Updated 11/16/24

Chapter 36

Caileagh

The parchment rustled beneath Caileagh's fingers as she dismissed the messenger with a languid wave. Her attention focused on the list of novices, as her mind buzzed with the familiar whispers that had become as natural as her heartbeat.

This one... yes, this one has potential, SweetOne’s silky voice caressed her thoughts, the sensation like warm honey dripping down her spine.

Her skin prickled when ThornWalker spoke, He'll bring chaos to our black assembly.

Precisely why he must be trained, Shield-Friend countered, his warrior's voice steady as a sword's edge. Better contained within these walls than loose in the world with such power unchecked.

As Caileagh sorted through the thoughts to find her own, her quill hovered over the name in question; while shadows in the candlelight danced across the parchment like ravens circling prey.

Keep him for yourself, BellSong whispered, sweet as frolicking music. Why waste such vitality on the order? Let him try to give you strong sons and wild daughters.

Too weak! Too weak, I say, Spark-Snap's voice crackled like lightning. He would snap like dried twigs. Besides, our girl has plenty of playthings.

The chorus rose within her consciousness, tangling around Caileagh like threads in a loom, each pulling their own direction. She had not named them all.

Yes, yes, take him!

No, no, worthless, worthless.

Test his resolve—

Make him prove himself—

Send him to the kitchens—

The scribes—

PEACE! ThunderVoice commanded. His voice cut through the chaos, deep and resonant as a temple gong and blessed silence fell. Our lady must think. He may not serve us, but he will serve her, and now she will decide how.

“Indeed, I must,” Caileagh whispered, though her lips barely moved as she wrote her decision by his name and focused on the next.

He bears watching, SweetOne offered, gentler now.

Great risk, ShieldFriend warned, ever cautious.

BookShadow mused. He needs structure.

Loves adventure, said GiggleTrouble.

Discipline will correct his weakness, insisted BladeBright.

Caileagh found herself smiling despite the weight of the decision. Her guides squabbled like nobles at court, each certain, each pulling at her consciousness with familiar hands.

“What would I do without such counsel?” she asked the empty chamber.

Sleep more peacefully, SparkSnap observed dryly.

Make duller choices, said GiggleTrouble.

Walk alone, ShieldFriend murmured.

Be less wise, BladeBright concluded.

Caileagh chuckled as she dipped her quill in ink, watching the black liquid catch the candlelight like scrying water. Behind her, the shadows shifted and settled, as her eternal advisors, her curse, her blessing, her chorus of contradictions, murmured on.

“Well then,” she said, touching quill to parchment, “shall we shape another destiny?”

A dozen voices rose in response, each with their own vision of how best to mold the raw clay of a young soul's future. And as always, somewhere between their clashing counsel, Caileagh would find her way.

Her quill scratched against parchment, marking names. Some would be placed at once—she felt the spirits' approval as tingling warmth in her fingertips. Others would need molding, shaping—these names drew cool breezes across her neck, whispered promises of future potential.

She felt a chill and paused.

He’s here!

Who’s here?

Him, the god.

Oh.

Bow to him, he is a god, ThunderVoice said.

Why has he come?

Shh, he can hear you.

Caileagh froze, her quill hovering over the parchment.

The god spoke with a power that overcame her senses, Fear not, I am the Warrior. I will not cast you asunder, Little One.

Caileagh flinched at the new voice, but a warm sensation stroked her cheek.

I see your work here. His voice was thicker than the others, deep and commanding.

I am pleased. The god said, then he was gone.

She let out her breath. A god?

She returned to the page of names, remembering the god’s icy fingers down her spine that silenced all the guides, and the pleasing heat that had followed. As it dissipated, her spirits' presence thickened around her like perfumed smoke, their excitement manifesting as gooseflesh along her arms. Their voices tumbled over one another in eager discord as her mind returned to the task. They never mentioned the god. That was curious, she thought.

She made a notation by the next name.

Oh, that dark-haired one— GiggleTrouble sighed, sending a frisson of pleasure through Caileagh’s depths.

He's nothing special, SparkSnap scoffed, its jealousy burning like ice against her temples.

Shhhh, let her work— BookShadow buzzed like a bee near her ear.

I remember him— SweetOne’s wispy tendril of thought curled through Caileagh’s mind.

I want to dip into that one— Heat flashed across her cheeks.

You're not permitted anymore— ShieldFriend said, sharp and cold like winter wind.

Neither are you— BladeBright retorted, smug, warm like mulled wine.

Enough. ThunderVoice's presence expanded, soothing and cool as shade on a summer day. Give her space to breathe.

Blessed quiet descended, though Caileagh felt them moving within her like silk sliding against skin. They flowed through her veins, each touch distinct: frost crystallizing along her bones, embers glowing in her belly, feathers brushing her thoughts.

ThunderVoice orchestrated their contributions now, allowing them to speak one by one. Each spirit left its mark as she considered each name below her quill:

This one has darkness in his heart, whispered one, leaving a trail of ice down her spine.

She's fearless, this girl, another purred, warming her blood like strong wine.

He'll break beautifully, came a newer voice like velvet against her thoughts.

