best way to avoid the sickness after a drenching. Nothing heals better than sleep.”

“Perhaps, I could stay one night.” The place had a warm, peaceful presence about it. Surely, J’shua had angels lead her here. She turned to Daryl, who had been greeting other customers and had just turned to face her. “Are you sure you have room?”

“Oh my, yes. Most of these here folks work for me and live in their own homes nearby. I’ve plenty of rooms.” He turned to Charmaine. “Freshen up the King’s Room for our guest.”

“The king’s room?” Rebekah tilted her head.

Daryl chuckled. Every room is a noble room. We have the King’s Room, the Queen’s, the Dukes, the Earl’s, and so on. Makes folks feel special.”

Rebekah laughed.

“Yes, Da.” Charmaine curtseyed with proficiency and walked down a hall to stairs Rebekah hadn’t noticed before.

Unusual to have stairs in the front and in the back. “Your inn is bigger than it appears from the outside.”

“It’s a blessing from J’shua. No one bothers us. Robbers think we aren’t worth the trouble. And troops think we can’t handle very many.”

“So how do you get enough business?”

The two girls returned and he pulled them each on a knee, giving them a tight squeeze. Then he grinned up at Rebekah. “Oh. J’shua provides.”

Rebekah’s clothes, though still wet, were warm now and she was feeling sleepy.

Daryl disappeared down the hallway.

Next time she opened her eyes, he’d changed his clothes and was giving instructions to men on the other side of the room. She could not perceive their words, but they each gave him a nod and dispersed to their tasks.

As soon as she finished the stew, Missy brought her two spice cookies on a lacy napkin and a mug of warm goat’s milk. Missy felt each of the damp things on the rack. “This shirt is dry. Would you like me to show you to your room. You could change.”

“I think I’ll stay here until my night clothes are dry. I can’t keep my eyes open.”

She nibbled the spice cookies, while watching Daryl with his girls through half closed eyes, their laughter tinkling in her drowsy thoughts.

Daryl bumped her shoulder, whispering, “All’s dry. To bed with ya.” He handed her a pile of clothes, gesturing toward the stairs, and led the way to the King’s Room.

***

She woke with a start. Light streamed in the window. A piercing laugh brought her to her senses. Missy.

Now she remembered what had been bothering her since yesterday. Jonathan had told her a story about a black knight.

You were very adept with a sword last night. Are you a knight, Daryl?

She bolted upright and threw the bed covers aside. She hadn’t noticed the thick comforter, embroidered with wreaths of red roses and yellow daisies last night. Firewood and tinder was stacked in neat rows beside the fireplace. Water filled a pitcher. The matching bowl was painted with blue flowers.

Should I ask him?

Given the growing rumors about the knights, it might be an uneasy topic, even dangerous.

If she remembered the story correctly, Jonathan had camped in a glen by the Freis River. He had planned to fish some. It was a lazy river because it curved several times and was wide at that point.

He caught sight of a bobbing black head in the middle of the river. Jon halloed to the man and the black head threw up an arm in an energetic wave and started swimming toward the bank. Then he stood up in the shallows, naked as a trout. The man waddled out of the river. The pack tied around his waist was thrown down. His dripping skin, shimmered in the sun’s glorious light, he threw out his hand, Jon grasped it with one hand and tossed him a blanket with the other. They had become fast friends.

What was his name?

Rebekah begged the memory to return to her. “Miles. Willum Miles.”

She threw on her clothes and felt her beard. “Blast.” Quite battered by the storm. She needed to reglue it. But she couldn’t wait. She had to know. If it was him, this was a divine appointment.

She scanned the room as she descended the stairs. Empty except for Daryl reading something at a table.

“Daryl,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. He could be hiding if he was Willum Miles, and living so near the Province of Lorness. “Are you a knight of J’shua?”

Daryl turned his head with a jerk, eyes wide.

“Not anymore,” he said, as he returned to his book.

Rebekah startled. “Sorry, I was just remembering a story I heard.” She wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to reveal her identity. But if it was Miles, she could trust him. This could be an answer to prayer.

“I’m sorry. I know Jonathan Otual.” She leaned closer, whispering, “He told me about giving an orphan to Willam Miles.”

“He did?” Daryl ran his hand down the back of his head.

