the block. Nathaniel helped him before the boys could begin to laugh at his struggles.
The red-faced man smiled. “It might seem a little thing, but we let our tools rest on the Sabbath, too. There it was working, but here, hung on the wall, it enjoys rest.”
“Pardon my ignorance.”
“No pardon needed.” Shepherd Faith smiled. “I know that you travel with Friend Makepeace, but clearly you are not of the faith.”
Nathaniel ran a long-fingered hand over unshaven jaw. “Well, my pa lived far from a church, and the missionaries what visited the Altashee didn’t take much notice of me. But Makepeace, he’s a fine example of a man. Saved my life a time or three.”
“I hope, Friend Nathaniel, he will save your soul as well.”
“Truth be told, Shepherd, my ears is pricked and my eyes is open.”
“Then I shall hope and pray the Lord’s Word lodges in your heart tonight.”
Nathaniel joined the others in the loft as Plentiful’s residents filed in. Everyone brought a pot, a crock, a jar, basket, or a cauldron and set them on the few tables that had been dragged to the walls. The scent of venison stew, baked beans, and oven-hot bread filled the hall. Nathaniel rubbed his belly to keep it quiet. While they’d not had trouble finding food on the journey, it was mostly fish here, berries there, being gathered as they went. This would be the most complete meal they’d enjoyed since leaving Temperance Bay.
Owen sat toward the back of the loft, making notes in his journal. The fact that he had a smaller book beside him and referenced it meant he was composing a message for the Prince. None of them could be certain how long it would take letters to make it back to Temperance, but every village sent someone down-river to trade skins and locally produced goods for sugar, salt, and anything which Mystria didn’t provide. That included firestones and brimstone for muskets, both of which could only be purchased through a government-licensed dealer.
In studying Rathfield, Nathaniel was able to pinpoint that which he found most unsettling about the man. When Owen had first come out to do the survey during which they’d discovered du Malphias’ fortress at Anvil Lake, he’d taken all sorts of notes and sent all manner of messages back to Prince Vlad. Rathfield, who said he was on a mission of similar import, seldom wrote anything down. Since Nathaniel had only begun to learn to read and write, he wasn’t about to fault a man for being illiterate. But he supposed an officer and a hero in the Queen’s Army would be able to read, and would have better sense than to believe his notes might not be valuable in the event he didn’t make it back from the journey.
He just ain’t taking this serious. Nathaniel frowned. If the man wasn’t devoted to his mission, either he was a fool, or the mission they’d been told he was on was just a story to cover what he was really doing.
Nathaniel had half a mind to ask Rathfield about that, but the hundred or so people that called Plentiful home had filed into the blockhouse and taken their places. They wore standard Virtuan garb, darkly colored, which covered the women from floor to wrists and throat, with a bonnet tossed on to hide their hair. Nothing decorative or unique about their clothes helped tell them apart. The men all wore hats and dark trousers, white shirts and long- tailed black coats pulled on over them. The hats remained on, with the brim lowered to modestly shade the eyes.
Arise Faith came to the front of the congregation and murmured a greeting, which the people returned. “We have among us some visitors who have chosen to share the bounty of their journey with us.” He looked up toward the loft, but no one turned around to look.
The Shepherd smiled. “I had intended on delivering a message on the virtues of chastity as all nature blossoms with fecundity around us, but after conversing with one of the visitors, I have decided to ask him to speak to you.”
Nathaniel’s stomach knotted for a moment. Ain’t no way…
Rathfield stood. “It would be my pleasure, Shepherd.” He pulled on a hat that clearly had been borrowed for the occasion, and stalked down the stairs to address the people of Plentiful.
Chapter Ten
19 April 1767 Plentiful, Richlan Mystria
What on earth is he doing? Owen slid forward to the loft railing, standing beside Nathaniel, as Rathfield strode up the center aisle. The others joined them at the railing, equally curious. Given Rathfield’s arrogance, Owen did not anticipate a happy ending to this bit of theatre.
While Rathfield had attended church services in Temperance with Owen and his family, on the trail he’d not seemed particularly religious. He’d not discussed the Good Book with Makepeace, nor paid much attention when Makepeace offered a lesson. At least once he’d heard Rathfield refer to a village Shepherd as a simpleton-a sobriquet commonly used by Norillians to ridicule Virtuans for the way they had simplified worship ceremonies.
Rathfield replaced Shepherd Faith at the pulpit and lowered his eyes. His lips moved, but Owen couldn’t make out any words. Then the man rested his hands on the lectern and glanced up briefly. “I asked Shepherd Faith to allow me to speak with you. Though I am very far from home, here I feel at home. Your simple settlement, clearly created with love and devotion for each other and Our Lord, feels like home. Not my home specifically, you understand, but a place where I am welcome. I feel welcome because we share something very dear: our faith. And I wanted to share with you part of my journey in faith.”
Again he looked down, drawing in a mighty breath as if setting himself in the traces to drag an incredible burden along. “I am a simple soldier in service to our Queen. It has been my honor to serve her. Prior to being sent here to you, I fought for her in Tharyngia, against the godless Laureates. You’ve likely never heard of the Battle of Rondeville which, not even two years ago, ended the long war we’d fought with our ancestral enemies. Some people have even referred to me as the hero of Rondeville-but you should know, Friends, that the true hero was Our Lord.
“Duke Deathridge had positioned his men around the town of Rondeville such that the slaughter the coming day would be frightful. Imagine an ocean of blood and fire just sweeping through this valley. It would have been a terrible, terrible thing. Victory was assured, but Duke Deathridge did not want to take any chances in case the Ryngians had somehow set a trap. He sent me to infiltrate their position. It was my pleasure to serve my Queen and Our Lord on so dangerous a mission.”
Rathfield sighed. “I was proud. I admit to that sin, and Our Lord saw fit in his wisdom to chasten me for my pride. I was discovered and brought before Laureate-General Philippe de Toron, the Tharyngian commander. The man had me clapped in chains, then beaten and tortured so I would reveal what I knew of our plans. I said nothing. Did not modesty prevent it, I would show you my scars. The one on the right side of my face is the first among many I received that night. And when they saw I would not be broken, they threw me into the wine cellar beneath their headquarters. They promised they would return after they crushed our army, and would execute me along with any other survivors.
“So there I was, locked in a dungeon. The only light came from the full moon, just as it comes tonight, through these narrow windows. And I knelt in the moonlight and prayed, Friends, prayed fervently. I begged forgiveness for my sin of pride and rededicated my life to the service of Our Lord. I told Him that if it was His will for me to die there, I would go happily. But if He had another mission for me, He should show me a sign and I would do whatever He required of me.”
Rathfield allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “And, yes, Friends, I thought that even my prayer might be prideful. Contemplation of the consequences worried me, but Our Lord did have another mission for me. I shant go into the sordid details. Suffice it to say I emerged from the dungeon as Our Lord’s avenging angel. I stalked through the tavern that morning and killed every man I could find-including the Laureate-General. By the time I escaped, the battle had commenced, but in slaying de Toron I had struck the head from the serpent. He never got to spring his trap. Our men were saved and the atheists were sent to Perdition.”
He hung his head for a moment as if exhausted, then looked up, his blue eyes bright. “I did not share my story so that you would know who I am. I am but a sinner who is unworthy of Our Lord’s favor. I merely wished to show you that though we come from distant places, though the role Our Lord asks of us can be anything and different, we are the same. Our hearts beat by His Grace, to be full of His Grace. Though you may find yourself here, thinking you are at the edge of the world, remember that He has placed you here so that no matter how far a man