Caileagh paused, savoring the ThunderVoice's steady presence—the one who had always kept her mind from fracturing under their collective weight. She couldn't remember a time before these companions. Perhaps they had always been there, waiting for her to learn their individual voices, their unique touches. Some felt newer, yes, but others... others seemed woven into the very fabric of her being, as essential as breath.

Her quill continued its dance across the parchment, guided by centuries of collective wisdom flowing through her fingers. None would be wasted. All would serve.

The Warrior

The Warrior watched through Morbeth, the one Caileagh called ThunderVoice. He was one of the dark and ancient half-breed spirits within her. He infused her every movement with calculated purpose. Morbeth, a shadowy figure visible only to celestial sight, spoke in tones that echoed through the unseen space between the Warrior and the woman. Caileagh was not party to their conversation.

“This vessel proves... more than adequate, my lord,” Morbeth mused, his voice a resonance that pleased the Warrior. “Watch how she sorts them. Like a farmer separating the herd for breeding, or labor, or slaughter.”

“Yes, Morbeth, you have groomed her well. I will allow you to continue with her.”

Morbeth's form writhed with dark enjoyment, which made the mortal woman smile. "The Order grows, my lord. Each moon brings more souls within your grasp.”

The Warrior let out a sound that might have been a laugh, had it not carried the weight of countless enslaved societies. “Yes. Their own mundane desires serve us well. A farmer's son dreams of escape from his plow, never knowing he trades one yoke for another.”

Through Caileagh's eyes, they watched as she methodically sorted the recruits. The Warrior listened as Morbeth whispered insights into her mind, though she perceived them as her own brilliant strategies.

“How she trusts you,” the Warrior praised Morbeth.

“She will do anything you need, my lord.” Morbeth bowed. “J’shua cannot boast of a more loyal follower.”

The Warrior smiled. “He does not have my experience in conditioning humans for usefulness. The merchants and officials who accept these functionaries believe they buy a mere service, while we undermine their very foundations.”

Morbeth's essence rippled with appreciation. “The guilds provide an excellent facade for distribution, my lord.”

“A council of puppets, dancing to strings they cannot see,” the Warrior agreed. “And Caileagh, our perfect instrument, remains hidden behind her veil of respectability.” He paused as Caileagh reviewed the personal histories of the novices, her fingers trembling with excitement that was both hers and not hers. “These confessions... they spill their souls onto parchment, never knowing they dangle dripping meat before a lion.”

The Warrior smiled as Morbeth’s presence intensified, causing the candles in Caileagh's chamber to flicker, another sign to the woman that she was doing well, pleasing her guiding spirits. “This is how empires fall to me, Morbeth. Not with armies or siege engines, but with whispers and shadows. With every acolyte we birth in blood, with every secret acquired through greed, ideology, or coercion, we weave our web stronger and tighter.”

He felt Caileagh's pulse quicken as she read tales of pain, of betrayal, of desperate hopes. Through her, he savored each word. “She thinks she learned this from her mother,” the Warrior said, dark amusement coloring his words. “She does not know how many generations you and I have shaped, how long we have waited.”

Morbeth's form tensed with anticipation. “And Gaelib? He believes he orchestrates this dance.”

“Let him believe. His ambition makes him an excellent tool, sharper every day. When the time comes, he will learn that he, too, is just one piece on my board. Yet he is entertaining, the rats were his idea.”

The Warrior guided Caileagh as she made another notation. “For now, we watch. We whisper. We wait. And through vessels like them, we prepare for the day when all the realms know our dominion.”

As Caileagh continued her work, guided by forces she only vaguely recognized, the Warrior and his underling observed in satisfied silence, their dark essences intertwining with the shadows that grew long as the day waned.

***

A smile played at the corners of his mouth, cold and calculating. The Warrior leaned against a stone pillar in the Celestial Sea over the Province of Wooster, watching Earl Macom's carriage wind its way toward Duke Robbet Fredruck's estate.

Another piece moves into place. The Warrior savored the intricate web of manipulation he'd woven. The gifts seemed innocent enough—candles and incense to grace the duke’s newly built meeting house, their delicate scents masking the corrupted spirits that dwelled in the straw below them. Caileagh's handiwork was always elegant in its simplicity.

He sensed Owakar, the Watcher, his ethereal form tense with concern, observing nearby, helpless. Then Owakar caused the carriage wheel to come loose.

A trivial play for time I suppose, time for the bothersome watcher to prepare the duke, the Warrior thought.“Owakar, that will only cause a momentary delay,” he said.

“Your schemes will not succeed,” Owakar's voice echoed in the spiritual realm. “I see the poison you seek to spread.”

Warrior sensed the message and his smile widened. “Poison? I merely send gifts to an old friend. Duke Fredruck has not always been so upright and pious. Earl Macom was ever so helpful and supportive when Robbet was a youth.  With Robbet incapacitated, wonderful rumors ran wild and several of his peers shunned him. It had little effect in the short term, but memories can be resurrected as needed in the future. You cannot protect him from that.”

Owakar moved closer, his light pulsing with determination. “I will help him cleanse his household. Your demons will find no purchase there.”