To ask would reveal too much of her own story. But if he was Willam Miles, she could trust him.

“Are you Willum Miles?”

“Shh, no one knows that name here.” His eyes darted all around.

“You were Jon’s best friend, until you disappeared.” She licked her lips. “He looked for you. For weeks.”

“He worried that you’d died.”

Daryl pushed back from the table, hanging his head. “I can’t explain, but I endangered everyone. I left to draw the mercenaries away. Then, I discovered there was a bounty on me so I stayed hidden. I took the name Daryl Andrews when I returned to Lorness.”

He turned back to his work. “I haven’t used the name Willum Miles in many years.”

She stood up and checked the dryness of the clothes. She took a deep breath.

“My name is Rebekah Otual. I’m Jonathan’s wife. I need your help.”

Chapter 10.2

Jonathan

The next day, Jonathan met Omari at the bookshop. He left his pack, his bow, and sword inside and they walked to the bath house. Along the way, a pair of soldiers milled about every few blocks surveying the people.

Are they watching me?

They approached a low building, surrounded by cisterns. Women came to draw water from one and bathed their children in another. Long lines of peasants waited their turn.

A servant standing by the blue tiled entrance bowed as Omari showed him a wooden card engraved with Tarin letters. Jonathan recognized them from the alphabet book, but could not tell what they spelled.

On either side of the door tents of colorful cloth held women beckoning.

Is this a brothel?

Now he worried that bathing might present a predicament.

He kept close behind Omari.

A cluster of boys pushing and shoving each other bumped into Jonathan and he grabbed and held tight a small hand that pulled at his pouch. “Not today, little man,” he said in his broken Tarin. The other three children stopped and stared. He bent down, fished out four silver coins and gave one to each of the boys. “J’shua Ha Mashiach told me, he sees you and loves you.”

Omari, eyes wide with shock as the boys ran off, said, “You are a very strange man, Jonathan Otual.” Omari’s benevolent smile encouraged Jonathan as they entered the bathhouse.

The murmur of voices and the soft splash of water created a serene atmosphere despite the crowd of naked people.

Steps led down into a pool of water. A light mist of steam rose up from it. Omari began removing his clothes, motioning for Jonathan to do the same.

Jonathan surveyed the bizarre sights, analyzed the cacophony of sounds, dizzy with heat, his tension rising.

Breathe, breathe, deep breaths.

“It’s tradition here,” Omari explained as he shed his garments. “A place not just for bathing, but for relaxing and socializing. You’ll find no better way to unwind after a long day.”

Jonathan undressed, self-conscious, standing among many naked bathers. He glanced towards the entrance where a soldier stood, scanning the room. His fair skin and pale-blond hair made him stand out. He decided against mentioning the bounty, trusting in J’shua and the path laid out for him. He would trust J’shua and let this play out. He may need to be arrested to encounter whoever J’shua intended him to meet. Yet he prayed he would not. He pushed down the rising fear.

Omari noticed Jonathan’s hesitation and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Come, my friend. The water is soothing, and it will ease your troubles.”

The soldier had not moved, so Jonathan stepped in. Soothing warmth and the fragrance of roses comforted him as he sank, easing into the water. It felt glorious.

“This is the life, isn’t it?” Omari chuckled. “A moment to let go of all our concerns.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. Thank you for bringing me here.” He evaluated each of the soldiers again.

Omari laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “It’s my pleasure. A new friend is always a reason to celebrate. You seem to carry a weight on your shoulders, though. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Jonathan hesitated, appreciating Omari’s offer but unsure it was safe to share. “Thank you, Omari. Maybe later. For now, this is more than enough.”

Omari nodded. He finished washing and gestured for Jonathan to follow. They both stepped out of the pool, the servants handing them soft towels.

After drying, Omari gave Jonathan the silken clothes he’d brought and helped him dress in the Tarin fashion. Their dirty clothes were placed in a basket, and Omari handed a coin to a young boy, instructing him to take them home.

“Thank you, Omari,” Jonathan said. “This was exactly what I needed.”

Omari smiled warmly. “My friend, the world can be a harsh place, but here, we can find a little peace.”

They walked back to the bookshop.