“Will you?” the Warrior mused, watching the carriage disappear behind the estate's gates. “You underestimate human nature, Watcher. I need not force the darkness upon them—I just provide the seeds. Their own hearts will do the rest.” He could already imagine the scene: the duke's advisors catching the notions he’d attached to the incense, the subtle shift in their thoughts. Why does the duke favor that one so? What makes him worthy of such responsibilities and rewards?

Envy. Jealousy. Irritation. They would bloom like nightshade in fertile soil.

“The duke has a pure heart,” Owakar declared, but the Warrior detected a note of uncertainty.

“Pure hearts are often the easiest to taint,” the Warrior replied, pushing away from the pillar. “They just need a subtle hand to guide them. He’ll never see the darkness coming until it's already taken root.”

As he walked away, he felt Owakar's light follow, ever vigilant. It amused him—let the Watcher try to protect the duke. Some battles were won not with swords or incantations, but with the slow poison of doubt and the patient cultivation of resentment.

Watch me, Owakar, he thought.

This duke had been a thorn in the Warrior’s side, since he’s first chosen Lorness as his base for the conquest of Freislicht. He was older than the earl by a decade and visited Gaelib after his mother died, distracting him from Caileagh’s attentions. But she planted ideas that made Gaelib resent the duke. Over time, Gaelib accepted Caileagh’s perspective and sent the duke away.

As the gate closed, a thousand quiet messengers slipped from the straw, fruitful and multiplying. The rats smelled the kitchen and the stable and their riders saw even better accommodations as they tested the clay pots that wandered throughout the castle.

The Warrior’s lips curled into a rattlesnake smile as Owakar gritted his teeth. That was most pleasing of all.

Chapter 37

Rebekah

Rebekah had gone many days north chasing rumors of George Rosewud, only to spy him back here, walking out of the Sapphire dressed in the plain hemp clothing of a farmer.

What the—

She watched him study the dark clouds sweeping in from the east as she leaned against a building.

What does he do for Gaelib Melazera?

Then he sat on the back of a wagon. His pretense of being a farmer, instead of his true role as Melazera’s undersecretary, was new. New to her, at least. She tilted her head.

Why would he pretend to be less?

No one who wasn’t blind with drink could think him a proper farmer. He was too clean, too pale, and stood too straight. Yet, there he was.

Something covert was happening.

She stood straight.

Could he be spying on someone?

Rebekah edged closer keeping him in her peripheral vision.

Was he lying in wait?

She scowled. She had important tasks to do for the community, so she couldn’t follow him today.

Maybe he needed a quick disguise and a farmer’s clothes were convenient.

Rebekah almost turned away when a filthy bearded man shuffled toward the wagon and the undersecretary said something to him. Their speaking grew louder, almost an argument, so she edged closer into a shaded alley. But she still could not hear the words well—neither the man’s backward speech nor Rosewud’s single word responses. After the heated exchange, Rosewud handed a heavy coin purse to the rogue who fingered the hilt of his knife. Then Rosewud climbed in the front of the wagon and drove off.

She gritted her teeth, avoiding the gaze of the ruffian. Then she mounted and plodded toward her first errand. But before she reached the shop, the ruffian and a younger man—both on horses—raced out of town.

What had the weasel paid them to do?

As she wondered about that, the rain began to pelt down, and another rider caught her eye, plodding out of town in the same direction, hooded against the weather.

She continued on.

Jonathan

Jonathan followed a well-worn path beside the East River, northward. Despite his fears, the proclamation had overjoyed the River Town’s herald. The people clapped him on the back, as they escorted him to the Sapphire Inn to buy him a drink. After many weeks of travel, he enjoyed this one night in a dry, warm bed. He woke and packed early. Savoring the inn’s breakfast, a thick, hearty porridge with ripe, purple berries and meat strips on the side, he banished all his sadness and rested in the moment, praising the God of Truth for his blessings.

As he ate, he considered the favorable responses of the heralds. They were appointed by the king, not the local authorities, to ensure that royal edicts and communication would be transmitted in an accurate and efficient way. It seemed one portion of the government had not been corrupted. Perhaps Melazera had been unable to suborn them.

Even as a child, Gaelib had enticed other children to do his bidding. They tormented Jonathan on his behalf—name calling, pranks, accidental falls, and thrown acorns or stones, all their assaults done while the prince was away.

He was always surprised by how angry it made him to think about Gaelib Melazera, even now. He sighed, blowing away the sudden attack of temper.

As Jonathan was leaving the Sapphire when a man dressed in coarsely woven hemp, like a farmer, scurried up to Jonathan, using the name George Rosewud. He lacked calloused hands and a sun-worn face, so Jonathan doubted he’d ever picked up a hoe.

“Sir knight, I am so very burdened. Would you talk with me for a while?”

Jonathan pointed to an empty table, and they sat. “How so? Tell me, sir.”

The man spoke of his dead wife and his son taken in a debt collection.

“I am sorry to hear of your loss. I—” Jonathan was about to tell him of the proclamation, but he felt a check in his spirit. “Where are you from, George?”

“I’m from Lorness.”

“I am heading there today. Did you lose your farm there?” Jonathan pressed.

“Yes,” the man’s bluff was all too obvious. “Now, we’ve a place in Lexandria, through my father’s second marriage. We lost the one in Lorness—to its lord.”

“Do you have brothers that help with your farm?”

“Oh, yes, they work very hard,” the man said.

What does this imposter want with me?

Jonathan let the silence draw out.

“Tell me of your travels, Sir Otual. What countries have you seen?”

Jonathan described the beautiful sights of Esthlanis and Mestelina.

George’s eyes veered out the window. “I’m sorry. I see my father and must attend him.”

“The blessing of J’shua Ha Mashiach be upon you and your family,” Jonathan said as George departed in haste. The man never said anything that explained why he dressed the way he did. Why did he question me? What did he want?

Because of his recent encounter with Greysun, Jonathan turned his cloak brown-side out and slipped out the back. Taking a circuitous route to the stables, he mounted and rode north. It was a day’s ride to Lorness. If he was hunted, as he feared, he could not delay any further. He must deliver the proclamation.

***

The rain poured down hard and cold, the only light from occasional flash of lightning. Jonathan and his horse were long since soaked to the bone. He had not stopped moving since departing from River Town and his encounter with George Rosewud. Uncertainty gnawed at his gut. He prayed for Rebekah and Sarah and David, picturing them all together again in comfort and safety. And he meditated on the Writings to still his fears, thanking Lord J’shua for leading him.

In the distance, two gray figures on horseback appeared, coming nearer at a walk. Jonathan loosed his sword in its scabbard and checked his dagger as he continued the relaxed pace. The two men separated to pass him on either side, each wearing hats that shrouded their faces. One had the lanky look of a youth about him. He let them come close and then reined his stallion to the left, blocking the larger man. Jonathan’s horse snorted.

“What’cha think you’re doin’, old man?” its rider snapped. “If ya can’t control ya horse, ya should’na be ridin.’”

“I have control.” Jonathan kept his hand on the sword hidden beneath his cloak. “That is why I did not let you pass me. Perhaps that is also why I am still alive.”

“If ya wanna stay that way, get off’a ya horse. We’ll tell Rosie y’ar dead. He don’t need know if ya give us ya baden.” The brute chuckled. His young companion gave a menacing smile, and had a narrow-bladed dagger perched in his hand.

Jonathan spurred his horse, ramming the older man, whose squealing mount reared. The startled rider was vulnerable. With one slash of Jonathan’s blade, the highwayman fell from his horse, blood running down his arm.

Jonathan kneed his horse and galloped away. His heart pounded in his ears.

Did Greysun send them? Were they following me?

He glanced over his shoulder and slowed to listen. After a few miles with no sign of pursuit, he breathed a sigh as he reined in the horse to rest. Rosie? Did his attacker refer to the pretender posing as a farmer at the inn? Rosewud? Could those brigands have killed the other courier?

Now, Jonathan rode hard. In part to share the king’s joyous proclamation with his friends, in part to assuage the fear he could not shake.

Chapter 38

Owakar

Owakar yawned, rubbed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, swiping the luach again. He had been reading the history of the country of Freislicht for days. Alocrin expected him to learn the country’s past to understand their current situation. 

As a messenger, he had heard many broad stories of famous humans in the taverns of the Celestial Sea. But the luach presented him with everyone in the Book of Life since the first man, Adam. At first, he followed every link to every detail. Then, he had to admit, he skimmed. After long lists of kings and the gods they worshipped, he came to the title, King Weisheit and the Grand Destiny. That is what their teachers named it. The time when the Writings of J’shua had spread, and circles sprang up all over the kingdom.

One hundred and forty-four years ago, a man crawled out of the water and collapsed on the sandy beach of the Sea of Glass. A child found him and ran for his father. Others came running, also having seen a body from the nearby road. A young woman put her hand to his face and felt a breath.

“He’s alive! Carry him to the inn.”

“Should we? He has been spat out by the Sea of Glass. Perhaps the Gods wish to test him,” one man said.

Another said, “See the debris of his ship,” pointing to the rubble rocking on the surf. “The Sea of Glass is calm. He must have angered the Gods.”

Nonsense,” the woman responded, “he is a gift to us from the Gods. Perhaps we are being tested.”

So, they took the man to an inn and tended him.

After he recovered, he shared a strange doctrine; that the Gods that the people worshipped were only children of the God of Truth, the first beings made by the Creator that He had charged to govern the world. And he explained that some of them had rebelled against their Father and ruled the people irresponsibly or worse.

Then a trunk washed ashore a week later with other wreckage, which they brought to him. He opened the box and drew out clothes, and also a large book of ancient writings. The man explained that he was a Knight of J’shua.

He shared about J’shua Ha Mashiach and the God of Truth who had sent him, but his people expected a Warrior, and he came as a shepherd, so they refused to hear him. Then Nachash, the great serpent, ordered him killed. But after three days and three nights, he was shone to hundreds of his followers to be alive. The God of Truth had raised him from the dead!

Many balked at the man’s sayings, but he spoke the beautiful words of the God of Truth and healed many people who had been sick with palsy and blind men, also. The word of this spread, and he was called to Farr Castle because the King was there. King Weisheit heard this man and believed him. Then the King also spoke the beautiful words of the God of Truth.