Thapa Raju’s palanquin was waiting. It was upholstered in blue satin using large gold-headed nails. Jonathan sunk into the rich cushions. The four bearers, wore only breeches, their brown muscles gleaming in the sun as they kept a brisk pace to the sprawling Raju estate. The soft, blue silk tunic and pants Omari had lent him fluttered with every breeze.

Strange fragrances from flowering trees greeted them in his courtyard. Jonathan marveled at the three-story structure, a palace, not a stone fortress like the castles of Freislicht, but a sculpted citadel, covered in intricate ceramic tiles forming beautiful mosaics of lush plants and strange animals. One was a purple beast with a long snakelike nose the showered itself with water. As the grand entrance came into view, a servant swung the door wide, bowing and beckoning them to enter.

Jonathan froze. On either side of the door stood two more soldiers. Even though they kept their heads pointed forward, he was sure their eyes bore into him. He maintained his calm exterior, breathing deep and slow, though his skin prickled and his heart skipped several beats.

The servant led them to a room more opulent than any in High Keep with plush furniture, pedestals holding creatures carved of ivory, and lined with shelves holding books and scrolls. A large table in the center of the library contained ink and quills and fresh parchment. Servants brought in trays of exotic foods and flagons of wine.

Jonathan scanned the colorful leather book covers inscribed with gold titles in flowing lettering.

Thapa Raju entered from another doorway, smiling, motioning for Omari and Jonathan to sit.  He noticed Jonathan glance toward the soldiers. “Fear not, Sir Jonathan.”

“What?” His breath caught, he thought he had kept his stress hidden.

“Our spies have informed us of the bounty on your head.” Thapa spoke in a slow, velvety tone.

Jonathan swallowed hard, unsure of his intention, afraid to ask.

“And we have decided that since the man who wants you is our enemy, you are a friend.” Thapa smiled, and motioned toward a cushioned seat once more.

A sigh of relief passed Jonathan’s lips as he moved to sit.

Thapa continued, “Our soldiers are here to protect you, in case you were followed by evildoers from your country. Though you should not stir any trouble for my reach has limits.”

Bowing his head Jonathan replied. “Thank you, kind sir. I will be no trouble.” His knees were weak. He sat, relief flooding through him. Their surveillance was remarkable. “Who is the man that hunts me?”

Thapa’s eyes grew large, then compressed into slits. “You don’t know?”

Jonathan shook his head. “There is a soldier that I embarrassed that would love to kill me, but he can’t afford this bounty.”

“It is the steward of your king, the Earl of Lorness.”

“Gaelib Melazera?” Jonathan pondered that, remaining silent, having no desire to complicate things with a dozen questions. Gaelib had seen him as a rival when they were children.

Why seek my death now?

“Yes, we do not know why, but you will be safe as long as you are in Tarinland. Let us begin our research,” Thapa said as he opened the scroll before him and aligned his writing instruments.

A spirited discussion followed, ranging over the impermanence of the material world, ideas of love, compassion, forgiveness, and the pursuit of spiritual understanding. Thapa smiled, frowned, and laughed often. Sometimes he interjected a question about King Edal, or his policies, but Jonathan could honestly say he did not know.

“I have been away more time than I’ve been home. You have given me much to ask when I return to Freislicht.”

Jonathan’s heart burned with joy as he shared about the Creator of heaven and earth, that his heavenly host were referred to as sons of God, stars, and lesser gods in the Writings. He explained that they did not always obey their father, the Creator. Then, he shared J’shua Ha Mashiach’s ultimate sacrifice that ransomed all who accepted him from the disobedient ruling spirits.

Omari interpreted as they exchanged ideas.

Jonathan had many pages of notes that he rolled up and slid in his tunic when Thapa bid them farewell. He bowed low, thanking his host for the gift of his time.

Looking toward the setting sun Jonathan asked Omari, “Do you think that went well?”

“Yes, I think you gave him much to ponder. And I also.” Omari patted his shoulder. “He seemed to enjoy your company.”

“Thank you for being my interpreter. That would have been impossible without you.”

“I am happy to have heard such a thorough explanation of the spiritual world. I would know more.”

“I will introduce you to others who study the words of J’shua and the God of Truth.”

After guiding Omari to the small circle in Hampi, Jonathan departed, seeking new encounters in Tarinland. Every few miles he passed soldiers, he could feel their eyes on him.