The Great Destiny is the prophecy the King gave to the people that our land would prosper and grow and become the center of the world for all the people would spread the good news of J’shua to other lands. He also said that when darkness came upon the land, and the people faltered, they should be renewed in the Word of J’shua by hearing the Knight who will teach them to see the light again. After this, every village was to have a circle, and the Fellowship of the Knights of J’shua was created to teach men who would spread the Word of J’shua far and wide until the whole world had heard it.

For a time, the circles prospered and most of the people walked in the light, living the law of love. But in recent years, a great many people fell away from caring for one another and their circles diminished.

[And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many. And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.]

Who is the knight who will bring them back to the light? Perhaps Alocrin knows.

***

It was the full moon of summer, the twenty-ninth year in the reign of King Edal, three-and-a-half moons had passed with no reprimands.

Oh, no. I forgot to check the luach! Owakar arrived in time to see the knight spook the highwaymen’s horses and wound the older one. I almost missed this. Ah. Guardians follow him already. They gave the older highwayman a touch of dizziness to make sure he had no thought to follow the knight. The watcher waited to make sure.

The wounded man grimaced. As he watched the knight race away, he said, “Blast! Rosewud didn’t tell me he was armed.” He raised his bloody arm, dropping the accent. “Don’t follow him, Rhay-Rhay.”

“But it’s so much money, Quorin.” The fuzzy bearded one said, turning to see the knight disappear in the pouring rain.

“Living is more important. Especially since I’ve been reduced to…this.” He grabbed a leather thong and tied it above the gash. “Well, don’t just gawp, Rhaylth. Help me. I’d rather not lose any more blood.”

Nodding, Rhaylth dismounted and pulled the tourniquet tight. “It’s more money than I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t we—”

“No. That was a Knight of J’shua. Had I known that beforehand, I’d have charged triple. But as it is, Rosewud thinks he hired a fool named Caydin.” He grinned, “A bit uv a no-hop’r, ya know?”

“Oh.”

“That’s why I spoke to Rosewud without you. You’ve no talent for doing voices. It’s also why—” he slapped a saddlebag that offered a pleasant jingle, “I insisted on half up front. And it seems Rosewud didn’t care if we survived or not so I doubt he’ll come looking for us. Since we failed, I suppose we’ll have to keep working for the Order.”

“Oh.”

“Stop saying that and bandage my arm. I can’t keep this tourniquet tight for long.”

“Yes, Quorin.”

The beating rain became a drizzle.

Owakar added everything to the luach.

Jonathan Otual may not have needed any help, but Owakar was determined to do everything he could to get him and his family through these dark times, and the times were only getting darker.

Jonathan

Jonathan entered Lorness at a gallop; the horse lathered in sweat.

Lord J’shua, protect me from evil men.

The streets were full of people when he reached the herald station, slid from his horse, and marched inside.

The herald, grinning, held out a hand to take the offered parchment. “You were successful?”

Jonathan smiled back, and gave the parchment a shake.

Calling his men in from the barn, the herald told them, “We have an important proclamation from the king. Look lively.” He ushered Jonathan outside to the waiting crowd. “Hear ye, hear ye, a proclamation by King Edal, Ruler of the Kingdom of Freislicht. Whereas: We have taken into Our Royal Consideration recent grievances…”

Jonathan’s heart lifted as he watched the people while the herald read the proclamation. It was better than they’d hoped. Whoever had their loved ones must return them.

Afterward, the men who’d signed the petition slapped Jonathan’s back and thanked him.

He was happy for them, but he could only worry about his daughter. And where was Rebekah? The only reason his wife would have stolen a horse would be to give chase. And what delayed the other courier? Joy was short-lived for him.

Who would be so bold as to intercept a rider from the king?

Jonathan pushed aside his suspicion of Gaelib. The proclamation would also trouble other nobles and rich men. Any of them could have sent men to bribe or kill the courier. Jonathan had to deliver the proclamation to the last and most northern town, Dunis Glen. He carried on.

Chapter 39

Rebekah

Done with her appointments and with many baden in her pouch, Rebekah entered the herald’s station to read the newest announcements. Then she would head home to the Frei.

Her eyes grew large reading the king’s proclamation. She was no longer a fugitive. They would return her daughter. “When did this arrive?”

“A Knight of J’shua brought it yesterday.”

“Can you describe him?”

“About average height, I’d say. Straight, blond hair, as light as I’ve ever seen..”

She stifled a gasp, and her body tingled with bittersweet joy.

Jon!

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Yes, he tore down a poster. I still have it.” He pulled one out of a stack, showing her the inscription. “He insisted it was released by the king’s proclamation. Then I took down the rest.”

She left, cursing the Serpent for keeping them apart. “Jon, you were so close!”

She pictured Jonathan confronting the king.

You’re still my champion. I miss you so much.

A passage entered her thoughts.

[Wherefore seeing we are encompassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.]

She dried her tears.

I’m going to confront that drecksa Greysun and get Sarah!

Rebekah headed straight toward Shining Mountain.

She’d always told people she met in town that she had a cabin in the foothills of the mountain, so they wouldn’t think anything of her heading that way. But she wouldn’t risk someone following her. So despite the urgency, she rode beyond their camp. Seeing no sign, she disappeared into Frei Forest and doubled back.

Thick underbrush slapped against her as she continued toward the community. A branch snapped.

Someone moved parallel to her.

She urged the horse behind taller cover and readied her bow, holding three arrows in her bow hand. Pinpointing the next sound, she drew.

Just then, a young buck bounded across her path, sporting bulbous buttons where his antlers would soon sprout. He paused for the slightest moment, then leaped away.

With a sigh, she continued on.

When she entered the small clearing, children ran toward her as she dismounted.

“Mother Otual,” one girl exclaimed, reaching out small hands. “Did you bring us a sweet?”

“How’d you know?” she smiled and pulled a bag of oranges from her horse. “Remember to share,” she yelled as the girl ran off.

“Rebekah, did you find him?” Vincent asked.

She nodded. “And much more. I’ll explain later.”

A chorus of “hallos” followed as others surrounded her.

She smiled again, giving each a hug. It surprised her how draining it was to pose as a man. Here she could relax.

“You’re back. We’ve been praying for your safe return.” Teress squeezed her tighter. “Let’s meet at the fire.”

As all gathered to eat around the cook pot, Rebekah gazed at the group and announced, “The king has proclaimed the debt collections unlawful. You can go home!”

Shouts and laughter erupted. Tears of joy ran down their cheeks as one embraced another.

“Praise the God of Truth!”

“Thank J’shua!”

Many wet faces laughed in relief, while anger showed on others. Rebekah shared what she’d heard from the herald.

“We must do something so this doesn’t happen again,” Vincent said, followed by sounds of agreement.

“What can we do?” Frink said. “We are powerless.”

Rebekah stood. “We can pray in the spirit. Prayer is the one thing we can do anywhere and anytime. And we can listen for J’shua’s still, small voice.”

Vincent spoke again, “We should remain here until Rebekah confirms that the proclamation is being obeyed in our home provinces. Let’s discuss this again tomorrow.”

Everyone nodded and spoke their goodnights.

She watched them leave, one by one, as the sparks from the fire rose into the night sky with her prayers.

***

The next day, Rebekah stepped down from the wagon in front of the commandant’s office and the herald station. She smoothed the flattering blue shift she’d borrowed and ran her fingers through her hair. She entered with her head high, her quiet rage dampening her fear.

“I am here to see Commandant Greysun.” She forced herself to speak with quiet politeness to the militet on duty.

“He is out, ma’am.”

“When will—”

“Bring the lady back, Brett,” a gruff voice said from a room behind.

As she entered his office, Greysun stood and buckled his royal red brigandine. With a lecherous smile, he bowed. He was tall. “How can I help you, ma’am?” His arrogant tone was as unpleasant as his expression. He stroked his brown beard as he ogled her up and down.

“I’m Rebekah Otual, here to retrieve my daughter, sold to you three moons ago.”

“Otual—?” The commandant stiffened. “Many children—passed through here. We only kept boys.”

“I was assured that all the cage carts that came to your garrison left empty. She is six and has very blonde hair.”

Greysun laughed. “There are a lot of blonde little girls in the world.”

Rebekah glared at him, causing his frown to deepen.

“The girls were taken to Madam Bonaforte’s brothel. She may know what became of her.” The officer pointed west. “Go to the one with the green door on the main street. It’s on the right.” Then his eyes dropped to his papers.

Rebekah placed her hands on his desk. “Sir. It is my understanding that you must actively assist in the return of all children seized. Have someone escort me.”

Greysun scowled and motioned for a boy to attend her. He was no more than ten, a conscript probably sold by his parents.

The young militet stepped forward and bowed, his small hand resting on the head of an axe in his belt.

Rebekah let out a disgruntled huff.

***

The boy led the way and opened the green door.

Rebekah entered the brothel, the militet trailing behind. She looked with compassion at the feather-framed faces and scantily clad bodies of exploited children.

She glanced back at the wide-eyed militet, also a child, whose mouth was agape. Touching his shoulder, she said, “Close your mouth, son.”

The decorated ladies glowered at her with calculating eyes. Some snickered, only to be silenced as their matron stepped forward.

Rebekah’s hard gaze locked onto the madame. “According to Commandant Greysun,” she growled, “three moons ago, someone brought my daughter to you with other girls.”

The old woman stiffened and sputtered. “I, Uh—Wha—Why don’t you look around for her?” Her eyes narrowed as she smiled.

Terror and hope stole through Rebekah as she went from room to room. The wide-eyed boy followed behind her. Since it was midday, most were empty, but—she didn’t find Sarah.

J’shua, where is she?

She returned to the front room, now empty except for the madame. Rebekah wanted to cry but couldn’t.

“Are you satisfied?” The madame’s words were cold, flat.

“No—nor is your obligation to assist me complete. Either Greysun or you are lying. Which is it?”

The madame glared back. “You’ve seen for yourself.” The old woman clenched her jaw and glanced toward the strongman guarding the door. Then lowering her voice she said, “But—there were discrepancies. That drecksa Greysun demanded payment for one girl I didn’t receive.”

“What happened to her?”

“How would I know?”

Rebekah knew she’d get no more from the old hag. She turned and left, the boy reluctantly following her out.

Where are you, Sarah?

She looked up and down the street. She didn’t know what to do. She expected to find her and save her—to hold her tight. Someone must have helped her escape. It wasn’t Rosewud. He had no compassion. The young soldier? Yes, he was the only one that might have helped her or know where she is.

***

As she rode, she thought of all the people that were affected by this one evil act. All over Freislicht people had been suffering, with nowhere to turn. But Jonathan’s act, one man’s act, had changed it. What if many acted together?

Thread by thread, a plan formed—a way to root out this evil corruption.

When Rebekah stood by their fire again, she told of J’shua’s inspiration about opposing such evil. “We don’t need to hide any more. You can go home, reclaim your lives. But—if we’re to combat this pestilence, we must cover every town in Freislicht in prayer, every suspicious place anointed for J’shua.”

She told them the plan that J’shua gave her. “We lost our freedom because we felt no need to defend ourselves. We were too safe, too happy. This has been growing for generations. We all must pray in the spirit without ceasing to guard our hearts and receive direction.”

Mister Frink brushed a stringy lock of hair behind his ear. “We’ve no training. It’s too dangerous.”

Others bobbed their heads in agreement, worry plain on their faces.

A pinecone in the fire popped, sending embers into the heavens.

“Yes, it’s dangerous,” Rebekah said. “You’re afraid. I am too. But I’m sure it is an assignment. The God of Truth will be with us.”

She gazed at each face.

Frink glared back. “That’s fine for you. You’ve a knight for a husband. He’ll have taught you skills to survive. We’ve no such training.”

“Would you rather stand by and do nothing or let J’shua guide you? Anything we need, we can learn. If the skills are not amongst us, we can seek them out.”

“I’d rather not end up in Melazera’s dungeons.” Frink crossed his arms.

Rebekah continued, “There’ll be no condemnation if you return to your old life—”

“Count me out!” Frink stalked off.

When Frink was gone, Rebekah warned, “You all have children to consider. This is a grave commitment not all can accept. Yet, I ask you to pray. Give me your answers tomorrow. Will you return to your old lives and forget all this? Or will you anoint evil places? Or become a spy? All we need do is walk by the spirit.”

Chapter 40

Jonathan

After days of traveling and sleeping under the heavens, Jonathan passed through Dunis Glen’s tall stone gatehouse with a sigh. His final stop. A cool sea breeze blew.

The sun peeked over the red clay rooftops made them glow like fire. He watched as men brought carts full of striped bass and sideways flounder from the East River and dumped them into piles, some still flopping. He smelled the first bread of the day. A carriage rushed by. Hawkers shouted their deals. Well-dressed maids and kitchen boys walked down from the exclusive estates up the hill.

Jonathan hurried to the herald station. He offered the scroll.

The old herald stood, eyes twinkling while he read the parchment, eyebrows rising ever higher. “Astonishing! I’ll announce it at once. What’s your name, sir?”

“Jonathan Otual. I took a petition about these vile acts to the king.”

“Thank you for bringing this. It’s been a very long time since the king last countermanded a plot of Lord Melazera.”

“A plot of—? Is it widely known that he is behind this?”

“No, not many realize what the steward’s goals are. I was a herald in Lorness Castle when I was younger. His father was a cruel man, but he had no desire for more power. But after his first wife died, his new wife was always pushing him for more. Then as soon as he died, her daughter married Gaelib. He was only fifteen and captivated by the daughter. She was much older than him. After Gaelib became the king’s steward, I was moved outside the castle. Soon all the king’s heralds were removed from within the castles and replaced with clerks from the Order of the Black Robe.”

“That would not benefit the king. Why did he allow it?”

“It was said to be a cost saving measure.” The herald laughed. “Everything seems to be about money these days. No thought to the consequences.”

“I don’t trust these black-robed fools. They’re meddlesome. And they have no loyalty to the king.” The old man sighed as he stood.

“I’m too old to fight their intrigues. Mark my words, Gaelib Melazera wants to control the world.”

The herald donned his blue tabard, bearing the king’s crest. “I only tell you because this petition is proof you are on the king’s side. I took this post when the last herald passed so I could die near the sea.”

“I will remember your words, sir.” Jonathan bowed.

Outside, the herald rang a large bell. People poured out of shops and taverns like wine from a press. “Hear ye, hear ye,” his voice boomed like a much younger man’s. “A proclamation by King Edal, the ruler of Freislicht…”

As happened everywhere he had delivered it, people cried, laughed, and hugged each other. Their joy overcame Jonathan. His heart soared like a hawk gliding on the wind.

The herald pointed toward him. “This Knight of J’shua appealed to King Edal for our relief. His Majesty responded. Thank the God of Truth for his faithfulness. He hasn’t left us powerless. Sir Jonathan, please give a word to the people.”

Jonathan stepped forward, trusting the spirit to guide his words. “People of Dunis Glen, we owe thanks to King Edal for his mercy in granting us relief from the excessive acts of some of his nobles. We praise the God of Truth and our king for their blessings.

“Keep the fellowship of your circles. You have strength in numbers. Spread the love and comfort that comes from J’shua. With the spirit of J’shua, you are a conqueror. But we must all stand against the darkness. Together, we will be victorious. Pray without ceasing!”

The crowd cheered.

Jonathan bowed and mounted his horse. He’d still found no rumors of his missing wife or daughter.

***

Jonathan pushed through another groaning tavern door, letting in a gust of cold air. His faded navy cloak bore the dust of hard riding, but his eyes held the gleam of a stubborn hope. The Knight of J'shua stood in the threshold, his sword still buckled at his side, his bow over a shoulder. He cast a shadow stretching across the floor rushes, scattered with dried herbs, and the pipe smoke that hung in layers above tables, parted around him like mist.

“Your pardon, good folk.” His voice carried the command of a man used to being heeded, though now it rasped with exhaustion. “I seek any word of stolen children.”

Conversations died. Mugs stopped halfway to lips. A gambler caught his knucklebones before they could fall, sensing the weight in the air.

“Many have been taken in debt collections. And my daughter, Sarah. Six winters old.” Jonathan's calloused hand gripped his sword hilt, knuckles white. “Hair like summer wheat, and a dimple if she smiles. But also, a scowl most fearsome.” He swallowed hard. “Taken two moons past by soldiers claiming rights of debt collection. Our farm is a day north of Fairness Crossing.”

A trader by the fire spat. “Ain't right to take a child for debt.”

“No,” Jonathan's voice froze in the air. “It is not.”

The alewife set down her pitcher. “Whose soldiers, sir? What colors?”

“I did not see it—I was away. I am told it was Earl Melazera's men. Two of them came with one of his undersecretaries. They merged for a time with a larger troop and rode through River Town.” His eyes swept the room, noting faces, reactions. “But by now, they have dispersed their plunder.”

A carter near the back straightened. “Might've seen something. Two moons back, you say?”

Jonathan crossed the room in four strides. “Where?”

“East road. Two weeks ago, before dawn.” The carter leaned away from the intensity in Jonathan's gaze. “Cage cart with a black horse. Heard—” He hesitated.

“Speak.” The word carried steel.

“Heard many children crying. Didn't see proper, on account of the fog, but...” The carter studied his ale. “They was headed toward the Sea of Glass.”

“Did they—" Jonathan's voice cracked. He started again. “Did they seem hurt?”

“No sir. Just scared and older one’s calling for help.”

A muscle jumped in Jonathan's jaw. His hand hadn't left his sword hilt. “How many men with the cart?”

“Two riding guard. One driving.”

“The Sea of Glass,” Jonathan repeated softly. His eyes had the look of a man calculating distances, counting supplies, weighing odds.

An old man with a long gray beard, wearing a worn sword on his hip, spoke up. “This is Melazera’s land. His word is law here. And the earl's dungeons—"

“J'shua's law stands above any earl’s. And the king’s proclamation declares these collections unlawful and any who purchased them will be forced to return them, but our home was burned to the ground, so there is nowhere for her to be returned.”

Jonathan dropped a silver coin on the bar. “For the information.” A second coin followed. “And for any who might share the message of a Knight of J'shua asking after his daughter, any herald will send word to the Knights’ School.”

He turned to go, then he said, softer now, “If any see her—she pretends she is a princess and a knight named Sir Sarahad. If you mention either, she may reveal herself.”

“We'll let others know,” the old man promised. “Knights of J'shua still have friends in these parts.”

The old man lifted his mug. “J'shua guide your sword,” he murmured.

“And guard your daughter,” the alewife added, placing her palms together.

Jonathan nodded once, “Thank you. J’shua be with you.”

As soon as the tavern door closed behind him, he mounted and rode toward the next tavern.

***

With the king’s task finished, he headed toward Lorness through a copse of trees that shrouded the road ahead in uncertainty.

“Father, where would you have me go? Will you show me where to find Rebekah and Sarah? I miss them so.” He prayed until he was empty of words.

Jonathan thought of his son, David. His son was the apprentice of Agon Gorum in the Republic of Esthlanis. The Gorum horse farm was a good place for a young boy to grow and learn a trade.

Magistrate Gorum might know something. Perhaps Rebekah and Sarah have gone there.

Owakar

It was the last half-moon of autumn, the twenty-ninth year in the reign of King Edal, another week and a half to his four-moon mark.

Owakar shook with joy in Jonathan’s triumph. Unlike the knight, he could see its effect throughout Lorness. Could see the waves of benefits that would follow, the suffering it would end, and the families it would reunite.

That it would also impede the wicked plans of the Warrior was an added victory. He sighed in satisfaction. Did he have time for a bite before the next appointment? A bakery was a few doors down. He peeked at the luach.

Owakar frowned as Rebekah Otual neared the Sapphire Inn. She was early.

Although she was very entertaining, Rebekah Otual was too spontaneous. She was becoming a fulltime employment. Today, she traveled to River Town, but she prayed so he had to watch her. Reluctantly, he followed her movements, while keeping up with the activities of his other assignments. She sought out people to meet, so he had yet to need to create opportunities for divine appointments with her, but he had to acknowledge she was faithful in praying for many things she encountered.